(Page 1 of 3) Kvendar (Prologue) by Matthew ParsonsSUMMARY: Prologue to a long story that I hope to turn into a novel, so thoughts & constructive criticsm is welcome.The cringing pain seized him suddenly, gripping him at its peak as his hand closed over the elaborately crafted door knob. Immediately, he drew back, clenching the front of his cloak. The world spun around him circles, almost taunting him. Mikael shot out his left hand to prop himself up against the wall. Another wave of pain pulsed throughout his body, drying it like a desert in mid-afternoon. When the surroundings stopped spinning, he found himself on his knees, leaning against the wall with his full weight. Strength was slowly coming back out of its hiding place and filling his body. He inhaled deeply to steady his rapid breathing, exhaling with slight relief. Mikael stood, massaging his chest. The pain still throbbed yet faintly. Mikael smeared away the cold sweat forming on his forehead before opening the door.
The drifting breeze wasn't enough to remedy the intense heat he was feeling. He needed something more refreshing, something cool. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that he had decided to have a late night sip at the terrace bar. Mikael was pleased to see that the bar was next to empty aside from the bartender cleaning out used glasses and the only customer sitting at the counter with a glass in hand. He approached the bar with a slow meandering walk, legs still shaking.
"Barnabas," Mikael greeted the other customer, a man well younger than he.
The young man with a permanent ruffle to his ash tinted hair looked up from his drink. "Mikael--I thought you had retired to bed a while ago. What brings you out this late?"
"Woke up thirsty for a strange reason," Mikael replied, taking a seat beside Barnabas and imitated the young man by leaning his full weight against the counter.
The bartender at once set away his cleaning rag. "Supreme Vizier Mikael, what would you prefer to drink, sir?"
"A cool, healthy drink will be fine."
"Chilled dragon, sir?"
"That will do." Mikael pulled his coin purse from his pocket and brandished five gold coins.
The bartender snatched up the coins and turned to the drink rack.
"The old wound acting up again, old man?"
Mikael chuckled. "How would you guess, Barnabas."
"Not many are up at the second morning hour soaking in sweat, legs shaking, and looking so upset."
Mikael sighed, accepting the glass and bottle that the bartender suplied him. "Good intuition as always, Barnabas. To actually think in two days it will have been fifteen years." He poured himself a glass of the chilled dragon. The sweet, cold drink assuaged his dry throat.
"That's quite a while ago." Barnabas filled his emptied glass of ashel wine, a cross of a green and crimson colored substance.
"No--" Mikael stared distantly at the counter "--it doesn't feel that way."
Barnabas cocked an eyebrow. "It sure seemed a long time ago since I was fourteen."
"Sure seems like that doesn' it Barnabas?" Mikael paused to take another drink. "I still remember the tip of his blade coming across my chest before I ran him through. I still remember everything as if it was yesterday.
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