The book's appearance is old and worn. At first glance, it seems to be nothing but an old scrap of leather tossed in a peddler's cart. But do not be fooled, for appearances can be deceiving and books should not be judged by their covers.
For as you will discover; over eight centuries ago, this book's cover was new and a gorgeous red leather. Its pages were a pale, smooth manuscript and the importance of the words that were written upon them is ten times more important than the book itself.
Although the bright red has faded and worn over the passing of time, you can still see what remains of symbol on its cover. Closer examination reveals the remains of a seal-like marking. Carved years ago into the once supple hide is the outline of a shield. Three sinister-looking lions stand within the boundaries of the shield as if guarding the secrets within. They stand horizontally, one lion stacked upon the other. Each lion has his right paw raised, as if to strike. Perhaps ready to strike those who do not follow orders given by the author of the book?
Today the land is called England, but it was not always know by that name. In the year of our Lord 1192, a great castle stood atop its emerald hill base and looked proudly across the timeless countryside. Its ancient walls jutting protectively upward towards the gray clouded sky, wishing they could tell the many tails they had witnessed.
Built from the many stone slabs hewn from the ancient mountains that stood barely visible in the distance, the castle was proof of the great labor and sacrifice its builders endured to raise it. Yet the builders were not only concerned with their work's outward appearance, but also its internal fortitude as well.
Cleverly placed, at the end of many betraying passageways, behind thick stone walls and floors and even nestled below the stone base of the castle itself and set into the heart of a hill. A secret chamber lay silent and unknown to almost everyone. Carved or painted upon its stone walls, the pagan symbols and markings indicated some type of magic and mystery few understood. Oddly shaped stones, iron and copper objects rested in a seemingly random manner on the floor of the chamber, suggesting much but telling nothing.
As time passed, invaders came to the enchanting island. The original builders of the castle were driven out. However it is said that they did not leave without first cursing some of the objects that lay on the floor of the hidden chamber.
Through the continued passage of time, the castle eventually became deserted and its walls began to crumble. Still some whispered that a curse remained as did the power of the castle.
Daena Hecshire
With deep, mysterious, dark-brown eyes; a charming, almost sly mouth; dark auburn shoulder-length hair; and an athletic and robust body, Daena Hecshire brings to mind more questions than answers.
Just like her appearance, her story will make you curious. She seems to know something you do not, but seems to be searching for answers to something as well.
Born into an 11th century family of nobility, Daena Hecshire of Huntington is certainly different from the girls of her class, country and even time period. Although it shouldn't be considered a bad thing, her decidedly masculine interests in things such as hunting, archery, hawking and riding, definitely bring her more attention than perhaps she wants. Her behavior should not have come as a surprise. Born the first daughter in her family after four boys, Daena was always surrounded by her brothers and their friends. Wanting to prove that she was just as capable and strong as the greatly idolized men of the era, Daena sought out masculine activities in which to prove her worth. Even though she had four younger sisters born after her, Daena always identified with her brothers.
She could be described as strong-willed, feisty, stubborn and a bit of a dreamer. Even though it may not always to obvious, Daena possesses a good heart. She'll need all of these strengths and the friendship and help of all those she considers loyal for the adventures, sorrows and trials that are set before her.
George Merdront
Slithery as a snake and evil-minded as a devil from hell is an appropriate description of the Sheriff of Nottingham. His eyes - cool black - are filled to the brim with hatred, ambition and a bit of sorrow deep within. Set a bit too closely together, his eyes give him the look of a fierce animal. A large nose splits the center of his proud face. A greasy beard covers his lower cheeks and upper lip. Curled and tangled, his hair falls to the top of his shoulders and is in need of a good and thorough cleaning.
George Merdront, for that is his birth name, had a hunger for power even before he breathed his first breath of life. His father and his grandfather before him were sons of ambition, dreaming of gold, power and the king's favor. They thought only of themselves. Caring not who might face turmoil, pain or even death as a result of their plans and lies. Even George's mother was not to be excluded from the power circle. She was a descendent of the barbarian warlords who had invaded and settled the region years before. Their wildness still ran through her veins. Raised secretly in the pagan ways of her ancestors, she kept alive these ways through her son. She also schooled him in the rules of politics and the games of power. Becoming hungrier for glory, George decided to align himself to the royal family. He became close friends with the young Prince John Lackland.
Time has now since passed. Power George has received, yet it never is enough to satisfy. It is now his time to dictate. Like his friend, Prince John also finds himself a prisoner of ambition and a time is coming when there shall be no ends to these men's greed and lust.
Night had fallen across the English countryside and it seemed as peaceful as any other. The night birds had started to sing their mournful and sweet cries. A soft cool breeze and the sound of a running brook blended to form a sweet lullaby. The stars seemed to dance along to its sound in the dark sky. But not all was as serene as it appeared, for in the stone manor a fitful sleep gripped the man who slept in the bedchamber.
As many a dream can do, it seemed to startle and disturb George Merdront, his subconscious features proving this so. Perspiration left pools of salty liquid beads upon his face and dampened his pillow and bed clothes. An uncomfortable wince seemed plastered on his mouth, as if something in his dream had caused him pain or frightened him. And perhaps the night vision gave him reason. For deep inside his mind these thoughts and scenes played over and over again.
George stood in unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar stone castle ruins. The broken walls rose high above him and weeds seemed to strangle the fallen rock about his feet. He seemed to be somewhat hidden, for he sensed darkness. Slowly small pagan symbols began to reveal themselves from out of the blacked walls. They seemed to call to the man that stood before them, as if by magic, but then hushed themselves back into the dark.
Then suddenly a book appeared before him. He recognized it as his own. The prince had given it to him himself. Upon the cover three lions lay as proof. In its pages words were written as praise for the sheriff; lists of his lords, titles and amounts of wealth, not to mention permission to use the Crown's name. At this Merdront smirked arrogantly in his sleep.
Soon though, that smirk was to be replaced by a fearful frown. For before his eyes, another book took the place of the first in his dream. This book was very different. From afar it looked thick and fresh, as if it had just been made. It seemed to come closer and closer until eventually setting itself into the sheriff's unwashed hands. It had turned into a thin and tattered piece of manuscript. Though unrecognizable in any way, George could clearly tell that the book belonged to him. Although the ink on the parchment was scribbled and sloppy, he knew that they told his story and not in a way he liked. The book seemed to remind him of his past choices and warn him of what they would mean. Although the pages were unreadable, he knew with certainty what they said.
It frightened him deeply and he knew not why. Then silently and as hauntingly as it had appeared, it slowly disappeared back into the ancient walls until all around him faded into complete darkness. Instantly, George's eyes snapped open. His breath came in deep, sharp wraps. Looking at his surroundings to be sure he was in his bedchamber, he wiped the sweat from his brow before settling back onto his pillow. He forced his breathing to slow before once again closing his eyes. He tried to clear his mind and find peaceful sleep. Silently hoping that the dream was nothing more than that, just a passing dream and not an ill-fated omen of things to come.