 
THE WINDS OF CROWNS AND WOLVES

K. E. WALTER

Copyright ©2014, 2015, 2016 by Kyle Walter.

Follow the author @kewalterauthor on Twitter

Cover art by Matthew McNerney

# Dedication:

To my parents, who always let my most absurd fantasies run wild.

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Shine a Light

Chapter 2: Resonance

Chapter 3: Freaks

Chapter 4: Glow

Chapter 5: The Freeze

Chapter 6: Dreams

Chapter 7: The Girl

Chapter 8: Mountains

Chapter 9: A Man about a Book

Chapter 10: Learn

Chapter 11: Questions

Chapter 12: A King

Chapter 13: Wood Smoke

Chapter 14: Out of the Forest

Chapter 15: In the House

Chapter 16: Atop a Pillar of Hope and Loathing
Chapter 17: A Meal
Chapter 18: Low-Hanging Clouds

Chapter 19: The Dreamer

Chapter 20: Walk Along the Grapevine, Into the Drunkard's Demise

Chapter 21: Burn

Chapter 22: In the North

Chapter 23: Drugged and Dreary

Chapter 24: South to Fletwod

# I

The sun shone down on the meadow, creating an iridescent green hue, which rose from the grass. Miles and miles of rolling hills and valleys sculpted the area into a beautiful landscape, rife with the vibrant colors of the wild. At night, you could hear the distant howling of animals, scampering in the far corners of the woodland.

Nestled in a small crevice of the Kingdom of Duncairn, was a small village. Unimportant, and equally unimpressive upon first gaze, Spleuchan Sonse, as it was known to its inhabitants, peered out into a vast meadow, unencumbered by the hills which rose up on both sides. A small collection of straw huts, which looked as if they had been hand crafted centuries earlier, lined the flatland.

The night earlier, a couple had ventured over the hill to the east and found themselves stranded in the grassy knoll outside the village. The woman, many months pregnant and exhausted, sat herself down near a small creek that ran adjacent to the eastern hill.

"N'er in a thousand years could I have dreamt of this", whispered Seosamh.

The sun peered over the eastern hill behind them and cast a shadow over the majority of the valley. Shivering from the early morning cold, Maire responded with a simple nod to acknowledge Seosamh's statement.

"Y'know, there's not much else we can do from here m'dear, we must simply wait," a belabored Seosamh said, as he sat down beside his wife, in what was more of a collapse from exhaustion than rest.

The trip had taken its toll on the both of them, but Maire had taken the brunt of it. As the sun rose on that winter's morning, the people of Spleuchan Sonse remained asleep, unaware of the visitors in the plain a half mile ahead of them.

The first to rise was Isbeil. It wasn't uncommon for her to rise so early; after all, she had to tend to the food before her family awoke. In the room next to the kitchen, Asgall and Ealar slept. Her husband and son respectively, Isbeil took pride in the work she did, as it made their day simpler when they set out to cull the land for farming.

Only a few months the prior, Isbeil had given birth to Ealar on a hot summer's day. The entire village rejoiced in reverence of her son's birth, and her husband could not have been more pleased with his little boy.

Isbeil went to work, cutting the meat and bread. In a short while, the hut would be filled with the scent of sustenance, as the men of the village began their days. She peered out the slit of her hut at the frosty grass outside as she finished her preparations.

This year's winter had been unfavorable to her family. The crop yields were low, and they had barely managed to survive to this point. Luckily, the snow had held off as much as possible, but the relentless freezing temperatures made it nearly impossible for anything to grow.

A few days earlier, Asgall had proposed the idea to his wife of moving south to the coast, in hopes that they would find more fertile soil and habitable weather conditions. Although the thought of a fruitful journey southward persisted throughout Isbeil's mind, on this morning, she could not help but be grateful for all of the things she had been blessed with in her life.

Her son had been born healthy, into a loving community, and had managed to survive thus far through the winter. He had his father's eyes, but his nose resembled his mother's more.

She gazed into the distance, while Seosamh and Maire remained huddled in the field, awaiting the birth of their child. Wrapped in an egregious amount of blankets and even Seosamh's own robe, Maire looked up at him with affection, as the two sat gazing upon the hill to the west.

"What do you think will come of this Seosamh?" she asked in a raspy voice, induced from the sleepless night that she endured the night before.

With a steely look in his eye as he gazed westward, Seosamh maintained his usual collected nature.

"I don't think," he proclaimed in a hushed voice, "I simply feel, and the feeling I have in my heart is that the world knows what is best for our child, not us."

In a sort of sigh, labored with the anxiety and exhaustion of a thousand lives, Maire validated her husband's point.

The first rooster crowed above the village home, as Maire and Seosamh fell to sleep on the hillside. The smell of smoked sausages permeated the hut, and a stumbling Asgall entered the room, where Isbeil had made a fire.

"This is quite the meal for the situation we find ourselves in, isn't it dear?" asked Asgall, a perplexed look upon his face.

"Something about today," said Isbeil, "it feels different from the others. Maybe the Gods have blessed us with a turn in the weather and a more prosperous harvest!" she exclaimed.

In disbelief, as well as an exhaustion conceived haze, Asgall sat upon the chair he was given as a gift for the birth of his son, and began eating what his wife had prepared.

"So have you given any more thought into the movement southward? It must be done before it is too late," a tired, yet alert, Asgall asked. Even in his most energy deprived times he maintained a clear focus on what was best for his family.

"I think we should give it some time dear. The weather is known to change here at every moment, and we have a home here. Spleuchan Sonse is what we've always known, and I refuse to abandon it just yet," an adamant Isbeil claimed.

Somewhat stunned by his wife's proclamation of faith toward the land, Asgall continued to eat the food she had laid out before him. In a short while, he would venture toward the meadow where the townspeople held plots of land; hoping to find a surprising increase of growth, Asgall spent the rest of his morning meal in silent prayer, professing his faith to the gods and asking for their assistance in this time of trial.

It was customary in the village to pray for help with crops. They believed that without any superior guidance, they would falter in any endeavor they engaged in. In the moments following Asgall's prayer, a loud panting could be heard echoing through the valley.

Maire had awoken only an hour or so after her initial rest. To her surprise, as well as discomfort, her water had broken, and she began to contract. Startled by the heavy breathing of his wife, Seosamh awoke with as much vigilance as if he had never succumbed to the sweet reprieve of rest in the first place.

For the next few hours, Maire labored and screamed while she gave birth to a baby boy. Seosamh removed his robe from his wife's body and wrapped his son in it. For a mere moment, a rush of warmth could be felt throughout the valley.

"You know what this means, we must go," said Seosamh. His look of determination was etched into the very fibers of his face, as he held his wife in his arms and carried her over the hill eastward.

On the eastern hill in the valley outside of Spleuchan Sonse, a baby boy lay cradled in his father's robe. Nothing else could be found beside him except for a stone which had a name marked into it. "Coinneach" it read, scratched deep into the surface of the black, smooth rock.

As the sun continued its ascent into the sky above the grassy meadow, the silhouettes of the two travelers could be seen descending downward over the eastern hill, until their figures were inadmissible to the naked eye. They had arrived and left, as quickly as the morning dew that would have covered this very meadow on a warm summer day.

Asgall had slowly made his way from his home, towards the meadow which was steadfastly approaching.

It was times like this when his mind wandered. In reality, he was bound for his crops, but in his mind, he travelled back in time, to a period when he and his wife were newly married. He could picture the day as if it were only hours earlier: Isbeil strutting fluidly toward him, encased in a silk gown, which had been purchased in Leirwold only a few weeks earlier for this specific occasion.

Leirwold was the largest urban center in proximity to Spleuchan Sonse.

The people there are different, Asgall pondered.

Life in the village was simpler.

He snapped out of his growing anger toward the city, and returned to the thoughts of his beloved Isbeil. She had looked so beautiful in that gown, her skin radiating with the passion of one hundred suns, and her cheeks the color of a newly ripened apple, just plucked from the orchard.

The two had traveled along the river just west of the village that day, and found themselves at the entrance to a large sea. There, in the summer dusk, he held his wife in his arms and watched the sunset upon the horizon of the dark waters, which embodied the sea.

It was not unlike Asgall to lose himself in memories of the past. The current weather and lack of resources that the village found itself plagued by made life seem much more desirable back in that time.

Awoken from his daydream by a cold wind, he continued on his way to the plot of land his family had held for generations.

A modest field, it held enough room to yield a few hundred bushels of corn in a good year, along with a few dozen bushels of tomatoes. Much of the meadow was untouched, and that was how the elders wished it would remain. The relationship between humans and nature was something they revered and held in the utmost importance.

The sun began to raise high into the sky and the morning frost was slowly retreating back into the depths from which it came. As it became completely visible over the eastern hill, it struck a shiny black stone which was located only a few hundred yards in front of Asgall's plot.

Lacking interest in his abysmal crop yield, Asgall took the liberty of venturing toward the medium sized rock which he had seen hundreds of times prior. It provided a sense of solace in such woeful conditions for him to sit atop the rock and gaze out at the western hill.

He neared the rock and at once, a shrill cry could be heard emanating from what seemed like the depths of the very Earth.

Just on the other side of the rock from Asgall's plot, sat a baby, wrapped in a cloth robe. Bewildered, he rushed to its side to make sure it was still living. To his shock, the baby seemed to be in perfect health, if not for the poor conditions it found itself in. Scrawled into the rock which the baby had been placed beside was the word "Coinneach".

"A name," Asgall exclaimed, "the boy has a name."

# II

It was an unseasonably warm morning when Neach bound from his bed and into the center of his home. However, there was good reason for his excitement. Today marked his fourteenth birthday, and it was today that he would become a man.

For years, Neach awaited it. In the village, a boy was not a man until now, when he took up his father's axe and cut down a tree from atop the western hill.

His father, Asgall, had prepared the blade of his axe days before and anxiously awaited his son outside of the hut.

The excitement of the day was tangible, and both the father and son acknowledged its presence. Once the ritual was finished, Neach would be expected to take over his father's role in the house to provide protection and a plentiful harvest.

The two met outside of the hut and began walking in silent cooperation. Neither spoke a word, yet it was as if their feet were connected by an imaginary string, as they walked in unison toward the clearing at the top of the hill.

From a few hundred yards away, one specific tree stood out to Neach. It was a tall yew, which towered above all of the rest. He made it his goal and attempted to motivate himself before their ascent was completed.

He wanted this day to be unforgettable, a memory which would leave a lasting imprint on his mind as he began to care for his family and eventually, his wife. By taking down such a large yew, he would be showing a sign of intent. The sign would represent the ambition he harbored and the determination with which he would do all things in the name of his family.

Similar thoughts ran through Asgall's head as they reached the summit of the hill. He had been planning for years to use this ceremony as an opportunity to shed light on the situation which led him to discovering his son on the eastern hill so many years ago. But for now, all that he could consider was the celebration, which would ensue following the tree's demise.

After the long journey from their hut, the two men stood atop the hill, gazing over their village below them. The scene was beautiful, almost as if it were not seen, but painted on a canvas for all to look upon in awe. A myriad of purples, oranges, and blues lit up the sky as the sun set behind them. It was tradition to wait until the sun was fully vanished before you first set the axe into the trunk of the tree.

The sun reached its final destination below the horizon, and disappeared with its trademark flash of green, right before it sunk away.

Neach and his father sat beneath the beautiful, old, yew.

"Son, when I was your age, I had to take on the same responsibility," explained Asgall.

"And for every tree you cut down, every crop you harvest, know that is in the best interest of your family; nothing else shall come before this." Asgall had endured this process only a few months earlier, but there was something interesting about the way Neach handled himself. Ealar, his first born son, had chosen a small oak, located at the top of the western hill as his target.

With a swift three swings of Asgall's axe, Ealar had dislodged the tree from its roots and the ritual had ended. The tree Neach had chosen intrigued Asgall. Its long branches and thick trunk would surely provide a challenge.

His breath was visible in the chill of the post dusk time. With each breath, a burst of smoke emanated from his mouth and curled about as if it were a dancing fairy, floating toward the cosmos. He and his son sat in silence for an eternity, gazing at the village they called home and the vast meadow located directly next to it.

It was in this moment that Asgall felt at peace.

Fourteen years ago, when he had collected Neach's infant body from behind that rock, he was unsure of the future, but his faith helped him make an abrupt decision and raise him like his own son.

Now, as they sat atop the hill, Asgall wondered what was next. He had longed, since Neach was a young boy, to tell him of his parents. Though he did not know them, he felt it was necessary to disclose said information.

"His son" was a phrase that perplexed Asgall. Though this boy shared no blood connection with him, it felt in his heart as if they were bound at the soul; a connection that met at the very fibers of their being and was an impenetrable barrier, defending their relationship against external forces.

It would need to be done, he thought. For the sake of his son's accomplishment, he reserved himself to the fact that it would need to be done the following day, at the earliest.

Time had gotten away from them. All of the stars were now visible over the valley and he saw Neach to his left connecting them with his finger.

"The sky is beautiful at night, it's a shame that we couldn't make a pattern with these stars and bring them back to town with us for all the people to see," Neach claimed in amazement.

He had always been fond of the stars and the moon, and everything that could be found in nature. He felt at home amongst the natural order of things. Some nights, Asgall wondered if his son slept in the grass outside of the hut. This affinity, which could not be shaken, was the very reason the two men remained at the top of the hill, gazing deep into the abyss.

"The people will be waiting for us," Asgall proclaimed. In the town after every new found man's ceremony, a feast and dance took place around a massive fire in the center.

From their vantage point, hundreds of feet above, a crowd could be seen gathering. The faint sound of a lute being played traveled up to the two men, and caressed their ears with memories of the summer, which had passed so quickly. Summer in the valley was a lovely time filled with bountiful harvests, music and the love of the townspeople on a nightly basis.

As the music continued in the valley, Neach stood up beside his father and grasped the axe in both hands. With a silent nod of approval, Asgall watched as his son made his way toward the large yew they had been sitting under.

With a defiant thud, the first strike of the axe bore itself into the tree and the ritual began. It was customary for the father to begin a period of prayer and not conclude it until the tree had been completely dislodged from the ground.

Swing after swing, thud after thud, the brilliant old yew swayed in the light winter breeze. Its branches looked feeble and it bore no fruit, but its trunk was thick. This tree had likely stood in this spot for thousands of years and today, Neach would claim it as his own.

Nearly half an hour had passed before the poignant sound of cracking wood filled the air like an angry collection of bees. In an instant, the tree went from a tall standing bastion of significance, to a destitute heap of logs. It crashed to the ground with relentless fervor, and it could be heard around the valley. A dull roar emanated from the town below.

He had done it. As he walked over to the tree, he used his father's axe to claim a branch off of it for remembrance. The years that had come before had seen this tree used as a form of shade by weary travelers and the townspeople.

Branch and axe in hand, with sweat building up around his brow, Neach looked up at his father who had tears in his eyes.

"It took you that long to cut down that little old tree?" he choked through tears with a sort of comical cynicism.

His good natured spirit was refreshing to Neach. Not only had he gained the respect of the community, but he had gained the respect of his father. Asgall embraced his son in elation, and they walked toward the town.

The valley created a basin near the edge of the hill where a small river had cut through and left its mark in the landscape. As the two men reached the bridge that would connect them with Spleuchan Sonse, a crowd of people gathered at the end of the walkway. Looks of joy spread across their faces, as Neach raised the branch he had removed from the tree in his right hand, and the axe in his left.

Like a calm, serendipitous, weathered, old man, Neach took the praise in stride. He strolled across the bridge with an air of confidence so thick, that it nearly suffocated those who awaited him on the other side. Yet this was exactly what they wanted, a man to show his superiority in the face of adversity and come out as the victor.

A new found glory resonated within the very foundation of his body, and a feeling he had never experienced before permeated his bones. Could it be that he had already been jaded at such a young age? He wished, in a strange series of events, that the effect of this event were more lasting and profound. The feeling, which he had never felt before, was emptier than anything previously felt.

But the façade was erected, if not for the benefit of the townspeople, for his father's own sanity. He could not have him see that this moment, which he had looked forward to his entire life, had culminated with an unsatisfying crescendo. Neach had a mind which was far older than it let on.

Upon their arrival, a collection of men carrying torches knelt down in front of the gates, allowing Neach the ability to pass through the aisle they had created.

He treated it as if he was supremely impressed by the extravagance of the events which were unfolding before him, but in his mind he knew that he was not content.

He entered the town hall, which, the night previously, had housed the gentlemen of the town in a festivity of mead and food. Neach walked into the hall accompanied by his father, and inside he saw the rest of his town congregated.

The hall was made of the finest oak trees that could be found in the valley. Generations earlier, the men of the community had banded together to craft perfectly shaped and cut logs to use as the frame of the building. Inside, the smell of burning wood and a fresh roast infiltrated Neach's nostrils, as he headed for the table where his mother and brother sat.

"Welcome home, man of the village," his mother offered sweetly, "we are all very proud of you."

His demeanor was always softer and kinder when he spoke to his mother. He responded to her statement with a faint smile, as to not show weakness. As he looked around the hall, the jubilation was running rampant around every orifice of the building. Some of the men, who had been drinking since the middle of the day, were singing songs of battles past, and the women they had been with. Others sat quietly with a bemused smile upon their face, as they watched the festivities commence.

The hall was decorated in a lavish, at least for their community, display of precious metals, which danced as the flame of the fire licked at their precipices. An extravagant occurrence, fit for the new gentlemen, as they began a new life filled with hard work.

Neach rose from his table, after indulging himself, and headed to get fresh air outside of the hall.

The air was crisp and cold, as the winter chill seeped deep into his bones. He walked out, toward the bridge he came in over, and sat down at the bank of the river.

It was times such as these that Neach longed for. A silent time where he could ponder life's greatest mysteries, by himself, next to the solace of the flowing stream below him: he embraced it. It was as if time stopped, and all that existed was himself and the beauty surrounding.

The cold river cut through the base of the hill, like a wrinkle etched into the face of a weary old man. It bent and stretched, narrowed and expanded, and the rustic lack of homogeneity made him feel at home. He had always felt as if he were different from the rest of his family. A different wiring of his brain, he presumed. But with a limited knowledge of anything to prove that, he muddled through his day to day life, in search of an answer of some sort.

As he sat on the river bank, he heard a rustling in the brush next to him. It was not uncommon for an animal to hide in the brush before scurrying away, but tonight's temperature was cold, and most animals had gone into a form of hibernation.

He ignored the sound and fell back into the deep thoughts he had only recently concluded. Before he could drown in his own mental riptide, he heard the rustling again, this time much closer to where he sat. With a quizzical look upon his face, Neach stood up and ventured toward the brush.

Curious, yet anxious, he approached the brush and picked up a stick he found nearby.

When the nature of the beast that lurked inside of that brush showed its true face, he realized the futility that the stick he held in his hand offered.

Nestled in the edge of the brush, asleep, was a full grown grey wolf. With a gasp and a stutter step backward, the realization of the situation struck Neach like a full grown man running head on.

What was he to do? He couldn't let this majestic, yet carnivorous, creature maintain a home so close to his community. It was his duty as a man to rid the town of the beast. After recovering his senses and mental clarity, he crept toward the sleeping wolf. As he got within arm's length of it, it opened its eyes. Large orange orbs stared back into Neach as if they were two microcosms of the very sun which gave the Earth life.

With a disgruntled growl and a calm ascendance to its feet, the wolf slowly exited the brush. Armed with only a stick, Neach was unsure what it was that he should do next. Out of instinct, he dropped the stick.

The wolf turned slowly toward him, and instead of a menacing growl, let go an ear piercing howl that seemed to reverberate within Neach's soul, if only for a moment. As quickly as it had come, the wolf had disappeared into the darkness beyond the brush and vanished.

From out of the hall, Asgall and the other men of the village came running as quickly as they possibly could. To their surprise, they found Neach standing by himself, staring off into the distance.

"What happened son; we heard a wolf!" exclaimed Asgall.

"It just-it just ran away, it looked at me and ran away," Neach stated in bewilderment.

He wondered why it hadn't simply killed him. His life was within the animal's grasp. With nothing to protect himself except a stick, which he had promptly dropped, he was at the wolf's mercy.

Asgall lead Neach back toward the hall with the rest of the men so the festivities could resume. After a slight pause in the music, it came back to life with the passion of a collective of bards.

The merry gentlemen maintained their drunken stupor throughout the ordeal, and never batted an eyelash. Their voices carried through the nooks of the hall and echoed for what seemed like an eternity. Neach spent the rest of the night contemplating his near-death experience, and wondering why it was that the wolf had simply let him go.

As the night drew to a close, sleep beckoned. The soft exterior of his bed cocooned him like a newborn butterfly, and it prevented him from spreading his wings.

# III

Neach was an odd member of his family.

Born with vivacious auburn hair, which had waves like the sea to the west, he stood out as a stark point in his family, which boasted a darker skin and dark hair. His complexion gave off a pasty glow in the sunlight, which perplexed him even more.

Unlike his ancestors past, his eyes were blue like a cold mountain stream, translucent almost, but with caricatures of mountains etched into his iris. He stood out, undoubtedly, but he embraced the differential between himself and his family.

He rose from his winter slumber as alert as when he had gone to sleep. The events of the prior night plagued him through his rest, and he couldn't quite understand why.

A particular vision he witnessed in a dream depicted the wolf as nearly human, remaining on all fours, but speaking to him in a language he could understand. It seemed preposterous looking back on it, but in his dream there was communication.

With a shudder, Neach disbanded any thought of the wolf in his dream, and ventured toward the center of the hut.

The sun had yet to rise, but it was customary for the men of the village to rise before anyone else. There, he found no sign of any of his family. It was likely they remained asleep, except for his brother Ealar, who awaited him outside.

Ealar had assumed partial role of his duties in the community, and now that Neach was also a man of the community, their father Asgall was able to turn in his tools for good, to the next generation.

The air was thick with a fog that seemed to sprawl over the hills, and nestle itself comfortably in the valley. The newfound men leisurely strolled toward the plot of land, which their family called its own.

Once weekly, Neach and his father had ventured out to the plot with Ealar as a sort of training lesson. Asgall showed him how to till the land and cultivate it, in order to receive the highest crop yield possible. True to his father's form, he led by example, not by words. Though he rarely spoke, his contributions were always well thought out and meaningful.

The sun had yet to rise, as was typical when the plot was tended to. Darkness cradled the village in its palm, as if it were a play toy. Rolling fog infiltrated its every corner, and provided an iridescent filter for the moon, which still shone high above the hills. The brothers reached their destination as the first hint of sunlight could be detected in the increasing brightness of the night sky.

As they came within a few feet of the family plot, something struck Neach's eye that had never before done so. In the farthest expanse of the field, a black rock sparkled with the light of the moon. Intrigued and uninterested in tilling the land at the moment, he rerouted his path to coincide with the location of the rock.

"I'm going to see how the potatoes are doing at the edge of the field", Neach stated, with a new found authority.

In silent agreement, Ealar parted ways with his brother, and set off to attend to the near side of the field. The glistening of the rock seemed to increase as he got closer. From afar, it appeared that it was a piece of stone that must have been tossed around in the ocean and brought downstream, and found its way to the field. But as he knelt down beside it, an inscription could be read.

Scrawled with what appeared to be a rudimentary writing device, was something which nearly knocked Neach off of his feet. The black rock, the one which shimmered in the moonlight, which appeared to be an out of place piece of Earth in their crop space, bore his name. Written in its entirety, something which hadn't been used since his youth was the name "Coinneach". Baffled, Neach sat down in wonder.

It took nearly twenty minutes for Ealar to notice that Neach had failed to begin any kind of work on the far side of the field. Instead, he was propped against a large oak tree, with a blank look upon his face. Incredulous and sleep deprived, Ealar approached his brother with an intensity he had never seen before.

"What do ya think yer doin'! Ya haven't done a damned thing since we got here! Yer going to need to pull yer weight if you want us to survive this winter, Neach!" an overexcited Ealar exclaimed.

Without so little as a word uttered, Neach gestured toward the discovery he had made only minutes earlier. At first perplexed, Ealar comprehended the motion and ventured toward the rock. Suddenly understanding his brother's quiet and inactive nature, Ealar turned back toward Neach with a look that most closely resembled horror.

"How in the-wh-where-WHAT?" he yelled.

The response which met him was a simple nod of the head by Neach. This cold winter's morning, two village men sat stunned beneath the cover of a large oak tree. In an inexplicable series of events, a common day, which was meant to deal with crops, now provided a much more fertile dilemma.

The men agreed to not speak of this until their work on the plot was done. For the next few hours, they tilled and groomed the land for the next planting, and checked the progress of the already planted crops. The potatoes seemed to be growing well, as their flowers poked out of the ground. A speckling of pinks and white scattered throughout the field proved to be a telling sign of a high crop yield in the years passed.

In many situations, it was commonplace to add a combination of ground up roots to the soil to ensure healthy growth. The winter was in full swing, and any extra measure which could be taken to make sure that the crops survived was vital.

For what seemed like a century, the brothers worked in silence, focused on the goal at hand. As the day came to a close, and the sun began to slip below the hill's crest, Ealar and Neach found themselves in possession of blistered hands, and an inkling of curiosity about the rock which they had found earlier.

They gathered their tools and set off for home, as darkness encapsulated the valley. In the winter, the work days were much shorter in the winter, as they lacked a viable source of light to keep them working after the sun had set. It took quite a while for either brother to speak a word to the other, but eventually it was Ealar who broke the silence.

"What do you think it means?" he asked with a puzzled look on his face. He spent the majority of the walk with a look of disdain upon his face, as he considered the significance of this rock in the middle of the field.

"I couldn't tell you, to be honest", Neach offered, "maybe we should ask father."

With both resolved to the fact that this was the best course of action, they continued back to the village. As Asgall and Ealar had both proclaimed, this part of the day was always the worst. After a long day of demanding tasks, when all you want is a hot meal and the comfort of your bed linens, a long walk still awaits.

It dragged on for what seems like ages, until they got to a fork, which led you in opposite directions of the town. The fork was designed to make travel easier for those who found themselves located on either side of the village. In its earliest form, it was a simple dirt cutaway which provided a guide for the weary travel, but in recent memory, stone borders had been added to provide a more distinct outline in the darkness of the night.

Tonight seemed unusually dark, Neach thought to himself. The typical slight brightness offered by the moon lacked presence, as it was hidden behind the encroaching clouds. Enveloped in almost total darkness, Ealar and Neach suddenly realized that they had headed in the wrong direction. Bound for the other side of the village, the brothers sat down beside a tree located just off the path. The exhaustion from the day of work was taking its toll, and they decided it would be best to spend a few minutes resting.

"So how was the cabbage looking on your side of the land," a belabored Neach asked.

"I always knew you were a freak," responded Ealar.

In utter disbelief, Neach watched as his attempt to engage in discussion with his brother turned into a hostile attack against him.

"You always keep to yourself, you rarely smile, I always KNEW something was off about you; now it makes sense," continued the eldest brother.

"What do you mean I'm a freak?" asked Neach.

"You saw that damned rock, it had your name on it, why would it have your name on it?" a volatile Ealar contested.

Easing into the realization of the events unfolding before his eyes, Neach calmly responded to his brother with a well thought out, respectful statement.

"Well you can go to hell then, you rat bastard!" exclaimed Neach.

Neach attempted to retract his previous statement with a rationalized approach to what was occurring.

"Look, we've seen some things today, we're exhausted, and this is all turning into something I don't like. Let's put aside this bickering and figure out how we're going to get home in this darkness."

In agreement, Ealar rose from the ground and looked toward the west.

"I think it's this way," he proclaimed.

Without hesitation, the brothers headed westward, hopefully toward the comfort of their own homes. Both were brooding over the day, and it was unlikely that anything else would be said for the rest of the night.

Again, they reached the fork, and this time made the conscious decision to head in the direction they believed was that of their home. With his legs barely functioning, Neach struggled onward. Both men felt broken, emotionally and physically. There was no recovery which would sooth their ailing hearts and bodies quite as good as a long night's sleep.

With thoughts of warmth and comfort dancing around their minds, the brothers entered the gates of the village. A candle was lit in the window slit of their hut, and it was clear that someone remained awake inside.

Upon entering, it became apparent that this someone was their father, Asgall.

He sat in his chair, with a glass of mulled cider in his hand. Lacking interest in the boys, Asgall continued to peer out the window into the darkness.

After removing their garments and slipping into their sleep clothes, the brothers returned to the center of the hut to present the predicament that they had discovered earlier. Two more chairs sat across from Asgall as he relaxed next to the fire. Ealar and Neach claimed one individually, and they prepared to approach their father.

A short period of silence was broken by Ealar. He seemed rather lively today, despite all of the work which he had been engaging in earlier.

"Father, we found something today," he blurted out.

His attention now drawn to his eldest son, Asgall turned slowly toward him and gave him a puzzled look.

"What is it that you think you've found, son?" a weary Asgall questioned.

"We found a rock, it-it had Neach's name on it, his full name!" exclaimed Ealar.

With an abrupt turn back toward the window, Asgall realized that this was the moment he had dreaded. It was time to tell Neach the truth.

"Ealar, would you mind leaving your brother and I alone for a few minutes, please," asked Asgall.

A confused Ealar arose from his chair and quickly scampered toward his room. The stage was set now, and Asgall would need the performance of his life to recount the tale, which had been circling through his mind lately.

Across from him sat the newly ordained man of the village. Neach's auburn hair was disheveled and filled with dirt, and infant signs of a beard were evident underneath his jaw line. From an outsider's perspective, this moment seemed rather calm, but from inside the hut, the tension was palpable. Heavy breathing and an uncomfortable look upon Asgall's face told the tale enough for the curious eavesdropper, and after a period of hesitation, he began to tell the story.

"You were only just a boy then, Neach, at my best guess a few days old at most. I went out to our plot one day, it was typical of any other day really, but then again what is typical," rambled Asgall, "when I reached the field, a stone caught my eye across the grass from where I stood. Intrigued, I headed toward it, and when I got there, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There you sat, wrapped in a robe, fast asleep, behind a rock that bore the name 'Coinneach'. I have thought about this moment for years now, son, and I always thought it would be easier than it is today." The soliloquy of sorts was finished with a large sigh by the tired older man. The toil which this information had played on Asgall was evident by the bags under his eyes, as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

To say Neach was confused would be the most understated proclamation ever made. Not sure whether he should scream, cry, or simply run away, he remained quiet and seated, as everything he had ever known about his life was shattered before his very eyes. He hadn't had time to say anything before his legs made the decision for him.

Away he ran, out of the house, into the darkness of the night, without a single care about the danger of the endeavor he was embarking on. Asgall held his hands on his head, as he watched his son bolt through the frame of the door and off into nothingness.

His adrenaline was running so high that he couldn't feel anything in his legs. He ran for what seemed like ages, until he couldn't see the village behind him. All he wanted at this point was to leave it behind him. As if controlled by instinct, Neach headed toward a massive tree, which was found at the base of the western hill. Something was different about tonight. Though there was no light, he found himself seeing things in a way he had never seen before. Vivid colors that he had never witnessed filled his plane of sight, as he nestled himself beneath the cover of the tree.

His breathing remained heavy for an extended period of time, and as he sat beneath the tree, he began to sob.

He sobbed softly, with his head held in his hands, and thought of all which he had experienced in his life under the false pretense that these people were his family. It was too much to handle, he wasn't sure how to escape these feelings which were permeating his very being. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, like a carnal fire had been lit within his body and was radiating outward in a flame of anger.

He sat beneath the tree for a few minutes before he understood the imminent reality of his situation. He was unsure of where he was, and unsure of what direction to travel in. He was reserved to the options of either sleeping beneath the tree, or attempting to find his way back home from where he was at the moment.

Before he could muster up a decision himself, he heard the peculiar rustling which he had heard only a night earlier. It sounded like a drunken animal was stumbling through a wooded area, hitting every tree as it walked past it.

Neach's breath coagulated in the air in front of him, the winter chill ever present, hours after the sun had set. He shivered, partially in response to the cold, and partially in response to the sobbing which had ensued earlier. Bitter cold turned his hands into frozen slabs of meat, which were about as useful as the dead plants that made up the field in front of him. He knew he'd need to make a decision and quickly, before the chill turned into something more serious.

Just as he was about to head off in the direction of his home, he heard the rustling again. His head snapped around in an astonishingly quick fashion, and attempted to locate the source of the noise. An unsuccessful effort, he once again began moving toward the comfort of his home. Memories of the night which had previously passed danced around in his head like a tribal ceremony, and they prevented him from maintaining clear thoughts.

It was then that he heard the strange noise for a third time, much closer to his location. He froze in place, a product of the temperature and the fear which was captivating him. It felt as if a cold breath was being exhaled on his neck, and the hairs on his back stood up. Slowly, and with extreme caution, Neach turned his body around to face the imminent danger.

What stood before him shocked and comforted him in the strangest way. It was another wolf, yet this time, its eyes glowed purple in the night. The eyes were so radiant that they provided a lantern of sorts for Neach to see the ground around it. Differently from the last encounter he had, Neach felt at ease in its presence. It did not approach him, or make a sound; it simply trotted around him and ran into the darkness. What was left behind was an iridescent trail that illuminated itself through something that was reminiscent of a spider web. It was at this point that Neach decided what he was going to do: follow that trail.

# IV

It wasn't unusual for roosters to crow so late in the morning. In fact, the way the weather had been this winter, it wouldn't have been surprising to find out that they had fallen off and died in the night from the cold.

Neach laid in bed, warm and comfortable. He tossed and turned on occasion, but was, for the most part, in a deep sleep most of the night. He dared not budge at the first shimmer of sunlight in the morning.

When his eyes finally opened, he let out a yawn. The yawn seemed to make his entire body shudder as he exhaled the exhaustion which had plagued him the night earlier.

Ah yes, the night earlier.

"What happened?" he wondered aloud.

As he recounted the events of the previous night, it all seemed so overwhelming. First, his father had revealed to him that he was not his true son. The pain of this news was so great that it drove Neach out of the house and into the wilderness, in the dead of the night.

While Neach wandered the forest alone, he experienced something rather strange. Another wolf approached him, and restrained itself from attacking. In fact, not only did it refrain from attacking him, it provided a path back to his home from the tree he sat under. This was no ordinary path, either; it was an illuminated path that the wolf seemed to lay behind itself as it walked.

With the guidance of the glowing path, Neach strolled into his hut during the wee hours of the morning. He did not wake his parents, nor his brother; he simply slipped into his bed and went to sleep.

His body had been aching after the toll it had undertaken throughout the day. Remarkably, this morning Neach felt in good spirits. Although the idea of his parents deceiving him for all of this time still rolled about in his head, he felt rejuvenated. He felt as if he had slept for an entire week, in the most comfortable linens possible.

The warmth in his room was refreshing after the cold of the night prior. The struggle to remove himself from his bed was evident and it took a fair amount of time for it to happen. Once he had sat himself up, he was forced to approach the situation at hand. He had left his home, after finding the truth from his father, and bolted into the wilderness. Surely there would be explaining necessary, as his parents must have worried sick about his wellbeing.

He casually put on clothes and lifted himself from his bed, while he moved toward the door. The door careened open and swung with a fury he had never seen before. It slammed into the wall behind it, and shook the glassware with a harsh "thud". Upon leaving his room, he saw his family situated at the table in the living space, all looking up at him, as he entered the room.

The silence was palpable; all parties involved not willing to compromise whatever position it was that they felt they had. The first to break the silence was the stoic figure who was seated farthest away from Neach.

"So, where did ye run off to last night, son?" inquired Asgall, the tension supremely evident in his voice.

Neach thought for a moment before he offered any explanation. What did he owe these people? This façade of a family had led him astray down the path of life for the better part of two decades. There was no incentive to let them in anymore. However, he appeased their desires and attempted to construct a detailed version of the events which had taken place the night previous.

"I went out to the fields," he stated, "I thought it was better than starting a fight."

Lines of worry had sought residence in each family member's face, and the harrowing night before was evident from the exhausted looks that were maintained.

"We tried to find you," a tired Ealar said, "where did you go, Neach? You can't go running off like that!" His anger increased with each sentiment, and it threatened to coalesce into a full blown rage.

Although he and Neach were only a few months separate in age, as the eldest brother, it was his responsibility to maintain a healthy familial environment.

Neach was unsure of what to say next. Unaware of the coming repercussions for his actions, he simply stood there, staring blankly at the wall.

It was his father who came to his rescue.

"Come with me son," Asgall demanded, in a passive manner.

His father had a way of hiding his emotions on most occasions, but this time things were different.

Asgall guided Neach out the door of the hut and along the path which was located outside. The sun was shining today, and it seemed that maybe winter was easing its grasp on the valley. Birds could be heard chirping, but their location was something that only they knew. The sounds of nature encapsulated the two men, as they journeyed through the village.

Just about on the outskirts of town, there was a small collection of chairs. When the weather was nice, the townspeople would venture here to play music, or simply engage in thoughtful discussion. This was the case today.

His father knew that both he and his son had explaining to do. It would be unfair for him to realize that if he hadn't held this secret in for so long that maybe Neach wouldn't have run off.

In the calm, comforting nature he always exerted, Asgall begin the discourse with his son, hoping that he could validate any worry he may have felt.

"Ye know, it was difficult for me as well" he began.

"Watching you grow up, never knowing how I would be able to tell you the truth. You see son, there's things in life that we cannot control. Finding you abandoned in that field is one of those things. However, I wouldn't change it for the world. You've grown into a fine young man, and I want you to know that regardless of our blood relationship, you are, in fact, my son."

Neach chewed on the words like an overcooked piece of meat. Their hard to swallow realism was something that Neach was hoping he'd get used to. Once he digested them, he responded to his father's kind hearted sentiments with some of his own.

"I just don't understand, father, if you're not my parents, who are? Why would they just leave me there to die? It's not fair!" Neach exclaimed.

His new manhood was evident in every word he uttered. Neach remained caught in a veritable limbo with the reality of his situation; that he was both a new man, yet only days ago he was a boy. He struggled with his emotions, and he hoped he could be better for it one day. Asgall understood this, and he tried his best to work with his son.

"I know, son. I wish things were different, but unfortunately, all we have in life is what is written in the pages of our realities. We may not like what has happened, we may wish to change some things, but our story has been written in a perpetual ink that will not smear." Asgall's words lingered in the air above the two men, as Neach attempted to digest them once again.

Neach sat there, wondering what it all meant, but also wondering whether he should tell him what had happened whilst he was out in the wilderness the night before. After a minute or so of contemplation, Neach decided it was best.

"Father, I saw another wolf last night. It approached me, without a sound, and carved a path back home. What does it mean? It didn't even seem real, maybe I was imagining it." Neach had approached the border of insanity at this point. With the things he had learned in the last few days, it didn't seem impossible that something he thought he knew would turn out to be false.

Asgall sighed heavily. He fell into a daydream of sorts, thinking back to the day when he had found his son behind that rock in the field. He remembered thinking that he was special. It was as if his skin radiated with purity, as if he were sent by the gods to bring love to the community. He had spent years trying to rationalize everything which had happened by deeming it happenstance. With the details offered to him now, it was all seeming to reify itself into reality.

"Son, I think you need to go. You are a man now, and your brother can look after us. It pains me to say this, but I think your future and your destiny lie in the city. It can offer much more explanation for you then I can. Go, embark on a journey, your journey. I want more than anything for you to find the answers you seek."

A stunned silence seemed to hang over the outcrop like the thick winter clouds, which appeared to be rolling in over the hills. He had never left this village; he was born here, bred here. The countryside had raised him, taken him in for its own. Now his father was telling him to leave it. The existential crises flooded his brain and threatened to drown him in his own thoughts, once more.

It took some time for Neach to muster up a response to his father's suggestion. He uttered the words in a meek delivery that was barely audible.

"Okay," he whispered.

And so, on this day, as the winter let ease its grasp upon the valley, Asgall let ease his grasp around his son and asked him to go on a journey. This reality was hard for both men to comprehend, as they sat on those chairs in the crisp winter breeze. Unsure of what lie ahead, they rose up without a sound, and headed back toward home.

Upon arriving home, Neach was faced with yet another dilemma. He wasn't sure what he was meant to tell his mother. He couldn't just leave her, without as much as a parting glance.

Neach spent the next few hours in his room, staring at the ceiling mostly. His mind was racing like a full grown deer through the forest. He wished it would stop, but he soon found himself succumbing to a daydream.

He felt the warm breeze on his face. A mist seemed to hit him on the cheek, as he looked up and out onto the horizon. His body was filled with the warmth of the sun, as he lay on a rock in the sand. The sand acted as a heater for his legs, for the heat of the sun had been captured by it and saved for a later use.

The smell of the salt in the air was so vivid in his mind, that he could have sworn it was real. He closed his eyes in his dream, and they felt warm as well. Everything about his body seemed to be espousing perpetual heat into the air around it. It was a nice change from the dreadful winter which he was experiencing. He stared up into the sky and saw not a single cloud. The passionate blue stretched from the water, all the way over his head, and behind him.

He had never been to the ocean, but he had heard stories. This must have been a manifestation of those tales he had heard when he was young. It was as if he had been here hundreds of times already, by how vivid the visions were. He peered around and took in the beauty of the shore, but was startled when he looked down.

Beside him, lying in the sand, was the wolf which he had seen the night earlier. Its glowing body was amplified by the sunlight, which hit it with full force. It looked up at him and licked its lips in a sort of serene relaxation.

Suddenly, he felt comfortable. A weight seemed to have been removed from his shoulders, and he lay back across the rock. The sun was beating with its maximum potential at this point, and he wanted to soak in every single ray possible. He closed his eyes again and sought to enjoy it. Even though it was a dream, it was a dream which he hoped to see realized. Everything about it seemed to make the situation he found himself in more bearable.

It was like he found solace in the company of this wolf, as the two sat on the shore. The wolf's calm nature provide a much needed contrast to Neach's overworking brain, and the two existed in a equalized harmony on that sand.

Beautiful would have been too minimal of a term to describe the scene he was picturing. Nearly everything about it was perfect. He felt at home.

That home feeling was abruptly ended, when he awoke with a shiver in his bed. The fire must have been put out ages ago, and Neach found himself asleep on top of the blankets, which would have helped to keep in the majority of the heat. A long distance away from where he wished to be, Neach's teeth chattered in the cold winter air that had now infiltrated his bedroom.

He sat up in his bed and looked out the hut toward the rest of the village. He had slept through the rest of the day and missed his family as well.

Asgall suggested that he leave Spleuchan Sonse and head for Leirwold. Neach had never been there before, and wondered what it was that the city could offer him.

He often mulled over things, but recently he found himself doing it increasingly more. It seemed everything required exponentially more mental energy than it required physical.

After a few minutes, he came to a realization. His father was right, he needed to go to the city.

Not only did he need to go to the city, he needed to do it tonight. If he didn't make the decision now he'd never leave. And so, in the dead of the night, Neach began to pack his belongings to bring with him on the trip. He figured he would be gone for a few days at most; he was simply going to find out any information he could about his parents, and the life which had seemingly slipped through his fingers.

He couldn't tell his mother where he was going; not only was it difficult, he wasn't sure that she deserved any answers. And besides, his father knew where he was going, and that was good enough.

This rationalization provided comfort for Neach, as he gathered his things.

Nothing of note was placed into the bag except for the piece of the tree, which he had cut down himself only a few days earlier. This branch would serve as a reminder, he thought, of where he came from, and what it is that he was leaving behind for the time being. He knew it would take a day to reach the city and a day to come back, so he assumed that five days would be enough time to discover anything worth knowing.

He left his room and headed for the door.

Outside the door, the world awaited. There were things which he was unaware of, a journey which had neither a concrete destination nor goal. The only thing that was present and evident was an arbitrary desire of his. He hoped to learn the truth; the truth of his birth, his existence.

The only way he could find these answers was in the city. And so, on a cold night in winter, Neach set off for Leirwold without the slightest idea of what it was he needed to do, or where specifically it was that he was going.

# V

The night sky offered no comfort in its dark and expansive abyss. Only a few stars could be seen shining, and the moon was covered by a thick layer of clouds. The weather seemed to change frequently here. One moment there was vibrant sunshine, the next, a cold rain would be falling. This spontaneity worried Neach, as he embarked toward Leirwold.

He knew that he needed to head eastward over the hill in order to go in the general direction of the city. A specific anecdote his father had told him rang true in his mind, as he walked along the path toward the hill.

When he was younger, his father had told him of a trip he had made to the city as a young boy. Accompanied by his parents, Asgall had been taken there to see a musical performance. Music was a large part of the culture of the valley, and his parents knew of a man who had been born in Spleuchan Sonse, and moved to Leirwold in hopes of becoming a famous musician.

This man, Daniel, as his father had called him, was not just any man. He was a phenomenally skilled lute player, and his talents had apparently taken him to the pinnacle of musicianship within the community in Leirwold.

This story played through in his mind and was important for a specific reason to Neach. His father had mentioned that he would reach a fork in the road near a large tree and upon arrival, he would need to go left.

Neach carried on with his journey as this information embedded itself in his mind. Any advice he could have would be crucial to his survival on this trip. The wind howled and the cold seemed to insert itself inside of his clothing. There was no escaping the winter chill and as he reached the top of the hill, a light snow began to fall.

Snow was not uncommon in this area, but only a few times yearly. The flakes fell from the sky like tiny dancers and nestled themselves in the foliage surrounding the path. It was a beautiful sight to witness as the sun was rising. The light hit the flakes and acted as a natural lantern.

After a few minutes, the grass began to be covered by the snow. Neach had a preference to this weather. He loved watching the valley become immersed in a blanket of white and the contrast of the wood smoke on the pure white ground. There was something about snow that made him feel at home. It acted as a natural representation of how felt on the inside. Even when things are most cold, there is still beauty to behold.

Onward and upward he trudged down the hill and into a gulch that was present at its base. The path was starting to accumulate and it was becoming difficult to see in the winter haze. His clothes were wet but a burning fire within him convinced him to push on through the frigid conditions.

The grass was completely covered by snow now, and it gave a serene quality to the landscape around him. A vast expanse of grass and trees, covered in a white layer that seemed to connect with the sky in a seamless fashion. If you weren't careful you would be keen to think that the world around you was simply a circle of white.

Snow built up in his hair and he promptly shook it off.

Up ahead he saw the fork and tree which his father had told him about in the past. Continuing to the left, Neach put his faith in his father's word as he bounded toward the ultimate destination: Leirwold.

Sporadic bursts of snow temporarily blinded Neach and created a thick layer of snow once he had traveled a ways on the path. It was nearly impossible to see anything around him, it was as if he were enveloped in a white cloth that shook his core from cold in every instant.

Alas, he pressed on, hoping that his journey would turn fruitful shortly. He had been travelling for what seemed like an eternity but what in reality may have been a few hours. In the distance he saw a deer run across the path. Maybe it had lost its family, maybe it was looking for food. In a strange sequence of events,

Neach could identify with the deer. It was like their lives met in congruence and they were capable of having a palpable relationship in that moment.

In the distance, it appeared he could make out a vague outline of the outer walls of a city. His vision worsened from the incoming snow and wind, he was unsure if he were imagining it or if it were something of note. He walked a bit further until it was apparent now. About a mile or so in front of him sat the defensive walls of a majestic city. It was breathtaking, even from afar. He saw the exquisitely carved stone which made up the watchtower and marveled at the engineering feats which must have taken place to craft such a massive structure.

His pace increased at a noticeable rate. Threatening to break into a full sprint, Neach collected his emotions and trotted back down to a walking pace. His insides burned with the passion of curiosity and hunger. Both literally and figuratively, he hoped he could acquire something to eat once he entered the city's gates.

He was so close to it now that he could nearly taste it. The vague outline had now materialized into a stoic stone edifice that loomed over the countryside in an imposing manner. The snow had let up and his journey began to slowly deescalate into a smooth walk. His clothes and body wet, he strolled along the path which had now morphed into a complex road, complete with handrails and new stone foundations on the ground. With each footstep, his shoes collided with the stone under the snow and caused a muffled reverberation in the early morning hours.

It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Even from the outside, the city was a marvelous sight. At the top of the towers, archers paced back and forth awaiting any outside threats. Below them, a collection of guards stood watch over the stalls and townspeople who found themselves outside the city walls.

From both sides, a road wrapped around. Even at this early hour, the street was showing signs of potential for the day to come. Vendors were coming with their fruits and vegetables in hopes of selling or bartering their product.

Neach couldn't help but let a smile encompass his face. The joy of what he saw was a strong contrast to the state of his clothing and hair. Soaked from head to toe, Neach looked the part of a weary wanderer. His agricultural upbringing was evident from the clothing he wore and he was unabashedly a villager from the way he carried himself.

The area around Leirwold held a multitude of villages. Each village was run by a collective of men who made decisions for their respective constituents and attempted to provide them with the best living conditions possible. It was unlikely that the people in any of these villages would make a trip to Leirwold more than once a year.

Leirwold was where the King resided. Although the villages were not controlled completely by his rule, he did have a minimal impact on their wellbeing. If there town were to be raided by a foreign force, the standing army of Leirwold would be there to defend them within a few hours, assuming they received word of the attack.

Leirwold was the urban hub of the Kingdom of Duncairn and was the residence of some of its brightest minds. Within the city walls, education and art flourished. A brilliant example of the greatness of the people, Leirwold was the reification of all which was good in the Kingdom.

As a child, Neach rarely heard about the Kingdom or Leirwold in general. The villagers were strikingly removed from the everyday occurances and the only thing which could identify their allegiance to their kingdom was a singular flag which flew in the northwestern corner of the town.

The flag was a bold crimson color with a triad located at its center. The triad was an orange triangle with a yellow symbol in the middle. On the fringe of the left part of the flag was a jagged yellow pattern as well. Although not something that the villagers prided themselves upon specifically, the people of Spleuchan Sonse owed it to the Kingdom of Duncairn for their protection and future.

At the top of the watchtower, this same flag flapped in the snow and wind as Neach approached the city walls. His ragged body was greeted promptly by the guards who were located in front of the open gates.

"State your business, sir," the guard on the right proclaimed. His strength was evident in the booming voice which emanated from what seemed like the very depths of his body.

Neach quickly replied with something he himself was even surprised at.

"I'm here to see a family friend," he stated, "Daniel the lute player, I'm not sure if you know him."

Seemingly not fazed by Neach's presence, the guard's stepped aside and allowed him free entry into the city limits. What he saw upon his entry nearly stopped him in his tracks.

For as far as the eye could see, masses of people filled the city streets and flocked from shop to shop with bundles of goods in their hands. Stone buildings lined the streets and housed everything from an apothecary to a butcher. The city was alive with the spoken word of virtually every person who was on the street. On such a cold winter's morning, Neach expected to see very few people out.

But then again, Neach wasn't sure what he was expecting exactly. For a man who had never left the valley which he called home, Leirwold was a shocking discovery in his young adolescent life. To see things of all natures, from all places, available for purchase in a small area was breathtaking. The scenes that were taking place out on the street far surpassed anything his mind had ever conjured in reference to this place.

His expectations, little they were, were blown out of proportion when he entered those city gates. The hustle and bustle of city life seemed to invigorate his cold and wet body as he headed to the left down a street labeled "Wold Way".

"Such a strange name for a street," he thought aloud.

However, he could not argue with its connotation as he was sure that he would find someone in this general direction. The city beckoned for him to enter its grasps and he headed down the street to do just that.

So away he went, down into the heart of the city.

He couldn't help but notice the extraordinary architecture which surrounded him with every step. The buildings looked like something out of a story conjured up by someone with an equally extraordinary imagination. On either side of the street, a line of buildings complete with ivory and gem encrusted edifices ran parallel to each other as if they were two rivers of wealth and glory running simultaneously.

His feet clanked along the cobblestone as he made his way further into the city. Even on its outskirts, Leirwold was a truly remarkable place. People, elderly and children alike, comprised the entirety of the walking space and gave birth to the city as a living organism.

He had walked for nearly half a mile before something caught his eye on the right side of the street.

There, nestled amongst the vast expanse of shops and eateries, was a shop that was simply titled "The Musician's Room".

The only person whom Neach was aware of that may or not have been living in the city still was the man from the story his father had told him. This "Daniel" was the only inkling of hope that Neach had of navigating the city and he had put every single ounce of effort into finding this man.

As he entered the space, his gaze was met by the steely reciprocity of who he could only assume was the owner of the store.

The man sat, crouched beneath the counter, but just visible enough to ward off potential shoplifters. He was wearing a raggedy shirt and had a prominent beard hanging from his chin. The beard was one of the first things that Neach noticed. Since his childhood, he had hoped to grow a massive beard like those of his ancestors.

He strolled around the shop looking at the various instruments which were on display. Fiddles of oak and guitars of mahogany littered the walls in a collage of musical beauty. Their craftsmanship evident in the multitude of delicate cuts made into each one individually, the instruments acted as a representation of the man's life. Each one personified a specific event that he held dear within his heart.

Neach seemed to have lost himself in the dazzling aesthetic pleasure of the instruments as he found himself drifting into a daydream once more. Thoughts of his family back in Spleuchan Sonse glided through his head unfettered by the gale winds also occupying the space. He was quickly brought back to reality by the shrill, yet quiet voice of the owner of the shop.

"What is it you want, boy?" he asked.

The people here were better spoken than Neach's family, but Neach identified with this lack of colloquialisms more.

He had spent a fair deal of time in his younger years reading through the texts that his village housed. Tales of fiction, historical significance, and simple education all intrigued his budding mind. Through his consistent application of these texts, Neach developed a much more advanced style of speech.

He was often harassed for it by others in the village. His father and brother, as well as, his mother had grown up with the minimal education and desire for further knowledge that would be feasible in the village. There were many instances where he found himself ostracized from the community because of the way he spoke.

Calmly, Neach responded in a respectful fashion.

"Sir, do you know of any lute players within the city?" Neach queried, unsure of the impending response.

The man seemed perturbed by the question and his response was equally agitated.

"Boy, there are hundreds of lute players in this city, possibly thousands. Get out of my shop if you're going to waste my time" he reprimanded.

Neach was taken aback by the anger in the man's response.

His hesitation was met by a prompt physical response from the old man as he attempted to push out the door and back into the street.

He thought as quickly as possible before uttering a single sentence.

"His name is Daniel!" he exclaimed, hoping to trigger a response from the man.

The man pondered this statement and retorted with less vigor than the first time.

"Daniel, eh, now we're getting somewhere. I'm still going to need more information than that, but it's a start."

A sense of hope was instilled inside Neach as he was guided back into the shop.

The man ventured behind his counter and retrieved two chairs. He brought them forth to the floor of the store and invited Neach to sit down.

"So tell me boy, what's your name", inquired the old man.

Neach," he responded quietly. The confidence he had mustered up to get to this point seemingly gone from his every orifice.

"Neach, you aren't from around here are you?" the man asked with a quizzical look on his face.

His appearance must have been striking to anyone. The tattered dress her wore was representative of people from outside the city. He humored the old man with a response.

"Out in the countryside, a village called Spleuchan Sonse," Neach offered with a tepid tone.

The man's face lit up. His satisfaction was evident as the corners of his mouth curled upwards into a wrinkly smile.

"Ah yes, Spleuchan Sonse," the man repeated in a smooth tone that seemed to comfort Neach, "now I know which Daniel it is you're looking for. Quite a talent," the man concluded. A serene silence hung over the two as the man gazed outside without saying another word. His age was carved into his very flesh in the form of careening valleys and riverbeds in the wrinkles of his face. If you didn't know better you could mistake it for a map of a rain deprived place.

The man stood up and ventured slowly back behind his counter. Not sure of what his sudden departure meant, Neach reciprocated the man's first question.

"W-well, what's your name, sir?" he asked, his confidence gaining with each statement.

He stopped at the corner of the counter and turned back toward Neach. The counter was carved out of a reddish wood and had intricate patterns etched into its side. A masterpiece of craft, it was common for the insides of buildings in Leirwold to be furnished with such things.

"My name is Lucas," the man started, "and I am the instrument craftsman in this great city of Leirwold."

Neach remained seated and awaited the return of Lucas anxiously. He had gone past the counter and was rummaging around in the back of the store. Things were falling and it was apparent that Lucas was not the most organized person who had ever held residence in a shop.

He emerged a few minutes later holding a lute in his hands. Its oak body was brilliantly polished and it had multiple knots carved delicately into its face.

Although Neach had never learned to play the lute, his brother Ealar had frequently provided background music at various festivals and town engagements. The instrument struck him with its beauty and to his surprise; Lucas beckoned for him to take hold of it.

"This lute here belongs to the Daniel you seek," the man stated.

He held it in his hands and it was as if the songs of a hundred musicians before him reverberated in his hands and into his grasp.

"Tomorrow I will tell you of Daniel's location, but for tonight you must stay here," Lucas said, "the snow has picked up again and night is fast approaching. There's a guest room upstairs that you can claim for tonight," and with that Lucas shuffled back behind the counter.

Neach couldn't believe his luck. He had made it safely to Leirwold and discovered the location of Daniel in such a short amount of time. He hoped that the rest of his time here would prove to be as rewarding.

He headed upstairs to the room which had been pointed out by Lucas and placed his knapsack and the lute beside his bed. The exhaustion from the day's endeavors seemed to be taking its toll on him and he slid beneath the sheets.

As Neach fell fast to sleep in the cover of the shop in Leirwold, his mind ran and ran without his consent.

# VI

He was running.

He was running full speed through a forest which he didn't know his way around. But still, something was pulling him through the thick of the wooded area and he was running from something; something which wasn't defined, a kind of indistinguishable black fog chasing him from behind.

He continued through the forest and all seemed to be pitch black except for the light of the moon above. It shone through the cracks in the canopy of the trees and provided a glimmer of sight for those below. The iridescent nature of the moon bounced off of the fog which was encroaching upon Neach as he ventured through the darkness.

His heart was pounding, threatening to burst out of his chest with every palpitation; his breath was labored and his legs were at risk of collapsing beneath him. It felt as if he had been running for an eternity.

Unsure of how much further he could run without collapsing from fatigue, what appeared before him was a comforting sight. In the clearing ahead of him he saw a glowing red light.

As he got closer to it, he realized that the light was actually something he had grown accustomed to seeing. It was a wolf, red in its body with small orange flames emanating from its fur. Like a smoldering wood fire, the wolf stood its ground as Neach ran past it. Its presence seemed to halt the progress of the black fog, sending it back into the depths of the forest from whence it came.

And then he woke up.

The heart palpitations and heavy breathing were very real, as he woke up in a pool of his own sweat in the bed of the shop where he had laid his head the night previously.

In a state of shock and disbelief, his eyes darted to every corner of the room, hoping to gain his bearings once again.

Everything was just as he had left it. His knapsack placed perfectly, not moved an inch since his initial rest.

He was confused.

Neach sat up in his bed, tearing off his covers simultaneously. The labor of the dream which had plagued his thoughts that night had taken its toll on him.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, he was forced to confront the fact that these wolves kept visiting him, both in his dreams and in his life.

"What did it mean?" he thought to himself.

Surely the recurring theme meant something of some significance. But who could he talk to? Anyone who he made privy of the information would deem him insane and simply a "crazy young boy". He would need to approach the situation in due time. For now his focus would remain on finding out about his parents and how he came to reside with his family.

He garnered the strength to rise from his bed and descended down the stairs into the main area of the storefront.

Downstairs, Lucas was awaiting his arrival with a piece of toast and an egg. A traditional breakfast in the countryside, it was obvious that he was doing his best to make Neach feel at home.

The egg was runny, like the many rivers which wound themselves through Duncairn. In combination with the toast, it created a vat of warmth and comfort within Neach's body.

Outside a light snow was falling. Remnants of the earlier storm, surely, it had left a slight coat upon the surface of the road.

Ever since he was a child, Neach loved the snow. Something about its simple elegance and reflective properties made him feel at home, as if he belonged. He had spent countless nights as a boy, beside the fire in the living area of his hut back in Spleuchan Sonse with the snowing fall rapidly outside, covering the valley in a blanket of white.

He was at peace when it snowed. The homogeneity of snowfall gave a sense of order and rhythm to his life. It was as if it provided a tangible heartbeat, of the world, of his village, into the sky for all to see. The harder it snowed, the more fragile their hearts; each passing storm a threat to the very existence of the crops which provided them with sustenance.

They ate in silence, not a word was needed to communicate the sentiments that both held. They were strangers; one had been gracious enough to let the other stay in his home for the night to escape the snow, the other was hell bent on a journey to find the truth behind what his father had told him earlier.

As the last bit of egg was mopped up by the bread, Neach stood up from his stool. Lucas motioned for him to sit back down again before making a statement.

"I'm not sure why it is you are here boy, but, the man you seek lives in a home about a mile north of here. The street's name is Tuler and it is a strange yellow stone residence; you can't miss it," Lucas proclaimed.

Neach mulled over the information for a few seconds before posing a question of his own for Lucas.

"Why is it that Daniel's lute was here, sir? As a musician, isn't it critical to have your instrument with you at all times?" he asked.

Lucas laughed to himself, a deep wholesome chuckle.

"Why, yes, son, yes it is. Unfortunately there are times where the fates have decided it is best we do not perform, only when nature allows the player free reign over his instrument may he then perform to his full potential," Lucas concluded.

In his best attempt at grandiose philosophical rhetoric, Lucas had struck a proverbial chord within the very foundation of Neach. In a controlled manner, Neach prevented himself from getting carried away with what it was that Lucas had said, and he carried on toward the counter.

"So I shall take this to Daniel, with any message?" Neach asked.

Lucas' face writhed into a smile and simply stated the following:

"Tell that boy that sometimes, the things he believes need fixing aren't necessarily broken in the first place."

With that profound statement, equally regarded as nonsensical by Neach, the village boy took the lute from Lucas' hands and proceeded out the door into the light winter snow.

Had it been snowing any harder, Neach would have been hard pressed to preserve the status of the lute until his arrival at Daniel's home. Fortunately, just as he stepped outside, the snow began to let up and gave him the solace of a dry walk northward.

His mind was running at the pace of the wild deer as he contemplated the potential interactions that the two would have. Unsure if Daniel would even remember his father or not, Neach began to question what it was that he was doing here, alone, in the capital.

This undertaking may have proven too much for Neach to do alone. He was just yet a man, maybe it was possible that he couldn't understand until later in his life. Regardless, he pushed forward toward the supposed massive stone home where Daniel was said to be living.

Up ahead, he saw a gathering of people in a square. They were all surrounding what appeared to be a street performer who had set up a base in the center of the square.

When he reached this gathering, Neach took the liberty to see what it was all about. Intrigued by the display, he stood in the back of the group and listened as the performer went through the motions of his trick.

"Look here now, good people of Leirwold, it is I, the marksman of the North. I challenge any of you to do what is it I am about to do, as I am considered a premier sharp shooter in this land," the man claimed.

Out of his pocket he took a collection of knives which looked freshly sharpened. He ran his finger along the blade and made a grand gesture for entertainment purposes.

After a brief pause, the performer's finger pointed to a piece of paper which was attached to a tree at the far side of the square. At its center, a circle was drawn for targeting purposes. A short wind up and a throw saw the first knife sail toward the tree with reckless abandon. It hit the paper just outside the circle and the people watching applauded.

The second knife was not as lucky as it glided through the air only to find itself lodged in the tree, just above the paper.

The final knife was the subject of a challenge to the audience. Calling on the great performers of the day, this man wished to get the crowd involved so they'd come back for more. The people around him filled the bucket at his feet with coins as he made issued the following challenge:

"To any wayward traveler or resident who wishes to attempt the feats which I, myself, have managed to accomplish, you need only step forward and take hold of this knife which I hold in my hand at this very moment."

A passion burned deep within Neach, the man's arrogance was something which perturbed him and he wished to prove him wrong. With the seizure of all the gumption in his body, Neach stepped forward and accepted the gauntlet.

"I'll give it a go," Neach stated in a quiet voice.

"What's your name, kind volunteer?" asked the man.

"Neach," a more confident Neach stated to the crowd.

"Well then, Neach, here's a knife, the rest is up to you to execute," propagated the performer, his voice dripping with charisma.

Neach stepped forward and grasped the sharp knife in his right hand. From where he stood, he could see the paper clear as the blue sky above after the clouds had parted. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. As he did so, a rush of adrenaline took over and could hear the music of the street performer a block away distinctly in his ear.

He reared back with a vengeance, and hurled the blade toward the tree.

It spun through the air, seemingly in slow motion. Its ultimate destination unsure, but its intent clearly evident, it transgressed the square and lodged itself perfectly into the center of the circle outlined onto the paper.

A near perfect toss, the crowd was stunned. A gasp of breath was all that could be heard until a murmur of whispers was replaced with a resounding applause for the throw that had just been perfectly executed.

He stood without moving for what seemed like an eternity. The tranquil scene of success blended with disbelief was quickly interrupted by what could only be described as a dissipation of the previously formed unit. Men and women scattered and the wind kicked up in the square. It seemed a storm was moving in and it would be best if Neach left for cover.

In a sort of frenzy, Neach began walking northward toward where he believed Daniel's home was.

Ahead of him he read a sign which said "Estates District".

Leirwold was separated into nine districts, all serving a specific purpose to the community it was located within. The Estates District housed the wealthiest of the city's citizens in a collection of massive homes.

Made from the finest woods and raw materials, these feats of architecture loomed over the small residential zone to its southwest. Daunting structures, funded through the successes of Leirwold's elite, these estates just so happened to house the man Neach had come to the city to find.

Through the district he walked, following a multitude of winding footpaths in the wrong direction multiple times. At one point, he gazed upon the royal palace for the first time. Never in his life had he seen a piece of art more magnificent than the castle which stood before him at that very moment.

He turned about face and wandered back in the direction of the center of the district.

The Estates District was one of the smaller districts in the city. Wedged between the Craftsman's District and the Marketplace District, the Estates District offered a prime location in reference to its proximity to both leisurely and life altering goods.

Into the center of the district Neach ventured until he was standing before what could only be described as the most hideously designed building in the entire area.

Wood, which had been colorized yellow using the pigment located in corn, outlined the face and sides of the building, creating a hideously yellow structure which appeared daunting to the wary Neach. There was no way he could be mistaken in finding this house; it had to be the home of Daniel.

In front of the home a long cobblestone path was laid before the doorstep. With increasing trepidation, Neach moved along the path toward the door.

When he reached the entrance, he paused before grasping the cold, brass knocker. He thought about his family back in Spleuchan Sonse, what he had left behind for this moment.

He lifted the knocker and it collided with the metal plate behind it three times before a rustling could be heard from inside.

Scampering about and an extensive amount of collisions could be heard as the owner hurried toward the door to invite the weary traveler in.

As the door opened, all that Neach had hoped for was under siege by the toiling occurring in his brain.

In front of him stood a man whose disheveled hair was the most prominent feature that could be distinguished upon first glance. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days and a musty smell emanated from the inside of the home. From what Neach could see from the doorway, it appeared that although the home was filled with extravagant goods, they were poorly taken care of.

"Hello there la, what can I-Oh-my lute!" exclaimed the man who could only be Daniel at this point.

Daniel removed the instrument from Neach's hands and began to strum a few chords.

It was obvious from their initial interaction that the man who was standing in the doorway in front of Neach was off kilter at the least, and Neach proceeded to make his next claim with trepidation.

"Sir, I believe you know my parents, from your time in Spleuchan Sonse," Neach offered cautiously.

Daniel immediately ceased his playing and stared at the young man who stood in front of him. He carefully examined him for a few minutes before drawing a conclusion in his head.

"Are you him? Are you really him?" asked a bewildered Daniel.

Utterly confused at this point, Neach could only offer a few words in disbelief.

"W-what are you talking about?" Neach answered.

A wry smile expanded over Daniel's face as he considered the words Neach had just spoken. He seemed content with the response that Neach had crafted and motioned for him to follow his steps inside the house.

Neach complied and followed him inside the house. He was struck by the scenes inside of the home more so than he was by the outside. Inside the room he entered, thousands of books were piled on shelves, circling the space. Texts from historical accounts of Leirwold, to books on the theory of music as represented through the lute. He couldn't believe the vast accumulation of knowledge which was present.

Without so much as a glance toward Neach, Daniel continued to walk up the spiral staircase in the far corner of the room. Neach, once again, followed along until they reached the walkway which outlined the whole of the library. A short, but precarious walk around the top of the library and Daniel made a hard left into a small room.

It was dark and Daniel's strange behavior made this a more interesting experience than Neach had hoped.

Neach turned the corner and entered the room where Daniel now resided. Daniel had taken a candle from the shelf and lit it so that now, part of the room was illuminated. He gestured toward a shelf which held seemingly rare texts, based on their bindings being encrusted with jewels and metallic substances.

Daniel reached into the shelf and pulled a specific book out that was barely legible to Neach's eyes. It had rubies inserted in its face and a binding which appeared to be forged from gold. The pages were gold edged and it was evident that the text in front of him was of grave importance to Daniel.

With a shuddering hand, Daniel lifted the cover of the book to reveal the first page. Illustrated in exquisite detail was the head of a wolf with a phrase above it. The phrase read "Yoriik Riamendi", something that Neach was unsure of the meaning of.

He sat quietly analyzing the first page as Daniel stood staring at him with intense passion. Suddenly a light flickered in Daniel's head and he decided to convey a message to Neach.

"This book will have all of the answers you seek," claimed Daniel.

Perplexed because of his inability to read this foreign language, Neach was unsure what he was meant to do. He approached this situation with Daniel as they stood their together in this candlelit room.

"How am I meant to know what this says, Daniel? I'm not sure I've ever seen this language before," claimed Neach.

"Look within yourself, son. There is a man who has been waiting for you; he lives just off the Northern coast of Duncairn on a small island. There you will learn of this book's importance, Coinneach."

Neach was even more confused; Daniel knew his full name and was telling him to embark on another perilous adventure. It was at this point he decided he did not want to know anymore. He wasn't interested in knowing the truth behind his existence; he simply wanted to go home.

But his heart wouldn't give up like that; the passion still burned hot inside of him and he wished to know more, no matter the costs.

And so, he removed the book from Daniel's grasp. He held it in his hands and it felt as if it contained the weight of the world. Its cold exterior sent a shiver down Neach's spine, or rather, the impending nature of the task at hand did. Indistinguishable between the two, it did not matter much at this point. He looked up to find Daniel staring at him intently again before he made a proclamation.

"There is no need to worry, son, in the realm of time we must strive to be minutes when seconds are all that is left, a gust when our soul is a breeze at rest," Daniel stated with a calm authority about his voice.

This statement sank into the deepest recesses of Neach's mind. While he sat there pondering the implications of everything, he was guided by Daniel downstairs to the pantry.

Still carrying the knapsack that he had brought with him originally, Daniel removed it from his back and began filling it with fruits and bread.

"You will need these things for the journey, Coinneach. It should take about three days with a healthy rest each night. The man who awaits you there will want to know your name, you best remember it upon your arrival," said Daniel through a gleaming smile. He appeared content with Neach, as if he had known him for years and was waiting to see him again.

Daniel had once again left the room, as it seemed he was always doing, but returned this time with a bow.

"You will also need this, son, for protection in the wilderness yes, but once you arrive at the island, the importance of this bow will reveal itself," claimed Daniel.

Neach silently accepted the bestowal of the bow upon his person and threw the quiver over his shoulder. Within it were about a hundred iron tipped arrows, much more effective than the wooden ones he had grown up with.

Every child in Spleuchan Sonse was given a bow from a young age. Most of the time it was used simply for target practice and recreational activity, but once every season, the men of the village would partake in a deer hunt. Their hearts beat as one in the pursuit of the elusive antlered creatures.

He knew he could handle himself with the bow and he expressed his gratitude toward Daniel with a nod of his head.

"Go on now, son, onward to the island. Just remember, sometimes you don't need to know how to read it for that book to speak to you," Daniel said.

Neach accepted this advice and bounded out the door of the estate into the late afternoon sunshine- his destination uncertain, his purpose undefined.

# VII

Out in the streets they were dancing.

A menagerie of colors and shapes, Neach had no idea what he was witnessing. There was an atmosphere of jubilation and every citizen of Leirwold seemed to be celebrating in full force.

All around the marketplace, people could be seen frolicking about in the early evening sunlight. Their tunics were colored brightly, as he had never seen before. He waded through massive crowds of people hoping to find his way northward.

Smiles could be seen breaking out upon every person's face in the center as music began to play. The serene sound of a lute accompanied by a horn of some sort filled the air and brought the city to life. The residents who were seemingly lost within themselves were now flocking toward the musicians.

Each person seemed to play a specific role in the beautiful chaos of that day in Leirwold. There was not a single distraught person that could be seen from Neach's vantage point-everyone was imbued with a feeling of joy.

What he was witnessing, unbeknownst to him, was the Festival of the Sun. Brought to Leirwold hundreds of years earlier by a ruling empire, this festival sought to rid the city of evil before the impending springtime.

The people of Leirwold gathered in all of the city centers for a full day, eating and drinking frivolously, in hopes that they could cleanse the city of the doom and gloom which had resided over it in the preceding winter.

Recently, the temperature had been rising all around the Kingdom, and sunlight seemed to be prevailing over clouds, bar a few snowy times.

Neach continued through the marketplace before his eyes fell upon someone standing directly in front of him. Their eyes met and they locked gaze for what seemed like an eternity, as the festival appeared to freeze and the two were brought together.

It was a girl, but not just any girl. She had piercing green eyes, and jet black hair. There was a mysterious aura about her that drew Neach away from what he was doing. He couldn't help but venture closer to her as she did the same toward him.

In the center of the marketplace they met, and spoke not a single word. She simply grabbed his hand and guided him into a group of dancing people. The two joined in the dance and melded without the slightest sense of difference.

The low angle of the sun caused an illuminating effect on her tunic. The blues and oranges vibrant in the late afternoon sunlight, she looked as beautiful as anyone he had ever seen. Her mystical qualities acted as bait for Neach, as the further she went into the crowd, the further Neach would follow her.

She continued through until she reached a clearing near the edge of the district.

Behind them, the music and dancing continued as the people of Leirwold celebrated the end of the season which had left them cold and desperate for a return of better weather. Winter always seemed to do that, even in Spleuchan Sonse. The lack of sunlight and barren despair of winter's wrath caused even the most stable of people to crack under the pressure of the season.

As they reached the empty space in the marketplace, she let go of Neach's hand and began to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going!" shouted Neach.

Without a response, the beautiful girl simply slid into the shadows and disappeared.

Neach was left by himself in the empty corner of the district, completely befuddled, but with a resounding smile still present upon his face.

A stiff breeze brushed across his cheeks as the sun dipped below the outer wall of Leirwold. It provided ample cooling for the heat he had worked up in dancing with the mysterious girl for the past few minutes.

He couldn't wrap his head around what had just occurred; was she real? Did she actually exist? Or was it simply a figment of his imagination, a desirable figure in a life which had been so filled with disappointment lately.

Suddenly, he was brought back to reality.

Night had almost fallen and he was meant to be travelling out of the city, northward toward some island where he would find some man that would teach him something.

The ambiguity of it all toiled with Neach as he headed northward through the stables district.

He had never ridden a horse before.

Yet he also had no means of purchasing one. The idea of having a horse seemed appealing to Neach as it would make his journey much more simplistic. Comparatively speaking to walking, it would probably take a third of the time to reach his destination as it would on foot.

He approached one of the stable workers and asked a simple question.

"How is it that I could go about purchasing one of these horses?" he asked.

The stable worker who could not have been any older than he himself was, replied first with a wry smile.

"You want a horse, yea? Let me go ask me boss," he chuckled as he walked off.

It was evident that Neach was only just a man and considered a boy by many in this city still. Nevertheless, the owner of the stable came out towards Neach with an incredulous glance.

"Who do y'think you are, boy? Asking to purchase one of me horses on the day of the Festival," the man questioned.

"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't aware of the rules," Neach stated with defiance.

His confidence had grown exponentially in his short time in the city.

Taken aback by this admission of difference in such an adamant fashion, the man leered into Neach's soul.

"I tell you what boy, you figure out how to ride one of these here horses, you can have him for free," the man claimed.

Neach was always fond of a good challenge and this seemed to pique his interest.

"Sounds like a good deal," Neach responded.

"You have three tries, son, if you can't do it in that amount, then you n'er would be able to in the slightest," barked the man.

His rude nature seemed to spark a charisma inside of Neach. His desire to win and prove the man wrong would hopefully lead to his success ultimately.

He approached his first attempt cautiously.

Neach placed his hand firmly on the back of the horse and prepared to hoist himself up on top of it. After a few pumps to gain his footing, he threw himself upward.

What happened next was comical. He overshot the horse and flew over the other side of its body, crashing to the ground below.

The man stood laughing with his stable hand, bearing all of the three teeth he was in possession of.

Neach fumed with anger. He clenched his fist and seemed eager to throw all of it into a punch directed at the stable owner.

But he remained composed and walked over to the horse again.

The horse was a beautiful chestnut color, with eyes as big and brown as the trunk of the trees that lined the hills in Spleuchan Sonse. He seemed relatively good natured and Neach hoped to gain his trust. This time he thought he might take the more reserved, cautious approach, as opposed to hauling himself up quickly.

He again walked toward the horse, intent upon mounting it and taking it under his control. Placing his hand on its back again, he put his foot into the left stirrup. This time he was set upon making it atop this majestic creature and riding it off into the sunset.

This lift was much smoother, and he threw his right leg over the other side of the horse and his left remained in the stirrup. Unfortunately for Neach, the horse was not keen on having him sit atop him. He reared his head and shouted out into the air as Neach flew backwards of his back, once again crashing into the ground below.

He was furious now.

Unsure of what to do, but equally unwilling to give up just yet, Neach sat down on the ground beside the horse. He closed his eyes. All he could hear was the laughter of the stable owner, but he attempted to drown that out. After a few moments, he was successful. The only thing which he could hear was his own heartbeat.

Until something spoke to him.

"He knows you, you know him," it said.

"As the clouds roll in, you too must roll; show your benevolence," it spoke again.

In a state of serenity, Neach opened his eyes and rose to his feet. In front of him stood the horse, majestic and strong, a representation of all that was natural and good in the world.

He heeded the advice of the mysterious voice and crouched down onto the ground again. He and the horse made eye contact, and Neach slowly pushed himself forward until he rolled right in front of the animal.

"The hell is he doing la?" queried the curious stable owner who was looking on.

But Neach seemed to know something the others did not.

As he reached the feet of the horse, it turned itself sideways toward him. Seemingly beckoning for him to mount him, the horse breathed slowly and heavily. Neach cautiously touched its back again and placed his right foot into the stirrup this time. With a swift motion, he hauled himself and his left leg over the top of the horse.

His left foot slid into the other stirrup as the two men looked on in disbelief. Perched atop this stunningly beautiful animal was a village boy who had never ridden a horse before.

He sat there, without moving, for a few seconds. A smile as wide as the river outside the city walls spread across his face as he comprehended the reality of the situation. He trotted around the enclosed area of the stable and the stable owner looked on in awe.

"How in the world did you do tha? Never in my life must-- you", before he could finish, Neach gave the reins a bit of a tug.

He could be seen riding off into the distance, out of the city gates.

The cobblestone was much different to ride on, Neach thought.

Maintaining his focus, Neach galloped through the gates and over the bridge which connected the city to the other side of the river.

The sun was setting just over the hills in the distance. Around him was a vast expanse of grass and trees that appeared to be untouched by humanity. He had always felt at home in nature and this moment was nothing less than that. Everything from the weather to the horse he was now riding seemed to strike a chord deep within his soul. Peace, serenity, a complete equilibrium that could only be experience in solidarity.

Once the adrenaline finally wore off, Neach stopped his horse and dismounted, attaching him to a tree near him. Luckily, this tree had fruit that it bore and it appeared to be edible. He grasped one of the fruits in his hand and fed it directly into the horse's mouth.

"I think I'll call you Rine," remarked Neach.

The horse was, unsurprisingly, unaffected by this proclamation and continued to devour the fruit which Neach had given it.

The sun had all but disappeared behind them by now. The sweet serenity of the landscape captivated Neach as he sat with his new friend beneath the cover of the tree.

Darkness was not welcomed; in fact, it was at this very point in the year that darkness is the one thing you dreaded about each day. It came swiftly and early, shrouding all of the beauty of the land around you in a cloak of blackness that wouldn't be removed until the morning. This cloak brought with it shivering cold and the solitary confinement offered by the night sky's presence overhead.

As it crept in, Neach and Rine sat beneath the tree and gazed out at the open meadow in front of them.

A few colorful flowers could be seen poking their heads through the small layer of snow which still remained and they offered a speckled contrast to the overall bleak nature of the ground. These flowers proved to be evidence that winter was indeed ending and that a new season was primed to begin.

Even tonight, with the sun down, felt warmer than many nights previous. For the first time in what seemed like ages, a warm breeze swept over Neach as he lay on the ground beneath the stars. What had begun as a beautiful day in the city had ended as an equally beautiful one outside its walls.

In the distance, mountains could be seen with their snow covered peaks protruding far from the horizon. Neach had never seen a piece of natural creation which was so massive. Even from such a long distance away, it was clear that those mountains were larger than the hills outside of Spleuchan Sonse.

They captivated him. In his exhaustion and seeming bliss, Neach gazed upon the mountains with a smile upon his face. A warm sensation seemed to fill his body as he remained level with the grass in front of him. Their planes brought together as one in a synthesis of nature and humanity.

Nothing about what he had experienced earlier made much sense, but there was an inexplicable comfort in this fact. He knew not what to expect upon his arrival at this mysterious island, nor did he know what it meant that he was bestowed with this book.

This book, which spoke to him, assisted him. But surely that had to be his imagination? No one in their right mind could believe that this book had actually formed words and cast them at Neach. It must have been intuition, or maybe he was really crazy.

One thing which he could not work out as purely mentally conceived fiction was his interaction with the girl in the marketplace. As he lay motionless on the cold ground beneath that fruit bearing tree, thoughts of her danced around his head. He closed his eyes and her soft skin was brushing against his arm. She curled into him and embraced him beneath that tree. Fortunately for Neach, this thought would have to do for the night. There was nothing else which would come to his side at this time and he could only comfort himself with his own thoughts.

The night seemed to pass by in an instant and Neach was awoken by the brightness of the rising sun in the distance. Surprisingly, he wasn't cold when he awoke. Instead, he was filled with the warmth of adventure as he set off with his horse in the direction of the mountains which were located northward.

Rine had fallen asleep a few feet away from where Neach was and was standing, attached to the tree when Neach opened his eyes. This majestic creature was now under Neach's supervision and he hoped he could do it justice. He had never owned a horse before; it was seen as unnecessary in his community where everyone owned plots which were manageable on foot.

He wandered toward the horse and rubbed its back gently as a sign of affection. The horse sighed in response and its body shook with a violent tremor. A signal that it was ready to set off again, Neach hoisted himself upward onto Rine's back and adjusted his position.

Up ahead there was lengthy patch of flat land with sporadic trees spread throughout it. In congruence with the flowers that speckled the, now devoid of snow, ground, these trees served as the tangible reminders that even in perpetual flatness, inconsistencies arise. Nothing can remain untouched forever.

Neach gently urged Rine forward and the two slowly galloped through the field. The sun was shining bright to his left and it felt warm on his back.

It was a picturesque scene; a man on his horse riding through the beautiful fields of Duncairn. If it had been painted in that instant, it surely would have been included in the halls of the great artwork of the time. Majestic and iridescent in front of the rising sun, the two creatures came to a crescendo of speed as they whisked through the trees.

There was something innate which gave Neach the ability to ride Rine so swiftly. Effortlessly guiding him left and right, avoiding trees by the narrowest of margins, his spirit felt free. Everything he had ever known seemed to vanish into the air and what was left a colorful burst of nothingness, which embraced him with the passion of a thousand happy souls.

They glided along the plane with the mountains fixated in the foreground; their snow covered peaks loomed over the flatland like a giant peering into a community of ants. With all that had occurred within the last day, Neach couldn't be bothered to worry about the impending trek; all that he filled his mind with were thoughts of the beauty of the day and the beauty of the girl he had met the day before.

Seemingly stuck in perpetuity into his brain, this girl whose name he did not know, who had waltzed into his life freely, was now off wandering the streets of Leirwold, unsure of whether the two would ever meet again.

His thoughts wandered back to home.

Back to the valley which he used to inhabit, free of all worry except the next day's work, the work which had been done for thousands of years on that land by generations of hard working men, the work his brother and father would currently be doing. He missed it, but he did not yearn for the village, for his destiny lay somewhere at the foot of the mountains in the distance or just beyond their snowy peaks. Unsure of his ultimate destination yet hell bent on reaching it, Neach kicked Rine with the back of his foot once more, lurching forward with the speed of an angry sparrow. They seemed to be flying through the wilderness, hurdling unencumbered through the wooded expanse.

As a cool wind blew across his face, Neach's eyes watered and he closed them momentarily. In the darkness of his own thoughts, vivid visions of color and wonder permeated his every line of sight. He opened them again to see the mountains in front of him getting closer and closer with every passing second. The trees had seemingly disappeared and all that was left was a patch of dead grass.

The closer he got to the mountains, the more evident the path located on its face was. A road which appeared to have been carved out by travelers over hundreds of years stuck out definitively against the snow covered top of the mountain. Neach followed it with his eyes back down to the base of the mountain and aimed his direction toward it.

He pulled on Rine's reigns as the two came to a slow trot. Stopping just in front of the entrance to the path, Neach gazed up at the massive mountain which sat before him. In order to get to the elusive man on the island, Neach would need to scale the side of this mountain and make his way over it to the other side; and so his journey began, slowly galloping along the beginning of the twisting rocky outline.

# VIII

The cascading cliffs provided a rough angle in contrast with the flat plain below. Careening sides outlined the mountain as if it were a line of rain fallen around a place of cover. The distinction between rock and grass, harsh and pastoral, was distinct and prevalent as Neach and Rine traveled slowly up the jagged path that led, in a spiraling manner, up the sheer face of the peak. Transitioning ever so smoothly from fertility to absolute desolation, the convergence of mountain and field acted as a tangible aesthetic of the inner feelings that Neach himself felt about the situation in front of him.

He was headed for an unknown land, far in the distance which he had never heard of nor seen before. On the good faith of Daniel and the message he hoped lay within the Yoriik Riamendi.

An absurd name for a text, or in reality, anything in the scope of the world, this text was said to hold the answers that Neach so desired. It would be his greatest teacher, as well as, his most profound source of intellect along the journey. He hoped that he would gain a greater consciousness after the experience, but as it is frequently in life, he could not be sure.

The boy and his horse had been travelling for a period that could not have been longer than twenty minutes when a sudden chill overtook the area of the path which they found themselves on. Rine reared to a halt as they reached a clearing about halfway up the mountain.

It looked as if someone had cut the top of this peak of the mountain off and sanded it down, treating it as though it were a sword to a whetstone. Its flat surface was so well leveled that a bashful individual may have been able to see his own reflection in the glasslike rock.

A gust of wind blew in from the south as Neach and Rine both seemed to shiver from the vigor of the travelling air. Silent and still in the clearing on the hill, Neach dismounted Rine, as he thought that this would prove a good place to cease the journey for the time being.

Almost immediately after he left the saddle atop Rine's back, a new burst of cold air hit him directly in the face, causing him to lurch backward toward the rock wall behind him. His eyes had closed momentarily, and when he opened them, what was now in front of him struck fear into the darkest chasms of his soul.

Standing in front of himself and his horse was a beast unlike anything he had ever seen before.

With eyes a piercing green, more vibrant than the fields below him, and teeth that resembled sharpened jewels glistening in the midday sunlight, this beast resembled a human, if not only in its facial structure.

All elements of humanity had disappeared from its flesh as in its place there stood a myriad of differently shaped and lengthened pieces of ice. It was as if a stalactite had been reified into being by a demented witchdoctor, only for that very witchdoctor to lose control of its creation and have it end up on this very mountain.

Frozen both literally and figuratively by fear, Neach breathed heavily, and as it came out, it crystallized into a cloud in front of his mouth. Incapacitated and unsure of what his next move should be, he remembered the book which had helped him mount the horse earlier.

His first reaction was to attempt to make a connection with it as he had earlier, purely through his brain. Unfortunately, he was in such shock from the events unfolding before him that he was unable to muster the focus or energy to mechanize the book's powers in his favor.

In the secluded world of Spleuchan Sonse, things were organized and well intentioned. Deviance from the normalized culture was not prevalent and your day to day life from birth until demise would be set forth by your elders. In this new world Neach found himself in, a new motif would materialize before his very eyes: spontaneity.

To think on your feet is to remove all cost benefit analyses from the equation. A clearing of the mind and a resolute attempt to allow your body to reach equilibrium before hurling it waist deep into the dark abyss of water below. The mind is most at peace before the most decisive of actions.

And so, as Neach took his next few steps, any reservations about what may have happened were thrown over the edge of the cliff, as he assumed his body would follow suit in the near future.

A side-step to his right saw him narrowly avoid a flying shot of ice directed with one intention: to kill. Rine had run himself behind a rock covering at this point and Neach was all but completely exposed to the beast in front of him.

In its anger, and with a fervent swing, the icy beast rushed forward and attempted to impale Neach on his left arm. Any ounce of humanity which may have been left in this abomination of a creature was surely gone at this point, and the unlawful nature of a beast had taken its place completely.

With a swing and a thrust of its arm, it glanced Neach's right shoulder as he bounded leftward in an attempt to avoid the impending destruction. Having narrowly avoided two attacks from the beast, Neach now lay on the rock floor with blood seeping through his top. A small cut had been opened up on his right shoulder and the crimson color of the blood was now becoming apparent through the fabric that lay atop it.

His movement leftward had placed him closer to his knapsack than he had initially known. It was within arm's reach and he did what he believed was his only option at this point in time. With the icy beast closing in on him, Neach removed the Toriik Riamendi from his ragged knapsack and attempted to read the first few lines that were present in the beginning of its bowels.

"Rusteh firgilli dur Ergawah," he began.

Suddenly, the beast stopped in its current location.

Bewildered at both his ability to read the words on the page and the reaction that the beast exhibited in return, Neach continued to espouse the remaining words on the first entrance in the text.

"Guud polliwus dur Bewwin Wimlo," he continued, "arg newa dur Civve Ghul."

As he concluded his diatribe directed toward the icy beast, now retracting its footsteps and moving further away from Neach as he lay on the ground, he realized the power that was held within the words that he now harnessed the ability to read. It appeared as if even the first entrance in the Toriik Riamendi was an incantation of sorts, but what did it mean?

Before that question could be answered, Neach saw the color disappear from the beast's eyes.

What were once tangible emeralds, sat far back in the sockets of this icy beast, now sat as uncut onyx. A mere shell of the potency they once exhibited, its irises were rendered nearly nonexistent. As the color drained, the ice began to melt from its skin.

In a calamity of both terror and joy, Neach watched as the icy beast was reduced to a heap of sand atop that plateau, whisked away swiftly by the careening winds that traveled across the face of the mountain.

It took quite some time for Neach's heart to cease palpitating. By this time, he had slid himself up against the rock wall which Rine was shuddering behind. He sat up and began to construct a viable explanation for what had just occurred over the last few minutes.

A beast, the likes of which he had never seen, attempted to kill him as he scaled the side of this mountain. Unsure of the implications this held, Neach could do nothing but pant for air as he and his horse rested for a few moments.

The majority of Neach's energy had been sapped from his body after the encounter. The reading of the passage from the beginning of the sacred text that Daniel had given him seemed to have removed every ounce of motivation he had contained within his own frail body over the past week.

Unfortunately, the journey had to continue. Neach had planned on reaching the other side of the mountain that day and hoped that he could reassess his situation once this destination was reached. The sun was still high in the sky, though it had started its descent downward. He figured that he had at least another seven hours of sunlight before travel would be rendered impossible.

And so, after the draining encounter, Neach mounted his horse and set off at a slow trot up the path toward the peak of the mountain.

The chill which had plagued the two weary travelers was now nonexistent. Heat returned to Neach's body, and so too did his energy. After just a few minutes on the path, Neach felt that he was nearly back to full strength. This added to the complex and confusing nature of what had occurred only minutes before.

Instead of attempting to comprehend the larger nature of the events that had transpired, Neach focused his energy on the journey and the ultimate destination.

His thoughts wandered to possible aesthetic qualities of the island he would, hopefully, find himself on, not too far in the future. Never exposed to the idea of islands or even anything further north than his own village until just a short while earlier, Neach could not help but conjure unrealistic fabrications of what this mysterious world might contain.

As they ascended the face of the mountain, the temperature once again lowered. It was evident from their vantage point that snow still remained at its crest. It ran like a rigid stone spine, down the land, dividing it into two separate entities that seemed to be doomed to ever interact with one another. For Neach, making it over this mountain was essential. For even in his exhaustion, his journey was not yet over.

The final push towards the top of the mountain saw the sparse brown grass disappear and be consumed by the snow that was visible from down below. Shivering as he and Rine continued upward, Neach clenched his teeth and prepared to climb the final few feet to the peak.

As the two came over the wrinkle of the stone edifice, what lay before them was a magnificent sight. Through the passage at the top of the mountain, Neach could see the land below and an expanse of water.

Fields of purple and gold littered the land below the mountain in a natural collage of floral benevolence. No settlements could be seen from this view atop the rocky ridge, but it seemed that almost as soon as the fields started, they ended. From what Neach could guess, the shoreline began only about a mile from the base of the mountain. Equally as rocky and lacking the sand he expected to see along the water, the beach appeared daunting in the late afternoon sunlight.

Neach returned to reality and began plotting his path downward. In front of him was a passageway through the top of the mountain which he hoped would lead downward as well. In order to save time, as the sun was fast setting, Neach mounted Rine and cautiously proceeded forward through the snaking path.

The path down the mountain was sheer, not winding as it had been coming up. Nevertheless, with reigns in hand, Neach urged Rine forward slowly, toward the basin of violets and daffodils below. With an overt sense of apprehension, the boy and his horse stuttered down the path in a jagged motion. Though not adroit at the art of equine navigation, Neach had managed to take the pair this far at the expense of merely a few scrapes and unwanted heart palpitations. He could taste the salt air on his tongue as he careened down the face of the mountain toward his ultimate destination.

Before too much time had passed, the two had broken into a full sprint as they travelled through the beautiful flower beds that littered the ground around them with a passionate mixture of purple and gold hues. The sun was now lower but its heat still gave Neach life. He smiled and threw his hands off the reigns as Rine carried him toward the shoreline. In that moment, Neach was without burden. The weight which had been crushing his every fiber for the hours and days prior had seemingly evaporated. Unencumbered by the previous expectation, he felt the wind blow through his hair, he smelled the newly blossoming flowers as they provided and aroma to the impending spring season. Bliss would have been too dull a word to describe the utter euphoria which he was experiencing.

Minutes passed before Neach was brought to his senses by a change in the texture of the ground beneath Rine's feet. A transition from grass to rock let Neach know that they had reached the shoreline and the water was not far. With a firm grasp of the reign and a pull backward, Rine came to a halt about thirty feet from the water's edge.

Neach scanned the horizon and saw what appeared to be a small island only a few hundred feet from shore. In his eagerness it is quite possible this distance was indeed underestimated, but his desire and curiosity rendered the factual determination of distance unnecessary. Neach urged Rine into a swift trot up the shore as he contemplated his options of how it was that he would reach the piece of land floating in the water.

About a half mile from where Neach had initially reached the shore there laid a small wooden boat. As he approached the watercraft from afar, Neach couldn't believe his luck in finding a vessel to assist him in his journey to the island in the distance. He dismounted Rine and surveyed the boat for its provisions. Inside of the boat there was a large paddle, a bench seat, and nothing more. If he was going to venture to the island, he would have to do it in a difficult manner and alone.

Thinking on his feet as quickly as he could, Neach noticed a tree in the center of the field of violets behind him. At once, he led Rine to the tree and tied him up by his reigns. So as not to be cruel to the majestic creature, Neach unpack the food which he had from his knapsack and laid it in front of him. He hoped that it would be enough to allow him time to reach the island and return.

With a firm pat on his rear, Neach left Rine to fend for himself for as long would be necessary. There was a skip in his step as he returned to the boat and attempted to launch it from the shoreline. Fortunately, the waters were just calm enough that Neach could begin movement fairly simply. With a push backward, the large oar which he now found himself in possession of, moved the boat forward ever so slightly. It was the first stroke of many which would be exhibited in order to reach the elusive island that had seemed to be located so much closer earlier in the day. But Neach pressed on, determined to reach the island by sunset. The sun was now burning crimson and orange as it hovered above the horizon, like a bird searching for fish below the water's surface.

He pressed on, hell-bent on forward motion in the direction of the strangely formed rock located a few hundred meters from where he was currently floating amongst the waves. A well-organized stroke of the oar sent the small boat crashing over the crest of the falling wave which finally moved Neach out of the fray that was the water nearest to land. Smoothly maneuvering his way amongst the rocks which speckled the ocean surface, Neach ambitiously hurled the bow of the boat in the direction of the island.

It was as if the beach was in the palm of his hand now as he found a second wind that enabled him to put his maximum effort into the push toward the destination. His gaze could be fixated by little, as it was intent upon the strip of sand that appeared a safe haven to Neach's weary eyes. The final hundred feet or so seemed as if it was a mile in a rainstorm, but eventually the rickety boat made its way onshore.

The sand provided retribution for the journey which had previously ensued. Neach collapsed on its gritty surface as the sun began to fall below the horizon. To his left, the purple and orange of the setting sun appeared as if it were a cataclysmic explosion on the very rift between sky and land. A nebula of iridescent flames that threatened to burn the very world as it was known, the sunset provided a palette of colors that the finest artist would have salivated to have in their possession.

He closed his eyes and his mind wandered to the beautiful girl from Leirwold. Her vivid green eyes were looking into the chasms of his soul as he dreamt of seeing her again. Her deep black hair looked almost purple as it flowed in the wind behind her. The two were riding through a field atop Rine, toward an unknown destination. She was so beautiful that Neach was able to get lost within her stunning qualities. No natural occurrence could deviate his thoughts from her beauty.

The tranquility was disrupted as he felt the tide moving in on the shore. His feet were drenched as the saltwater crept further up the beach. With a swift turn, Neach stood up and scanned his surroundings.

Rising from the sand with unabashed fervor was a collection of trees that were as skinny as they were tall. Their broad leaves cast a shadow over the ground below, in the sunset which was overpowering the tiny island at dusk. A path, rough at best, could be seen snaking through the wooded outcrop and disappearing behind a drop off.

Off into the impending darkness, Neach disappeared. What lie beyond the trees was uncertain, but onward he pressed, hoping for revelation in a time of thinly veiled secrecy.

# IX

The trees hung over the path as if the forest begged to be adorned by their plentiful foliage. Any light which had existed nearer the beach had now disappeared. Exotic animals, which made sounds unlike anything Neach had ever heard before, crooned deep into the misty forest. Smoke lingered in the air ahead of Neach as he wandered aimlessly along the path. Its scent hit his nostrils with a pungent reprieve and at once he knew what it was: a fire.

At risk of breaking into a trot, Neach caught himself as he bounded quickly toward the fire he believed he was closing in on. With a stutter, he stopped in his tracks and crept slowly toward the crackling flame that was only a few hundred meters in front of him.

Exotic was a tame term to define what it was that Neach was seeing on this island. Such flora had never been seen by the young man, and his eyes gaped as he gazed around his perimeter. Large mushrooms with red caps speckled the ground as if they were a fungal rash outspread on the vibrant green land. The trees which comprised the space around him seemed to ascend for eternity, only to be halted by the fanning out of their broad leaves. As a result, a canopy was erected that prevented even the slightest amount of sunlight from reaching the forest floor. At the base of these trees, bright pink flowers were in bloom. They wrapped themselves around the thick part of the trunk as the innocent bystander would be left to determine if they were caressing or strangling the massive plant.

The weather had been improving since Neach left Leirwold. Warmth had overrun the Kingdom of Duncairn and this island was no exception. Even as the sun set, the air was thick with humidity. In a short period of time, the Northern part of the Kingdom had transitioned from the doldrums of winter into the more optimistic early days of spring.

Bugs flew around Neach's head with a sonically pleasing buzzing. It was as if the insects of the forest had united in a symphony of natural harmony, singing the archaic songs of time passed as they circumnavigated Neach's head.

A drop of sweat trickled down from Neach's brow as he crouched behind the trunk of the largest tree he could see. By now, the night had all but suffocated him. All was dark, bar the dwindling fire which he could see twinkling in the distance. He attempted to gauge the situation and plan his next move. If the person who was responsible for this fire was hostile, he would need to be prepared to fight back.

Swiftly and quietly, Neach removed his bow from his back. He drew an arrow from the quiver and strung it, slowly, but surely. With the utmost cautious, he proceeded toward the fire, still crouched low. Even in this dark expanse, his eyes seemed to pick out another pair across the space. They glowed an almost yellow color and they appeared to be staring directly at him.

Moving through the tall grass that separated him from the encampment, he rose slowly with his arrow drawn and began to shout:

"Who are ya? I don't want any trouble," he unleashed with as much vigor as he could muster.

His response was a deep chuckle.

"You there, boy, what is it you're doing on this island?" the now evidently older man rebuked.

Neach paused for a few moments before moving further forward into the opening that had been cleared by the elderly man.

"I'm looking for someone," he said as his feet struck the cleared grass, "someone who is meant to know something about this book, the Toriik Riamendi."

The man said nothing, but instead held a melon in his right hand over the fire.

"If it is really you, the one I believe you to be, shoot this fruit out of my hand with that bow of yours", the old man demanded.

Still about thirty feet away from the man, Neach was unsure of what he was meant to do. Unfortunately, it seemed that he would have no choice in the matter. The melon looked like a small orange circle dangling above the fire. It was as if someone had taken a rock and held it up next to the vibrant, burning sun.

With a deep breath, Neach closed his eyes and envisioned the fruit as larger than it really was. Now the size of a boulder, it would need to be struck dead on impact if injury was meant to be avoided. He opened his eyes again and focused all of his energy on the fruit which was being held firmly in the hand of the old man. The man's eyes reflected the flames which appeared to be licking the whiskers around his mouth. Unkempt and unfazed, the man's steely gaze peered deep within Neach and it ignited another flame deep within Neach's soul.

A swift pull backward and a release saw the arrow hurl through the air toward the melon. With a thwack, it struck the fruit, exploding it into a hundred tiny pieces immediately upon impact.

Almost directly after the destruction of the melon was witnessed in that dark forest, a smile erupted on the face of the old man as he applauded the skill of Neach.

"You're good, but you have a lot to learn, son," the old man said through a distinct smile.

Without explanation, he motioned for Neach to follow him toward the living area of the encampment. On the far side of the clearing, a hut was placed precariously on uneven land. Its rickety structure was evidently constructed poorly, but it also gave off the appearance that it had withstood years of torment within this hallowed ground.

Neach followed closely behind for a few minutes before his curiosity got the better of him.

"Excuse me, sir, who exactly are you? Why am I here?" Neach queried with impeccable speed.

The old man simply laughed and continued about his task of setting up a sleeping area. In the corner of the hut, bedding was placed along with a makeshift pillow. Behind the pillow, an unlit torch was laid as a source of light during the night.

"So many questions, such little time," the man remarked, "soon you will know, but for now, rest up. Tomorrow will be a long day."

With that, the man retreated toward his own side of the hut and seemed to pass out instantaneously. Neach was left to his own devices, now shivering from the night cold. The earliness of the season meant that although the days were warm, the nights would be very cold. He got as much of the blankets he was provided wrapped around his body, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted from the journey that he had been on, but somehow his mind continued to be restless.

It ran to thoughts of Rine back on the beach, and then to a wolf. As he dozed off, the wolf had infiltrated his unconscious. He slept, but inside his mind was anything but relaxation and rest. He was taken outside the encampment in an out of body experience. A few meters above the ground, Neach hovered as he watched a bright green and orange wolf slowly circle the area where he lay.

Unsure of its intentions, Neach felt warmth overcome his soul. It seemed that the wolf was there to protect both the old man, as well as Neach. For the first time in his dreams of wolves, he did not feel afraid. His soul and his body were at peace as they watched the animal prowl around the camp in the middle of the forest. Its body was much like the last, effervescent and vibrant. Its beauty was unparalleled by anything else that Neach had seen in the forest earlier.

All night long, this wolf laid its stake around the area in a sort of securitizing measure to ensure that the men remained safe within the hut. Around and around it went, monotonously moving about, but with such grace that even in the dark forest, the camp was alive with the glory of this majestic animal. The first rays of sunlight fought their way through the thick canopy above and the roof of the hut to strike the closed eyes of Neach on his bedding. He awoke with a groan and he felt the soreness that was present throughout his entire body. Nothing about this morning was going to be easy, yet he knew he needed to rise at this time to show the man that he was dedicated to learning more about this mysterious book and the equally mysterious group of people who had crafted it.

With a roll to the left, Neach hoisted himself upward and onto his feet. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to remove the fatigue from his face, but alas, it was to no avail. Out of the hut he headed, and into the oncoming day he was thrust.

He was greeted by a wooden pail crashing into the ground in front of him.

"Fetch some water son, it's going to be a long day," the man barked.

Still groggy, but determined to fulfill the man's wish, Neach grabbed the bucket and headed for the stream that ran near the encampment. Its clear, blue water sparkled in the broken sunlight that fought its way through the treetops. It flowed slowly, but with intention, directly into the mouth of the expansive ocean that could be seen in the distance.

Only minutes had passed before Neach had returned to the presence of the man in the center of the cleared space where he had spent the previous night. The man was pacing back and forth in a fairly rapid manner, as if every step he took offered a joule of energy through kinesthesia to his weary mind.

"My name is Fenris, and I, will be your," he paused, "teacher," he finished.

"You see I struggle with the word 'teacher', because it is you who will ultimately teach yourself. The path set forth for you is something that is not debatable, what is up to the nature of the world is whether you choose to accept it," Fenris stated boldly.

"As you enter this space every morning, know that others have come before you, and others will come after you, it is completely reliant upon your concentration and dedication whether or not you succeed."

His words cut sharply through the cool morning air and sliced at Neach's bare, open mental flesh. Unsure of what he was getting himself into, Neach treaded carefully, as if every word he spoke had the potential to erupt with the fury of a thousand volcanoes.

"You say I have a path, yet I am unaware of it," Neach said.

A chuckle broke the tension in the cool, early spring air.

"I have heard about you, boy, your incessant questions and attitude," Fenris claimed, "but know this; both can be harnessed to become either your advantage or your hubris."

"Now, follow me, there is work to be done." The two men headed out of the encampment in the direction of a collection of rocks that could be seen far off. Rocks which seemed to have been frozen in place for thousands of years rose up from the Earth and grafted a makeshift shelter.

What Neach could not see from afar, was what lie underneath these ancient stones. Through a small crack in the front of them, an entrance to an underground cavern could be seen upon closer inspection.

Fenris removed the rope belt from around his waist and threw it down into the shallow cave.

"In you go, son," Fenris said.

With a look of bewilderment upon his face, but resigned to the abnormality of the situation he currently found himself in, he approached the cave's entrance.

Upon his first view inside, all he could see was darkness. Not a single glow was present lo a flickering, dim torch light. His view was impeded by hanging vines, but he decided there would be no way around it.

And so, into the dark cavern Neach descended. With a thud, he hit the earthy floor beneath his feet. From above, all that could be seen was the sunlight and rope, both of which disappeared as he headed, tentatively, further into the cave.

After a few steps, it was clear to Neach that something about this place wasn't right. He quickly turned about face and headed to the opening of the cave. With a shout, Neach commanded the attention of Fenris above him.

"Fenris," Neach shouted "what am-" he couldn't finish his statement, as a silencing motion was being made by Fenris up above.

"Be quiet," he whispered, "or you'll wake him," Fenris said.

More confused than ever before, Neach feigned naivety and played along with the game he believed Fenris was conducting.

"Who am I going to wake," Neach responded with a whisper.

"At the back there's a-uh-creature, if you will, he won't take kindly to any sort of rude awakening," Fenris said. At the moment, Neach heard a groan erupt from what seemed to be the very bowels of the Earth. In the back of the cave laid a giant feline creature.

"That there is a lion, Neachy boy, you'd best be quiet as to not wake him; we need those eggs behind him for breakfast," Fenris concluded with a muffled chuckle. He walked away again, leaving Neach to his own devices in the cave.

Neach knew that he would need to plan his next movements according to the sleep pattern of this behemoth which was guarding the prized poultry possessions. He swayed from side to side, slowly, yet at an uneven pace. His nerves were supremely evident as he crept close to the lion.

He did everything in his power to prevent his feet from making any noise as they struck the ground beneath them. Unfortunately for Neach, it was not enough to keep the lion at bay. As he got within an arm's length of the great beast, it began to convulse into consciousness. He backed away, slowly at first, but picking up in pace, until he was engaging in an all-out sprint toward the rope.

Determined to survive this close encounter, Neach mustered all of his speed and launched himself onto the escape vine. Climbing with aplomb, Neach reached the top of the cave as the lion was restrained by a chain. As to allow as little danger as possible, it seemed Fenris had chained the lion up to prevent him from reaching the unsuspecting student.

Alas, Neach's emergence from the cave was met with a raucous, deep laughter. Fenris had fallen over from the humor he took from the experience. Neach had believed he had only just escaped with his life, but to Fenris, there had never been a danger within the depths of that cave.

"What are you trying to do, kill me?" Neach asked.

As he wiped the tears from his eyes, brought on by laughter, Fenris responded with a wry smile on his face.

"Soon you will learn, boy, but for now you read that book until sun down. Nothing worth teaching can be found outside of that text, I promise you" Fenris said as he strolled off toward the camp.

Belabored and full of anxiety, Neach jogged to follow Fenris and headed back toward the hut.

For the next three days, Neach lived and breathed the words in that text. Though the Toriik Riamendi was not in any language he could understand, it seemed that he had some ethereal connection to the words which were cast onto each page of the ancient document. He feared the pages would crumble in his hands at times, yet each word demanded his full attention.

The pages were adorned with gold flakes and shining lettered titles at the top of each section. Unsure of their meaning, Neach turned his attention to the illustrations that sometimes accompanied the passages. After reading through about five pages of illegible writing, Neach glanced down at a picture of a child in a field. He could only assume that this picture held some point of significance, but he wasn't sure exactly what that may be.

And so, on the third day, Neach emerged from the hut and asked for a second opportunity to claim the eggs from behind the sleeping lion. With a bemused look upon his face, Fenris obliged him and led him back to the cave.

"Remember, Neach, if you want to make the lion believe that you aren't there, you must become one with the lion," Fenris claimed, boldly.

This was the first time that Fenris had used Neach's name in reference to him. Perhaps it was a sign of the respect he was accruing. Nevertheless, the two men reached the cave, and Fenris resumed his position up above, with his rope once again hanging down into the abyss.

With a silent understanding, Neach hurdled the rock and careened into the cave floor just a few feet below. The cave smelled of dead animals, most likely ones which had been fed to the lion previously. The stench was so strong at times that Neach had resorted to pulling his shirt over his nose as he continued into the dark.

The cave wasn't massive. It was just deep enough to lose the sunlight once within reach of the lion. But Neach pressed on, with less trepidation than he had earlier. Once again, his eyes fell upon the burly beast which was curled into a ball on the floor in front of him. Its bristly hair provided an expansive meadow of warmth across its back, and its mane flowed like a glistening mountain waterfall of hair.

Beasts such as this were terrifying, but also majestic. Something about the very existence of such a creature lent its hand to a beautiful parallel existence where humans and animals could coexist peacefully.

Unfortunately, this was not a time for Neach to sing the praises of the lion in front of him. The danger was very real, and the goal set forth was also something that weighed on his shoulders.

As if by switch, an idea flickered on inside his head. He saw the breathing pattern of the lion and wondered what would happen if he altered his rhythm to be congruent with the lion's. Outside, rain fell as if it were the heartbeat of the young man inside that cave; persistent, but filled with jagged deviance.

He calmed himself down and attempted to make himself "one" with the massive carnivore in front of him. As he closed his eyes, he saw a plain, but unlike anything he had ever seen before. He was running through it, as if someone had set his back ablaze. The heat from the sun beat down upon his face, and his breathing slowed to the rate of the lion.

With a swift step forward, cautiously, Neach made his first approach on the eggs that were located behind this behemoth of a feline. They sat within a wooden basket. Underneath, grass protected their bottoms from breaking upon the hard rock surface of the ground below them.

His breath continued at its slowed pace, as he lifted the eggs from the ground and claimed them in his possession.

Slowly, he backed away from the lion and fought against his will to keep his breath at the decreased pace he now found it maintaining. With the eggs caressed strongly against his chest, Neach broke into a trot once he hit the sunlight that illuminated the entrance to the cave.

He placed the eggs on the wet grass as the last drops of rain fell from the sky. Fenris applauded as Neach emerged from within the darkness.

"Good work, boy. You've claimed the eggs. But this is not your only task; tomorrow when you wake, there will be more to learn. For now, make your way to the hut. This rain will pester us 'til the 'morrow and it's best if you get your rest," Fenris concluded.

With a faint smile upon his face, Neach hurried back to the encampment hoping to gain further insight and a richer understanding of the world he now found himself fully encompassed by.

# X

His body ached.

For days now, he had been subject to rigorous physical training at the hands of Fenris. Unsure of how long he had been on this island, Neach's days were beginning to mold into one. All hours of the day were spent engrossed in the ancient text, and the hours he wasn't reading were delineated to physical training.

Nothing had been said of the purpose of his training, but Neach got the impression that it was of imminent importance. Frequently throughout the day, Neach would witness Fenris in what appeared to be a fit of anxiety. Pacing around the wooded area around outside the encampment or sitting down by the water, he always appeared uneasy. It was as if there was a volatile storm on the horizon, even on the sunniest of days.

Yet, he said nothing. The only focus in his mind was understanding the various teachings of the Toriik Riamendi and pleasing Fenris' desires. After just a few days, he was starting to grasp a basic understanding of the book before him.

He brought it everywhere he travelled. If he went to collect fruit and water, he brought the book with him and read whilst walking. Every second of his time was spent immersed in the archaic language of the tome. So many questions filled his mind as he sifted through the plethora of stories held within the book.

Even when he was involved in his physical training with Fenris, he couldn't help but allow his mind to stray toward the thought of the contents of the Toriik Riamendi.

Early in the morning, near ten days after Neach's arrival, Fenris called upon him for his daily conditioning work. Before they got into the intense physical aspect of the conditioning, Fenris required Neach to hit five targets from thirty yards with his bow.

As Neach walked into the shooting area, his mind and body were exponentially more weary than they had been in days prior. The night before had not been kind to Neach, a nightmare had plagued his thoughts and prevented even the slightest amount of sleep. He found himself running through an open field, away from what, he was unsure, but he was also unsure of where he was headed. At the end of the nightmare he was awoken, as he propelled off the edge of a cliff to his demise. This nightmare had squandered all chances of sleep, but now he wished to ask Fenris about it.

"Fenris, I had a nightmare last night, I was wondering if you could explain what it meant to me," Neach queried.

"Ah, so they've started," Fenris replied, "tell me what it is you see."

In detail, Neach recounted the basic foundation of the nightmare which he remembered. His eyes grew wide with each piece of information, highlighting the bags beneath his eyelids.

As he came to its conclusion, Fenris simply looked away and nodded.

"It's normal, son, you are going through the transition. Soon enough you will be used to it," Fenris said.

"But, what exactly will I be getting used to? What am I?" Neach inquired.

With a heavy sigh, Fenris prepared to answer some of the questions he knew were bound to be swirling around inside of Neach's head.

"You, much like me, are a member of a lineage of elite warriors. We hail from the House Goedwig, the only known descendants of—wolves," Fenris stated as a silence hushed over the forest.

As he said this, a light rain began to fall on the two men as they continued toward the target area.

They approached the clearing with an exacerbated drag in their step. Not only had Neach been hit hard by the recent training he had undergone, but Fenris was also expending large quantities of energy daily to ensure that Neach learned properly.

Neach picked up the bow with his now callused hands and set his eyes on the target once more. With a swift draw from his quiver, he fired the arrow directly into the heart of his target. His shooting had improved tenfold since his arrival and he now shot with the precision of a sharp knife cutting a piece of meat. For him to miss the center of the target was seemed as deviant; every shot was released with the speed of a running deer trotting through the woodland.

Once he had landed three shots deep with the flesh of the trees that stood behind the targets, Neach turned to Fenris and asked another question.

"So, what exactly is this "House Goedwig" you speak of? I think I've seen the name in the Toriik Riamendi a few times," Neach asked.

Fenris paused for an elongated period of time before he hazarded the question with a response.

"You and I are not like the rest of the world, son. We come from a bloodline, long ago descended from the wolves which inhabit the very forests of the Kingdom you and I call home. When the trees we see here were mere saplings, and the land had not yet assumed its final shape, a wolf gave birth to a son in the dead of winter. As legend tells us, this son was not a wolf, but it bore the same features as a human being. If you believe the tales, which I implore you do, this man then grew up in the company of wolves until he found his way to the rest of society," Fenris finished with a gasp of air. His age had clearly taken its toll upon his lungs more so than any other part of his body.

"What became of this man?" inquired Neach.

"He lived out his life in the city we now know as Leirwold. He found a wife and they bore three beautiful children. He made it known of his life, and the way in which he came into existence. From that point on, our legion has upheld the morals and characteristics of the first members of our house. Our duty is to serve, protect, and be invisible. The deeds which we carry out are the ones which cannot be carried out by the normal human. We lurk in the shadows and commit things that sometimes make us question our beliefs, but nevertheless, we do it for the good of our house, our destiny born in blood."

With the explanation, Neach fell silent. His response was something of disbelief. Not a single sound was uttered as he stood there, bow in hand, listening to the tale be told by Fenris. So many unbelievable things had happened since that fateful day when he left Spleuchan Sonse. But for him, this would be one of the most radical. He had finally learned of his true existence, how he came to be, but the questions could not stop there.

"Come along, boy, there is still much work to be done. That's all the questions I'll answer for today, if you seek more truths, you must find them within yourself" Fenris stated.

And with that, the two men headed off toward the unknown, yet again. Neach followed, this time at Fenris' side. There was no doubt that in the weeks which had preceded today, Neach had worked hard to gain the respect of the weary old man. Although not very receptive at first, Fenris appeared to be taking a liking to Neach and his attitude. He was clearly dedicated to the cause, and the blind faith he exerted only proved that he was deserving of his place in the House.

As they travelled across the island, Neach saw things we had hadn't seen previously in the secluded area he and Fenris lived. Tall mountain peaks rose up from the ground in correlation with the large trees that made up the island. As they ascended higher, the trees from the ground disappeared in favor of smaller shrubbery. The coloration of the shrubs was unlike anything Neach had ever seen. Bright pinks and oranges filled the green bushes with vibrant flowers that signaled the entrance of spring.

The rain had now passed and the sweet smell of the wet forest filled the inside of Neach's nose. The birds had come out to sing their songs of warmth and their sounds echoed through the air, surrounding the two with a chorus of harmonic ecstasy. Neach smiled to himself as he continued through the land. He couldn't help but be content with where he now found himself.

For the first time in his life, he was beginning to feel as if he actually belonged somewhere. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that his place of comfort would be on an island, accompanied by a strange old man. But the man did not seem strange any longer; his weary disposition and wrinkled face provided a blanket of tranquility for Neach to wrap himself within.

They continued walking for another ten minutes or so before they reached another separate clearing. In this clearing sat a pole with a chain attached to its base. The chain was stretched until it reached outside and into the long grass. From his vantage point, Neach was unable to see what lie on the end of the chain, but he hoped it wasn't anything dangerous. The progression of the training seemed to be moving toward the more harrowing end, but Neach had hope that he would find the positives regardless.

Fenris held his hand to his mouth and whistled at an earsplitting tone. Neach cringed as he stood beside him, but recovered just as quickly. From out of the tall grass emerged a wolf, light brown in color. Its fur was scraggly and it appeared to be as old as the trees which hung over the open area. It walked slowly toward the clearing, as if defeated both by old age and the chain around its neck. Its eyes drooped low, and its sorrow could be felt deep within Neach's soul.

It circled around the open grass a few times before it sat quietly next to the pole. It seemed resigned to its fate; no fight could be seen left within its old bones. Fenris stared into the distance for a few minutes before turning toward Neach.

"Your task today is simple: communicate with this here wolf. He's old and he's sick. There's not much hope or time left for him, but allow him to leave this Earth in peace. As is the way of our people, he can leave in peace with our blessing. It is up to you to figure out this blessing before the sun sets," Fenris said. A single tear appeared to trickle down his right eye as he again turned away from Neach.

He turned and began walking toward the encampment, directly after his instructions had been administered to Neach. For the past few days, Neach had been carrying the Toriik Riamendi in his back satchel, as he read it in his spare time. Now, he hoped that the ancient text could assist him in this last rites ritual that he was meant to perform on the wolf.

With less caution than should have been used, Neach headed in the direction of the old, beautiful, creature. It whimpered on the ground as Neach came closer to it. He sat down next to the weathered creature of the wood and laid his hand upon its back. As he stroked downward, he watched as the wolf's eyes focused on the ground. Sullen and somber, the wolf let out an audible cry into the depths of the forest surrounding them.

In one fell swoop, Neach withdrew the book from his back and began to scour the pages for any information regarding the burial rites of wolves. His comprehension skills had gotten better, but he was still unaware of exactly what he was reading at times.

Hundreds of pages were sifted through containing pictures of battles, plants, and various people who he assumed held a position of significance within the House. He seemed to lose himself within the beautifully illustrated borders and pictures within the text. On the outside of the tome there lay a picture of a wolf print, encased in silver. Its every detail was immaculately outlined as to do the paw justice.

With a closing of his eyes, he felt the outside of the pages and of the binding. What happened next could only be described as a supernatural occurrence. His finger moved to a specific portion of the book and opened. There in front of him laid a scene of a dying wolf with a man standing over it.

Underneath the picture there was an inscription in quotations: "Yuf dirry ger gillet nurr dirry". He wondered what these words meant. He still couldn't grasp the significance of some of the phrases within the book. As he looked up, he saw birds circling atop the trees. The piece of the forest he found himself in was one of the only on the island where the canopy was thin enough to allow a plethora of sunlight in.

And so he invited the wolf to come towards him, into the sunlight. The wolf obeyed and laid its head down on Neach's lap as he recited the words he saw on the page in front of him.

"Yuf dirry ger gillet nurr dirry," Neach said softly into the left ear of the wolf.

But nothing happened. He examined the picture to see what it was that the man was doing exactly.

And then he saw it.

In the man's hand there sat a thick blade. He was holding it against the wolf's neck as he espoused the words from his mouth.

It was then that Neach understood what he was meant to do.

Earlier in the week Fenris had given Neach a gift, to represent his procession through the training process. This gift was a beautifully adorned knife with a blade as sharp as anything Neach had ever used before. Its handle was encrusted with rubies and gold leaf, and its blade had a depiction of a nature scene carved into its metal.

The beauty of the gift was now put in contrast with its ultimate purpose. For today, the knife would be used to put this majestic old beast down.

He reached into the depths of his satchel and retrieved the intricately designed weapon. It was given to him with a thick leather sheath, and Neach had not withdrawn it until this very moment. He ran the blade along his finger and a drip of blood followed closely behind.

With a deep breath, he again began to stroke the back of the large brown wolf as its head lay on his lap. Its agony was supremely evident by the cloudy cataracts which had begun to develop within its colorful eyes. Their purity had been comprised, but such is the way of life. For no one can survive without losing their innocence, no color can exist without someday being tainted by a different hue.

Now that he knew what needed to be done, Neach summoned up the strength to perform the maneuver. He grasped the knife in his right hand and pressed it against the wolf's neck as it whimpered softly.

"Yuff dirry ger gillet nurr dirry," he whispered into the wolf's ear as he increased the pressure on the blade.

The dark crimson of the blood began to spill out onto the forest floor as Neach sat repeating this phrase over and over again. With a few small cries, the wolf exhaled its last breath and slumped into eternal slumber in Neach's arms.

Tears began to well up in the corners of Neach's eyes as he held this wolf in his arms. For what he had learned earlier, this too was a member of his people. These very wolves were from the same lineage as he himself was. With the sleeve of his right arm, Neach wiped the tears away and removed the wolf from his legs.

He carried the wolf to the depths of the tall grass and laid him down soft. For such a magnificent existence, this wolf had come to a measly demise. It didn't feel right to Neach. For every moment this beast had seen in its years, it was ultimately destined to conclude its days helpless against the forces of life.

The walk back to the camp was somber. Clouds had moved in and were threatening to unleash their rain down upon Neach as he trekked the trail back toward Fenris and the warmth of the fire. It was late in the afternoon, and the young man who had recently left his home village was now hardened by the harsh realities of life. The tears which had careened down his face were now dry, and his heart had frozen back to the place it was before.

As he entered the encampment, he saw Fenris standing at the edge of the hut.

"Let me see your blade, son," Fenris said coolly, with little imperative.

Without hesitation or response, Neach removed his knife from his satchel and presented it to his teacher. The two stood there in silence for a few minutes before Fenris nodded.

"I am sure today has taken its toll on you, therefore the next few days will be spent reading. Your final task will come in a few days, but until then, reflect on what it is you have learned so far," he said.

Neach silently acknowledged the sentiments and headed for the inside of the hut. Fenris looked on with a look of sympathetic approval, as he had once gone through the same feelings that Neach was experiencing. Entrance into the House was not only a blood right, but it was a matter of understanding and respect. One had to learn the importance of their role in the House, as well as, the world before they were allowed full access to its resources.

As Neach crouched into the hut and climbed into his bed, his thoughts were jumbled into a collection of fragmented ideas. He had killed animals before; it was part of growing up in an agrarian community. This was much different than anything else he had ever experienced. There was a tangible connection between himself and this wolf. He had a hunger to ask more questions and probe Fenris for answers, but part of him felt that it was more appropriate if he let it be for the time being.

In the morning he would search for answers within the hallowed pages of the ancient tome which he had grown so close to, but for now, his bed beckoned for him to retire to the comfort of his linens: and so he did.

# XI

Emotionally, Neach was spent. He awoke early in the morning, but he lacked the motivation to rise from his bed and begin his day. Hours passed before he removed his linens and got dressed. After what felt like a fulfilling period of rest, Neach still felt sapped. His energy seemed to elude him as he went about the chores of the camp.

For weeks now, Neach had tended to the water supply and the collection of fruit for their consumption later in the day. These items on his agenda seemed to drag on today; all he desired was to read more from the book.

Hours after his departure from the hut, he returned bearing fruit and water. The harvest was plentiful today, and his bucket ran over with the colorful sustenance that is the fruit of the forest. He placed them before Fenris' feet and continued toward his lodging without uttering a single word. Fenris understood this attitude, as it was similar to his own, when he first learned of his House.

Into the hut Neach delved, and immediately withdrew the book from his bag. Its pages had become slightly tattered in the recent days as he began to use it more. Its color seemed impervious to the forces of nature, as it remained elegant and sharp for what could only be perceived as many years.

He opened the book to the page he had left it on, where he had learned of the method at which wild wolves are put to rest. As he ran his finger across the words below the picture, it was translated into terms which he could understand. What had once read "Yuf dirry ger gillet nurr dirry", now read "Into the darkness you step."

Less surprised by the revelation of the text, and more concerned with the new found ability to translate the text with the tip of his finger, Neach began to ravage the book with the newly found powers of his index.

For hours, he sat on his bed and deciphered a multitude of excerpts. There were tales that detailed the creation of the world, the creation of the creatures that roamed it, the first members of the House, and a section about what it meant to be a House member.

Their creed appeared simple: Do what is righteous, do what is just, do what you can, but above all, do what you must. The melodic structure of this phrase was much more musical in the original language, but for now, Neach would have to resort to these translations for a better understanding. He spent the remainder of the day reading from the text and absorbing as much information as he felt was physically possible.

Night had fallen and Neach decided that he must discuss his findings with Fenris to better comprehend them.

He exited the hut to find Fenris sitting adjacent to a freshly lit fire, whittling away at a piece of wood. In his free time, Fenris was fond of the wood craft. It seemed he was fond of creating many things, as they represented pieces of himself that existed in the tangible world.

As Neach approached, he could see that Fenris had only just removed the bark from the outside of the stick. The real creative work had yet to come, and so he felt it was appropriate to interject now.

"Hello, boy, what brings you out into this cold, damp night?" he asked before Neach had even come into his line of sight.

Silently, Neach sat down across from him on a log that had been placed there for this very purpose.

"I have come to ask questions, sir: about the House, about us," Neach stated bluntly.

Fenris seemed to like the direct nature of Neach's propositions. For his naïve attitude at times, Neach had a way of approaching things with an overt sense of confidence.

"Tell me, boy, what is that nags at your mind on this night?" Fenris queried.

Neach paused and then continued into his first inquiry. His confidence had grown exponentially since he had arrived in the presence of Fenris.

"I was wondering if you could tell me what exactly the book means by a 'just and righteous cause'," Neach asked.

Fenris chuckled to himself. It was unclear whether this reaction was warranted due to the nature of the question, or the speed at which Neach was progressing through the training regiment, but by his answer the latter appeared more likely.

"So I see you've unlocked the translations. Well, son, each and every one of us, and by us I mean people, not just members of this House, abide by a set of morals. A strict list of rules we feel should be upheld to maintain order within the chaos of our great world. Our duty as members of the House Goedwig is to uphold the morals set forth by our ancestors, who came before. Unlike those who fight for justice in public and shout from the street corners, our actions must be executed in the shadows." Fenris concluded after a rather lengthy response.

Immediately interjecting, Neach asked another question.

"Fenris, why is it that we must exist in the shadows only? Surely recognition can be given for such a righteous deed." Neach rebuked.

"One thing you will learn, boy, is that men are created evil. The fault lines of humanity run deep and tremors will consistently arise from their chasms. By removing ourselves from the public sphere, we limit the corruption that can take place within our House. For only in reward can a man find himself valued at more than the worth of his moral code." Fenris finished his statement as he threw a berry into his mouth and chewed down.

This answer sparked more questions than anything from Neach about the nature of the collective he found himself within.

"But it is getting late, Neach. Tomorrow you will be facing your final task, if you're up to it. I trust that you will be ready, but for now I suggest you get your rest. You remind me of myself, a young man in Fletwod trying to turn my hut into a majestic palace with no resources or time. As of now you only understand a minimum of what will be fully divulged to you in time," Fenris stated as he walked off toward the hut.

He was left alone in the all encroaching darkness that had consumed the island. In the distance, birds could still be heard chirping, and the insects of the wood seemed to have awoken from their winter slumber. The aura of the forest at night was unlike anything Neach had ever felt. The heat from the day still hung thick in the air as he sat there in the early night. Fog emanated from the very pores of the Earth and rose ever so slightly to hover above the ground. It lingered like a protective layer of moisture that would ensure the vibrant foliage would remain alive in the morning.

It took minutes before Neach arose from his seated position. He headed back toward his lodging with a multitude of thoughts bouncing around his head like fish in a crowded river. As he had learned previously, however, this frantic mind would prevent him from sleeping if he did not do something about it.

And so, as Neach climbed into his bed, he fixated his mind upon thoughts of the water. The ocean he had crossed while travelling to the island. He thought about the crashing waves and their rhythmic existence. They flowed in and out, as if bound by an invisible string, at the beck and call of a superior power which also appeared to be elusive.

In an instant, he was fast asleep. For the first time since his arrival, sleep came easy. His aching bones and his ever ailing mind were soothed to sleep with serene songs of solitude. They sang like canaries to the tune of loneliness, but their voices transformed it into a much more beautiful existence than most knew of.

Almost as quickly as he had fallen asleep, Neach awoke with a shudder. Outside of the hut, Fenris was banging a pot with a metal rod. It seemed to fit in with his entire experience that this would be his method of awakening. Abrasive and generally lacking pretext, this event jolted Neach out of bed and into the clearing.

To his surprise, what Neach found was a rather pleasant sight. Fenris had risen early on in the morning to cook a supple breakfast complete with the finest meats, fruits, and breads he could offer. Smoked sausages, ripe berries, and fresh baked bread lined the table which had been set by Fenris. Although to most this collection would seem rudimentary and make shift, to Neach it appeared as if it were an oasis in a thirst deprived desert of satiation.

He sat down across from Fenris and dove head first into the euphemistic waters that were the plentiful breakfast. He gorged himself with food and drink, generally refraining from eye contact with Fenris.

Quite some time into the feast, Fenris broke the silence.

"Today is the day you become an official brother, member, and most importantly, a recipient of the responsibilities of this house," he said.

Neach nodded in silence. Not much could be said in response to the bold proclamation made by Fenris. The last few weeks had served as a way of teaching Neach the incomprehensible gravity of the position he found himself in. Himself, as well as, his brothers within the House, were entrusted with upholding the ethical code set forth in the Toriik Riamendi. It was distinctly evident from the beginning that the path would never be clear, but nevertheless, Neach willingly put a foot forward.

"Come, follow me, son. For it is time you completed your final task on the island," Fenris said.

As they walked, Fenris continued to talk to Neach.

"For all of your questions, you never asked me if this place had a name," Fenris stated. Above their heads, birds travelled in groups, chirping as they flew by. The creatures of the wood surrounded them on all sides, an envelope of innocent beauty.

"Well, what is it?" Neach asked rather bluntly.

"It's called Rosalia. The name comes from the flowers that bloom just across the water. Rosalia in our native tongue means "already bloomed". This land is fertile with the love of the world: the creatures which inhabit it, the trees which have born their roots into this soil. All exists in unity because it is untouched by man. It has bloomed, but hopefully, its bloom may be a lengthy one," Fenris said. He had a way of articulating things in a way which told a story in a matter of a few words.

They had headed on the same path as the day previous, ending up at the base of the hills which rose up from the ground.

"I must stay here, but you, you're going to the top," Fenris demanded in a much more passive manner than usual.

As Neach headed up the side of the hill, the trees were shed from its grassy sides. Near the top of the hill, all foliage had disappeared. The top of this bulbous mound bore nothing except the green grass which was found all around the Kingdom.

The air seemed to escape Neach's grasp as he turned around on the top of this hill. In every direction, all the eye could see was a horizon of bliss. The canopies which provided such little sunlight below, created a sort of thatched roof, which contained the light from the ground below. To one side, the mainland of the Kingdom was supremely evident in the line of sight. To another, complete nothingness. The sea seemed to expand for an eternity, as a blue blanket draped over the Earth.

He was almost brought to tears at the sight atop the mound. For in the passing few weeks, his vision had opened far beyond any reach he believed was possible. Not only in the sphere of tangible sight, but his understanding and vision of his existence was much more comprehensive than ever before. He sat down on top of the hill and forgot the world for just a second. Not long into his day dream he heard the shouting of Fenris below him.

"Down here, lad, turn your gaze from the horizon for just a moment!" he shouted with a chuckle.

Neach's head snapped back downward in the direction of the ground below. At the base of the hill Fenris stood with a piece of paper in his hands. There was something scrawled on it, but Neach was incapable of reading it from such great heights. He began to head down toward Fenris before he shouted yet again.

"Stay up there, son, you've got to read it from a distance if you want to hear its true meaning!" he again bellowed from the forest floor.

Frustration was slowly creeping into Neach's psyche. It was absolutely insane to think someone could read such small print from so far away. Had Fenris finally lost his remaining screws and gone tumbling toward insanity in full force?

Nevertheless, Neach laughed lightly to himself and obliged Fenris' wish. He squinted his eyes until the slits were nearly closed but still nothing could be made apparent from the surface of the paper.

"What are you playing at? There's no way I can see that from here, Fenris," Neach hollered.

"Aye, but there is! It's deep inside of you, bring it to the surface," Fenris bellowed back.

Without warning, a strong gust hit Neach on his right side. He stumbled for a second before regaining his composure and stature atop the hill. The next move was born out of both frustration and a real desire to rest his aching bones. His eyes closed and suddenly the world was rushing around him.

He saw himself running down the hill toward Fenris but his body was merely smoke. No tangible physical presence was attached to him at the time, and his ghostly aura approached Fenris from the front. He read the paper while still in his other state of consciousness, all the while his body remained atop the hill, frozen.

It read "du riik tryx walla dirry vo plyx, hom dirry shalla vo gillet vo wix". The words were inscribed in a sloppy handwriting, most likely due to Fenris' old age. They were written in the native language of the people of the House, but Neach had become more adept at comprehending the alphabet as time passed. Although unaware of the meaning without his new found translational abilities, the words resonated as he screamed them into the air.

With an echo, the archaic language of the House Goedwig filled the ears of all living beings for only just an instant. The raw power of the spoken word rang true atop the hill as Neach was filled with ecstasy. His limbs felt light and it seemed like he'd take flight at any second, but his feet remained rooted to the ground. Across his right forearm, ink emerged from his dirty skin.

A mark had risen from his skin and created a beautiful piece of work across his arm as birds flew overheard singing songs of old. His name, Coinneach, was grafted into his skin in the ancient language of his people. Surrounding it was a picture depicting olive branches and birds that were created in the highest detail possible.

He looked down at his arm to see the new canvas that belonged to him and raised his arm high above his head. From down below, Fenris simply smiled and began to walk up the hill.

All had become calm again, but Neach was exhilarated. His breath was short, and his heart was racing: today he had realized his existence.

Fenris arrived at the summit soon after this monumental moment. His hands were brought together in applause as Neach stood and watched over the land below him. His rather frail body had been transformed in the recent weeks. What had once been thin muscle and gaunt features, was now the inklings of strength and chiseled definition. His transition had culminated with this moment, and Fenris was there to congratulate him.

"You have managed to complete your transition faster than anyone I have ever known before. For that I congratulate you, but, alas, something more dire looms on the horizon," Fenris stated.

Neach's gaze was not averted from the open seas in front of him. Weeks had passed since he arrived on this island and his full position had now been realized, although it still felt like Fenris was hiding something from him.

His sneaking suspicion was confirmed as Fenris turned his back to Neach and made a proclamation.

"A war will be waged, Coinneach; you seem to have arrived just in time," Fenris said.

"We will need all members of the House, if we are to survive it, and I trust that you will do all that is needed of you," Fenris continued.

"I cannot give you all of the details of this impending battle, son, but what I can tell you is this: there is a dark cloud hanging over the Kingdom. Duncairn may not be safe for very long. It is our job to make sure that the people of this land remain as such and prosper in the coming months," Fenris concluded.

With a nod, Neach headed down toward the forest floor. His purpose was slowly being revealed, but his story was only just beginning.

The blood of the House Goedwig flowed through his veins, and the teachings of Fenris flowed through his brain. Whatever may lie ahead, he believed he would be prepared for it. Men had come in the past and men would undoubtedly come in the future. It was his job to ensure that.

# XII

Morning broke with the loud crash of thunder outside of the hut where Neach and Fenris resided. The patter of rain could be heard echoing through the trees as it hit the thick leaves they bore. The truth was, Neach hadn't slept much regardless. He had spent the last few hours contemplating what it was that Fenris had said to him atop the hill.

What was this impending conflict that the House would find themselves thrust into? Was it a physical war that was looming, or was it simply a threat to the House's integrity? These questions and more bounced around Neach's head, as if he were attempting to cage in wild chickens inside of his mind. They prevented him from rest, and his only respite was the soothing patter of the rain.

The increasing warmth had led to more frequent thunderstorms, as it usually did in the Kingdom. By now, the spring had run its course and was beginning to wind down. The summers in Duncairn could be both relentless and magnificent. There would be days with excessive humidity and heat, and days where the rain won the perpetual battle with the sun.

As he lay on his back, he stared at the ceiling above him. Little could be done to turn his attention away from Fenris' words, but he soon fell into a deep slumber. The sleepless night had finally taken its toll upon his weary body.

His mind transitioned into the subconscious, and suddenly he was flying alongside a wolf in an open field. The wolf was running as fast as it possibly could in the direction of a river. What Neach couldn't see from his vantage point was another wolf running in the direction of the first one. The two looked destined to collide with each other at full speed. The first was auburn colored with deep blue eyes, while the other was black with red eyes.

The two beasts met in the center of the field and began to attack each other viciously. Neach wanted to help them more than anything in the world at that moment, but it felt like he was bound at the hands and feet. It continued for minutes, while Neach attempted to scream out with no avail. Finally, the black wolf rose to its feet with blood around its mouth and scampered away.

At the moment in which Neach saw the face of the black wolf, he was jolted awake by another crash of lighting. The thunder seemed to emanate from underneath his bed as it shook the whole of the hut at its very core. His breathing was heavy and he was trying to calm himself down as he lay there, sweating in his bed. Hours had passed since he fell asleep, as Fenris stood up and headed outside.

Neach rose from his bed and wiped the sweat from his brow as he rose to meet with the old man.

He headed out of the hut, into the early morning dampness. The rain had ceased, but the crackling lightning could be seen off in the eastern distance. Smoke was billowing upward from the fire in the center of the clearing, and Fenris was carving a piece of wood with a knife. On the shaft, there was a caricature of a wolf carved deep into the grooves of the tree branch. From the detail that was present, it was clear that Fenris had been crafting this piece for a long time.

His hands slowed, and eventually rested as Neach approached from behind him. The demeanor he had undertaken was incredibly somber, a stark difference from the atmosphere of celebration exuded the day earlier.

"Son, I need you to sit down," Fenris began.

He rubbed the palms of his hands together anxiously, as the deep wrinkles of his face carved into his flesh.

His eyes peered off into the distance, their steely foundation surrounded by the clouded cataracts of old age. He had the face of an exasperated old fellow, but the strength had not been fully sapped from his bones.

As he turned toward Neach, his eyes fell upon his arm. The new marking had caused irritation for the new initiate of the House, and he had been subconsciously scratching at it throughout the night.

"We will have to get you something for that in a minute, follow me," Fenris said.

The two men headed off down the eastern coast of the island. As they neared the edge of the forest, the trees once again disappeared and were replaced by a multitude of rocks. The rocks transitioned from sporadic into a full sheet of cracked Earth along the peninsula.

Fenris motioned for Neach to be seated on the edge of a stone, as he headed toward the water on the other side. Inside the water, a green plant grew that assisted in the healing of abrasions. The same plant grew in the rivers of Duncairn, so Neach was familiar with their existence.

Neach sat and stared off at the mainland from the rocky peninsula with a concerned look upon his face. Something was bothering Fenris, but it just hadn't been revealed yet.

As Fenris returned, he brought with him the plant and placed it on Neach's arm. A cooling sensation spread its way across Neach's whole body, as the natural ointment worked its wondrous powers on his flesh.

"There's an evil force out there, Coinneach," Fenris began. His palms rubbed together again as the skin became raw. The anxious habit had taken its toll on his leathery hands.

"Off in the distance, on the main island of our Kingdom, one of our own has found solace in the bowels of the Royal family," Fenris continued.

"Our very own King, Henrig, is a member of our House Goedwig. Years ago, when the land was ruled by the people, before the existence of a King, Henrig's father was one of our most prestigious warriors. He fought for the mutual benefit of the people of Duncairn, as well as himself. Relentlessly he cried out against immorality and the ruthlessness of the Gods. A son was birthed to him by the name Henrig," Fenris said, as he lost himself in the tale of years passed.

Neach was sat, transfixed by the atmosphere that Fenris commanded. It demanded the ultimate silence and respect for the man who had seen many years in this forsaken land that Neach had only just been exposed to.

"Henrig, son of Golthar, was dissident from a young age. At the age of 17, he left the embrace of our House and headed on a mission of his own, to seize power. He gathered a coalition of others inside the mainland of the Kingdom. They hailed from the lowlands of Siriac, to the wooded realm of Endal, all in favor of restoring power to a single man, a man by the name of Henrig," Fenris took a breather as he continued to gaze out onto the ocean waters.

"Years ago he led a group of mercenaries into Leirwold and erected the Castle Leirwold as a symbol of his newly found authority. Our House stood by idly, as we felt it was not in our power to interfere with the Gods' will. But, now, things have changed dramatically," Fenris stated dubiously.

"The man you met in Leirwold, Daniel, he has been keeping the members of the House updated on Henrig's movements about the city. Biweekly he sends word to our settlement, just outside of Cyll. It appears that recently, Henrig has been sending out public threats to the members of our House. Using traps that play upon our stealth, Henrig has spent the last few months attempting to eradicate our people from the Kingdom," Fenris concluded.

Neach sat in silence for the better part of a few minutes. What had begun as an unknown journey weeks ago had now developed into a battle for his very existence. Almost as quickly as he had learned of his life as a member of the House Goedwig, he learned that one of his own intended on taking that away. He swallowed hard and turned toward Fenris.

"So, where does this leave us? Are we destined to fall at the sword of a divergent member of our own people?" Neach asked inquisitively.

Fenris chuckled again; he seemed to find Neach to be a humorous fellow.

"Son, you must not let the naivety of youth affect the clear headedness of your thoughts. If we were doomed to such a meaningless existence, you would not have been brought here," Fenris said.

"We need every member in this Kingdom if we are meant to survive this attack. The strength will lie in numbers, and the numbers are most definitely limited. Rest assured our purpose as a group is to persevere. You, just as much as every other member of this house, will play a pivotal role in the fight against our rogue brother," Fenris concluded as he became somber once again.

"In fact, you have a role all to yourself," Fenris laughed darkly.

"You are meant to infiltrate the Castle Leirwold, Neach," he began. "Once it has been done you will wait for our word, but until then, you remain silent and out of sight," Fenris concluded.

"If you are discovered within the walls of the city, Henrig will have you killed, I have no doubt," he said as a thick dark cloud seemed to hang over every word which emanated from his mouth.

Neach understood. Though he wished the circumstances could be more favorable, he relished the idea of maintaining an individual purpose within the community of his new brethren. Leirwold was a full day's travel from the island. If he left now, he would arrive in the morning, as the sunshine first struck the edifices of the Castle.

"How is it you came to the island, Neach?" Fenris inquired.

"Up north, through the meadows below the mountains, directly from the city," Neach replied.

Fenris mulled over the new information for a few moments before he spoke again.

"There is a much easier path, if you wish to follow it. Go south from the mountains and over the river that lies near to its base. From that river, you will arrive in a village called Jorwel. One of your brothers, Tyrin, lives there now. He's only a few years older than yourself, perhaps you two will strike up a conversation," Fenris stated into the empty air.

Neach brewed over the possibility for a few seconds and a smile quickly wafted across his face. This would be the first time he would meet someone from the House outside of Fenris and Daniel.

"From Jorwel you will go South to Endal and West through the Forest of Light," he continued with due diligence. "Once you leave the Forest of Light, Leirwold will be near in the forefront of your view," Fenris finished. "I trust you will like the Forest, some say it's full of magic," he said as he stood to his feet.

"Go now, your horse will be waiting across the water, I have set his accommodations in order for these last few weeks, so you should find him in good health," Fenris smiled as he revealed this piece of information, "Rine, isn't it?" he asked with the smile spreading wide into an unabashed grin.

Neach nodded in agreement as Fenris's leathery hand patted him on the back stiffly. He walked away, back into the forest, as Neach sat on the edge of the rocks that were found on the peninsula. Neach gazed out for a final time at the mainland which would hold him in its grasp for the foreseeable future. With a turn to the south, Neach headed into the forest behind Fenris and toward the beach where the boat he would use to cross the ocean was located.

By now, the clouds had cleared overhead and the sun shone down upon Neach's back as he untied the boat from the rocky shore. The water looked calm, and as he dipped his toes in, a cool sensation spread throughout his body. He could not remember the last time he had swum for pleasure. As a boy, he spent the warm days of summer swimming in the river near his home. Its flowing tide was gentle enough to maintain one's position, if they could stand on the sandy bottom.

It was as clear as the view from atop the mountains in his foreground, and the water shimmered in the burgeoning sunlight. As the final knot was untied from the bow of the boat, he pushed it into position. Adroitly, he placed one foot inside and swung the other over simultaneously.

Waves lapped up against the outside of the boat, but none threatened to do any serious damage. Across the narrow strait and around the protruding rocks, Neach navigated his way onto dry land again on the other side. His feet touched down on the mainland of Duncairn for the first time in the better part of a month and a smiled expanded across his face.

In front of him, Rine stood eating carrots. He had been untied recently, but stayed fairly motionless in the same place that Neach had left him. His hands found Rine's mane, as he stroked it gently while burying his head in his neck. He had missed his companion, and now they were reunited. A few minutes had passed before Neach was mounted atop the grand old horse again. With a crash of the reigns, the two headed off for the mountains.

The wind blew through Neach's lengthening hair and he threw his hands his into the air with joy. To be reunited with Rine after the time that had passed was liberating for the young man. He held a connection with the horse that was unlike anything a human could offer him. As his hands came to rest back on the reigns, the pair made a turn toward the flower fields that lie at the base of the mountains. With reckless abandon, Neach and Rine hurdled toward the rocky cliffs.

Minutes later, they were scaling the same mountain path that had led to such treacherous events en route to Rosalia. There was a new found confidence about Neach; he travelled with the head of a grown man who had seen the trials of life, but moved with the agility of a man who maintained his youth in stature.

For now, Neach put everything out of his mind. He focused solely on the mountain flowers which seemed to grow out of nothingness, the birds that flew at the highest heights near the peaks of the range, and the rabbits who came out of hiding, as Rine's hooves hammered into the ground. He closed his eyes momentarily and soaked in the surroundings. Each individual piece coalesced into a mosaic of bliss that was, quite literally, music to his ears.

His morale had increased astonishingly since he sat on the peninsula with Fenris, but it was not long before Neach contemplated the ramifications of the looming King. Fortunately for Neach, he did not know the route very well, so as he came to the base of the mountain on the other side, he began to think of his next movement.

Up ahead, he saw a river off in the distance. Heeding Fenris' advice, he set course for the small stream that separated the northern portion of Duncairn. As the two approached the water, it looked as if it would be simple to ford. With minimal hesitation from Rine, Neach urged the horse's hooves into the river and they began to cross it. On such a humid day, the horse would have been thankful for the refreshing task.

There was no defined path to the village that Fenris mentioned, but Neach understood that it was directly south of where he had crossed the water. With a crack of the reigns again, Neach and his horse flew toward their destination. The water ran alongside them before they were separated from it. To the West, there were simply fields. Minimal elevation and no community to speak of, Neach looked ahead once again.

Nothing could be seen in front of him, but as the minutes passed, a small consortium of homes could be seen far off into the distance. As Neach grew closer, he realized there were hundreds of these small collections of huts. Surrounding a central area, the village of Jorwel was made up of thousands of homes, made of thatch and wood. Smoke billowed from the tops of the outermost huts and Neach breathed in the wood fire as he entered the village limits. There was no official entrance, only a separation between two small glorified corn houses.

It was by no means wealthy. The people of the village were as dirty as those in Spleuchan Sonse, if not dirtier. The largest difference between his home and this place was the lack of an agricultural presence. Once he entered the village, he did not see a single tilled field. There must have been a secondary source of income for the population, but it was unlike anything Neach had ever known growing up. All around the town people could be seen hauling bundles of wood. Neach immediately got the impression that there was a plentiful stock of trees somewhere near to the settlement, and they used that to barter for the other necessary goods in their lives.

No words were spoken that Neach could hear. Occasionally, a muddled sentence would be shouted, but for the most part they were silent. They did not pay any mind to the man riding into their village on horseback; it was as if they had become accustomed to it. What that meant, Neach was unsure, but it was encouraging to ride freely without demands of his reason for being in the town.

He passed through what must have been hundreds of homes before he arrived at a significantly larger building. It was constructed from the same materials as the rest of the homes that surrounded it, only it was about four times the size. As his eyes fell upon the distinctive marker at its peak, a smile erupted across the breadth of his face.

Emblazoned on a large piece of wood that was carved into the shape of a shield was the crest of the House Goedwig. Its vibrant color scheme provided a stark contrast to the drab browns and grays of the wood smoke and timber.

Neach broke Rine into a trot and they slowed as they approached the entrance to the large structure. Outside, a man waited with an axe in his hand. He couldn't have been much older than Neach, if not for the jet black beard which was protruding from his jaw line. The contours of his muscles were on display in his sleeveless shirt, and his hair was tied back in a ponytail and braided.

For Neach, the sight was both welcoming and frightening. Even though there appeared to be little difference in their age, the young man proved to have a daunting physical figure and tenacity in his stature.

"What brings you here, sire?" asked the young man.

"I recognized the crest from afar, I believe we are brothers," Neach replied.

"Ah, yes, Fenris had sent word that you may be arriving here in the coming days. Neach, isn't it?" The young man inquired.

"Indeed it is, I have been travelling for quite some time, would you mind if I stopped here for a short time?" Neach asked.

With a glance to his right, the young man nodded and opened the massive wooden doors to the home. As Neach entered, he patted Rine on the shoulder and turned his gaze toward the interior of the lodging.

# XIII

"The name is Tyrin," the now named young man said.

Tyrin was an especially impressive physical specimen. He lacked the size that would be expected of a warrior, but what muscle he did have appeared to be completely refined. Neach had only been working at his physical side of fighting for a few weeks, and the insecurity had already begun to creep in.

His hair appeared to have been laced with soot, and his face bore the dirt marks of a man who worked long days. His jaw bulged out and resulted in a consistent demeanor of authority.

"I assume you are aware of our situation, Neach," Tyrin asked the new member as he sat down on an ornately carved wooden chair that was located in the center of a room that was adjoined to the initial entrance space.

"Yes, I am," Neach replied timidly.

"Then I suppose you may be curious as to why I would choose to identify myself with the crest on the outside of the building, correct?" Tyrin again asked intent upon receiving an answer of his choosing.

In full honesty, Neach hadn't had time to contemplate in the slightest the placement of the crest high above the door frame, but when it was mentioned it seemed to make sense.

"That crest is worth my life, brother, and you'd do your best to either contribute to the cause or stay out of our damned way. They have come recently; nothing will stop them from coming in the near future. If you aren't going to be of assistance, I suggest you stay out of sight," Tyrin stated aggressively.

It became immediately apparent to Neach that something had soured this relationship before it had even begun; surely two men around the same age as each other could get on fairly well. Without the slightest thought, Neach asked the question that had saturated his mind.

"Do you have a problem with me?" Neach asked with a new found authority.

Tyrin smiled as if to say that he approved of the confidence required to approach him with that tone.

"We do, Neach. You see, I and the other brothers of this House have been training since our birth to carry out the duties that are required of us. We have shed blood for that crest, both our own and other people's. It does not come without a large price and you-you appear out of nothing, a few weeks ago, and are entrusted as a full member of this legion," Tyrin concluded.

Neach wasn't sure how to respond, but he knew he would have to use caution as to not create an even larger rift with his fellow brother.

"With the deserved respect intact, Tyrin, I have abandoned the life that I once led, in order to serve this House. My commitment and my deserved position is not something I have decided for myself. If you have a problem, you should consult someone of a higher position of authority than me," Neach said as he stood up from the table they were sat at.

Tyrin looked on with a burning gaze and rose simultaneously. Without any warning, he grabbed Neach by the shirt collar and threw him against the wall.

"You think you can just come into my house and speak with such disdain? I am your brother, we are one," Tyrin said as he released Neach from his iron grip.

"Maybe you should consider reading from the damned 'book' a little more. It would do you much good," Tyrin stated angrily as he left the room.

Neach stood motionless for a few moments before gathering his breath again. The warm afternoon air beckoned his name

He took a step outside and breathed in deeply. The last few weeks had been nothing but difficult since his departure from Spleuchan Sonse. For the first time, he longed for the solace of his bed at home in his village. He yearned for a celebration at the hall like they had when he came of age. He missed his parents and yes, he even missed his wretched, unfettered, malice-ridden brother.

A stump outside of the house was the resting place for Neach's hind, as he sat beneath the shade of a large fir. Its overhang provided relief from the beating sun that he had ridden into the village behind.

Neach watched as the populous of Jorwel meandered about their homes. Their faces were laden with soot, and their eyes grew wide as they struggled to continue moving. It was evident that their physically demanding lifestyle took its toll upon each member of the community.

Men carried logs on their shoulders and women carried buckets of sap. The pragmatic application of the trees' every organ was essential to the flourishing of the town. What struck Neach the most about the town was its size compared to Spleuchan Sonse. Whereas Spleuchan Sonse was made of a small collection of huts, the town of Jorwel seemed to be littered with homes as far as the eye could see. Its proximity to fertile land in the east, the river on the west, and the forest to its south, provided it with a trident of applicable resources.

It appeared they lived simple lives, although demanding, and Neach couldn't help but find solace in the late afternoon heat. He slumped further down the stump until his hind side hit solid ground. Sweat had begun to form above his brow and he wiped it with the tattered right portion of his sleeve.

He managed to make it for nearly half an hour before he contemplated the ramifications of his earlier encounter with Tyrin.

The harsh tone in his voice, coupled with his aggressively physical nature concerned Neach. He hadn't laid hands on anyone in a malicious manner since he was at home with his brother. Now, his new "brother" felt that he had the liberty to throw him about as if he were a sack of vegetables.

He wondered what he should do.

The sun beat down without reprise, singing his skin beneath its ethereal luminescence. Soon he would need to return inside, but for now he would bask in the heat of the day and hope that Tyrin would come to find him.

Surely enough, moments later, Tyrin exited the house and headed in the direction of Neach.

"Come with me," Tyrin ordered.

Neach was taken aback by the command, but he obliged and stood at once.

Tyrin continued without a cease in his steps toward the back of his home. It sat along a river and there were blocks of wood that were rested with axe blades driven deep into their wooded flesh.

"You are to split these blocks and then come find me," Tyrin barked once again.

Neach nodded without speaking a word, afraid to say the wrong thing and further drive a wedge between himself and his brother.

He had never split wood before, but he had seen his father do it. Asgall would spend the early hours of the day splitting logs for firewood and house repairs.

The young man from Spleuchan Sonse hearkened back upon his village upbringing as he brought the heavy axe down into the thick haunch of forestery.

Each repetitive thud aligned itself in congruence with his heartbeat. His pulsating veins came in time with the blows and a sweet harmony of physical exacerbation was played. The task was continued for a few minutes and eventually all of the wood was split into two pieces, useful for efficient application of the raw material in the home.

As he placed the final log onto the stump, Tyrin came around the corner of the home to check on Neach's progress.

"When you're done, come see me inside, okay?" Tyrin asked timidly. His demeanor had obviously changed from their initial meeting as his angry disposition was replaced by one of tranquility.

Neach obliged, yet again, and tossed the axe as he headed toward the back entrance of the hut.

When he entered, he smelled the scent of cooking meat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tyrin smoking what appeared to be pig flesh. This was a grand gesture to make as meat was a difficult commodity to come by lately.

"Sit," commanded Tyrin.

From the other side of the room, he brought a plate full of food for himself and Neach to enjoy in its totality.

"Listen, Neach, I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier," Tyrin said.

"It's just, times have gotten tough; we're all on edge; I live day to day hoping to survive," Tyrin continued.

"And now, we're entrusted with stripping Henrig of all his power, and ensuring that he never step foot on this land again, by death or by exile," Tyrin concluded in a grim manner.

Neach nodded for a few moments cautiously before asking a question.

"So, what is it we're meant to do exactly?" Neach asked.

Tyrin chuckled. "Isn't that a good question? From my understanding, you are meant to infiltrate the castle and we will go from there." The smile dissipated from his face in seconds. His once resounding smile was replaced by a decreasing grin.

Of course, Neach was already aware of this despondent task. Fenris had informed him following his training on Rosalia that he was to head to Leirwold to infiltrate the King's residence.

Suddenly, Neach changed the tone of the conversation.

"I heard there's a forest around here," he said softly.

Tyrin's smile returned as he chewed on a large piece of pork.

"Indeed there is," his teeth showing, "just south of town," he finished with a wry grin.

"Maybe we could go there after the meal?" Neach offered.

It was as if all the muscles in Tyrin's body relaxed, as his smile continued to maintain residence on his face.

"That would be perfect; the forest is my favorite place to escape to," Tyrin stated, in what sounded like an octave higher of a voice.

As Neach placed the last piece of meat into his mouth, he rose from the table and followed Tyrin out the back door.

The sun was beginning to set, and it sat just above the mountains that lie due west of the town. Tyrin's shadow fell long at his side as he strode south toward the forest. From afar, the tall tree line seemed fairly miniscule along the horizon, and their thick green leaves blew in the stiff wind.

On foot, it took only a few minutes to reach the entrance of the wooded area. From the outside, it seemed to lack impressive features, simply a collection of large plants in a land that was fertile with wildlife. Upon entering into its clutches, Neach quickly found out that he was mistaken.

The ground was lined with glowing flowers that seemed to be something out of a work of fiction. Their luminescent bodies cast a blue light on the path that was carved between two trees. Though the forest was in possession of a thick canopy like that of the woods on Rosalia, its interior shone bright with the effervescence of hundreds of thousands of glowing plants.

Tyrin stroked the trunk of a tree as he stopped in his tracks, gazing off into the distance.

"They call this the Forest of Light, Neach. It's where I come in times of trouble," Tyrin said softly.

His voice and demeanor had become much calmer after the initial falling out upon Neach's arrival, and Neach was glad to be interacting with his 'brother' in a benevolent manner.

As he spun around, deep inside the magical depths of the forest, Neach felt invigorated. It was as if all the energy of the sun had been dispersed as happiness into his bones, and it now emanated in his upbeat movement.

Looking around the forest was almost like peering up at the night sky on a clear evening. Each individual plant acted as a star in an ever expanding nebula of flora.

Tyrin began to walk slowly again and beckoned for Neach to follow behind him. Through vines and over rotted tree carcasses, the men travelled further southward toward the heart of the forest. Moss grew upon every trunk, and it glowed green with the blue-white light that was given off by the various fungi and plants.

Before long they reached a dark lagoon nestled deep in the catacomb-like pathways of the forest. Its water was a deep blue, almost violet, and it was completely still. On the banks of the pool, Tyrin sat and gazed out across the water.

"Welcome to my happy place, Neach," Tyrin said.

The violet water reflected the glowing plants, as well as something that Neach had never seen before. Floating just above the water, small, glowing, insect-like creatures were buzzing about. Everything that was occurring around him led him to believe that he had entered a dream. There was no way that any of this could be possible. They weren't far from his home village, and it appeared to be a completely different world.

As Neach sat, contemplating the curious nature of the creatures inside of the forest, Tyrin whistled five notes softly.

With each note, a collection of the glowing insects caromed toward the muscular man. He lent a hand to the air, and these creatures landed atop it.

Neach rose to his feet, startled, and asked what these animals were.

"They're not animals, they are fairies," Tyrin said mysteriously.

Neach couldn't believe what was he was hearing. For his entire childhood, his parents had told him stories of fairies that spent their time in the forests of Duncairn and maintained the balance between humanity and nature. As he saw them before his own eyes, he understood their influence over the people of the Kingdom. Watching such a stoic young man be brought to his utmost serenity showed how powerful the fairies were.

"Before people, these fairies ruled the wood. They lived in harmony with the forest, and the forest existed happily. Now, we harvest timber from this very land and, in return, make sacrifices to these small creatures in the hopes that they will maintain this ethereal piece of woods for as long as possible," Tyrin concluded.

Neach had to catch his breath before replying to the outlandish comments that Tyrin had just made. Alas, a part of him felt at peace, and he believed every word of it.

"They're beautiful, are there many of them?" Neach inquired.

Tyrin chuckled softly before responding to Neach's question.

"You must not get out of your village much, Neach; they are the rulers of the wooded realm. They call the Forest of Light their home primarily, but they exist elsewhere. As far as we know, they do not possess a written or spoken language, but they exist in harmony with each other and the world around them. Perhaps we should take heed from their behavior," Tyrin said with a tired look upon his face. The wrinkles beneath his eyes showed the pain that he had suffered recently. Neach could only assume it was a death, or perhaps he was distraught about the conflict that loomed on the horizon in Leirwold.

"Neach, this forest shows the good that can exist in the world. A coalescence of multiple creatures that are capable of living together in peace. Unfortunately, in our world, danger sits closely over the crest of the western hills. We must ride in the morning, to Leirwold. The sooner we assess the situation, the sooner we can do something pragmatic about our militant King," Tyrin stated ominously.

Neach paused for a few moments before bringing up a different topic.

"These fairies remind me of an animal I saw one time while I was in Spleuchan Sonse," Neach paused again, scratching at his arm as he recounted the event that had occurred what seemed like an eternity beforehand. He and his brother had headed out into the night and gotten lost in the darkness. Out of the darkness came a wolf with purple eyes that ultimately guided him and his brother homeward.

Tyrin let out a hearty laugh before commenting on the tale that Neach had just described.

"Purple, you say? I didn't realize you've known Fenris for that long."

Neach's eyes grew wide at the mention of his elderly instructor.

"That was Fenris? How could that be? It was a wolf!" he shouted.

Tyrin grabbed a flat rock from the ground and skimmed it across the still surface of the lagoon. It skipped and hit the opposite side of the water with a thud.

"It was indeed the man himself. When the Gods see fit, they bestow upon us the ability to transfigure into our natural ancestors. His purple eyes symbolize his royal blood. Before he was initiated as a member of the House, Fenris was a Prince in his own right. He lived across the sea in a distant Kingdom where his father ruled the land," Tyrin said calmly. He continued to skim rocks across the surface of the water as if he were biding his time, before the inevitable descent into the depths of hell that waited in Leirwold.

"But I have overreached my boundaries, Neach. To learn more about the man, you must ask the man himself," he concluded as he reached for another flat rock, finding the ground barren except for the glowing flowers.

"How proficient are you in our native tongue?" Tyrin inquired. A core facet of Neach's training in the past weeks had been grasping and comprehending the language of the House Goedwig, which appeared to be an archaic form of all the languages of the world, combined into one cohesive form.

Neach rubbed his hands together before he answered. The sun had since set, and the temperature inside the woods was now dropping quickly. He may have imagined it, but Neach thought he saw his breath in front of his eyes, if only for a minute.

He shivered as he answered.

"Not very, but I have learned some choice phrases," Neach proclaimed.

Before Tyrin could respond, a stick behind the two men cracked and Tyrin jumped to his feet with his sword drawn.

A thick fog had encompassed the ground and it was now much more eerie than previously.

"Who's there?" yelled a defiant Tyrin.

Neach was unsure of what was occurring, he only knew that Tyrin was better trained to handle aggressive behavior than he.

There was no response, as Tyrin's question echoed through the trees of the forest. He creeped forward, slowly, toward the mossy tree that stood near the bank of the lagoon.

You could hear the birds above singing a much more melodramatic tune as the night grew darker. Their tunes transitioned from comforting to a sense of unease, as the two young men stood near the water behind them.

"I ask again, who is there?" bellowed Tyrin. His voice was as intimidating as his stature. The voice which emanated from his body sounded like it originated from a full grown man, not a boy of less than twenty.

Once again, silence. This time, however, the silence was total. Even the birds above stopped singing, and all was still within the Forest of Light.

Tyrin inched forward again, circumventing the base of the thick tree he was now standing in front of. As he arrived at the other side, he only had seconds to react. Out of the foggy darkness, a blade came slashing down, aimed at his neck. Tyrin swung his own blade to meet it and parried it away before surging forward with a ferocious two handed swing. He grazed the leg of the attacker, and blood began to seep out of the wound. With a noticeable limp, he hurdled forward before Tyrin landed another blow across his arm.

He fell to the ground, defeated.

Tyrin grabbed him by the collar and shouted in defiance.

"Who sent you? Tell me and I may spare your life!" His shouts boomed across the dark forest.

The man looked up with a brazen smile, blood dripping from his mouth, as he must have taken a blow from Tyrin in the heat of the battle.

Without a word, the man laughed and whistled five notes that called the fairies to his side.

Purely out of anger, Tyrin looked down at the man who refused to speak, and swung his sword. With one fell swoop, the man was dispossessed of his head, and it rolled into the tree behind his limp body.

Neach could only look on in horror.

A peaceful night had been transformed into one of blood and treachery.

Around his arm, a band was worn which bore an orange circle with a yellow and green diamond in the center of it. Neach recognized it immediately as the crest of someone who was very well known within the communities of Duncairn: King Henrig.

"We must go, they will know where we are," Tyrin said coolly. His steely resolve was not tested, as the man whom he had just killed was undoubtedly not his first.

He picked the head and body up and threw them into the lagoon. The fairies hovered around the man's remnants for a few seconds before flying off into the darkness again.

Without a word, Tyrin headed off in the direction of Jorwel, expecting Neach to follow. Though he said nothing, Neach felt cold inside. The chill was not derived from the drop in temperature outside, but rather, from the hardening of his soul. If he wished to survive, he would need to get used to this reality: people live and people die, many times at the hands of each other.

In the depths of the Forest of Light that night, a whippoorwill sang a song of mourning. Its hymnal grief brought gloom to the site where a man was killed in cold blood. Though the chill ran deep and the fog was thick, the cold ran further than that. For the glowing entities which resided inside the Forest of Light, the first drops of malicious blood were spilled by a man who wanted little more than to be alone.

Oh, the blood of one, the blood of all, runs cleanly through the veins. Ironclad and bladed crowns, the blood flows all the same.

# XIV

"He may be the first, but he isn't the last."

Tyrin wiped his blade with a rag inside the safety of his home. The only light which shone was a single burning flame, a few feet from where he stood. It was as if his face had aged thirty years in a few hours; long lines drew taught below his eyelids and it look as if he hadn't slept in days.

"They have been hunting down our House for weeks now, but this is uncanny," Tyrin said quietly. He appeared to be subconsciously acting in his stealth training. The journey back to the home involved a heat run around the village, past various partying locals.

"We must act quickly. Though Henrig no doubt knows of my existence, he will not yet be aware of you. This is why you are crucial to the plan, Neach, you are a hidden agent in the fabric of our bloodline," he said this with a growing admiration for the young man who he had scorned upon his initial arrival to Jorwel.

He threw his rag to the ground and slipped his sword back into its sheath. The blade was crafted of the finest steel, probably from the coastal community of Cyll. Cyllian steel was said to be the strongest in the Kingdom, and the unique proximity of the mines to seawater provided an exponentially more rigid metal.

Along its hilt, there were various inscriptions made in their language. Goedish was an aesthetically pleasing language, with each letter looping together to form a cohesive linguistic unit. Neach's proficiency was still limited, but he could read the phrase that was directly below the blade.

Frillo dirry nervos tun

Translated, it meant "only the righteous can rule", but Neach was only aware of that because he had seen it before on the blade which Fenris had gifted him. Though much smaller in size, the phrase was encrusted just the same, directly below the blade.

He must have admired the exquisite piece of craftsmanship for an elongated period of time before Tyrin scolded him and regained his focus.

"That blade is like mine," Neach said.

Tyrin nodded, his mind elsewhere as a terrible plot was being unfurled across the Kingdom.

"It's tradition in our bloodline to gift new initiates a token of our appreciation, for the oath of our brotherhood is not something which should be taken lightly," Tyrin spoke as he looked toward the door, his mind already on the road to Leirwold.

"We must go now, through Endal to Leirwold," Neach proclaimed.

The renewed spirit in the young man, who had rarely spoken since arriving at his door step, brought a smile to Tyrin's face. He nodded in agreement, and the two men headed out the door.

In ordinary circumstances, they would not have risked travelling by night; however, the circumstances were indeed far from the usual. The aid of darkness would provide cover for their escape from the village toward the capital.

Rine remained tied up outside Tyrin's home as Neach removed his bind. He mounted the trusty steed and handed him a carrot to gnaw on for the next few minutes. If they were to make it to Leirwold by morning, he would need all of the energy he could gather.

Tyrin brought his black horse round from the back of his house and kicked at his side urging him forward. The horse resembled its rider strikingly. Both held the same chiseled features and angered posture.

Tyrin kicked on toward the southern road which was located only a few hundred yards from the entrance to the spot where Neach had entered the village earlier.

Unsurprisingly, the road was barren. Not a single person was seen for the first few minutes as they headed south toward the village of Endal. Along the road, there were small communities, but nothing of organized stature. The clusters of homes littered the dark night with small, flickering fires that seemed to be burning on embers. There was no doubt in Neach's mind that the people who inhabited these homes had been fast asleep for a long time. He wished to accompany them in their spring slumber, but the issue at hand required immediate attention.

They rode for what must have been near an hour before a dark, looming structure came into view to the west. Not visible from the village, it seemed that a large wall had been erected just east of Jorwel. Perplexed, Neach moved alongside Tyrin and asked about the monstrosity.

"What is that wall?" Neach asked tentatively.

Tyrin did not break his gaze from directly forward. He seemed to understand at this time that Neach had not been exposed to much as a child, and was generally uninformed about the Kingdom.

"That there is what the locals call the Gate of Flaws," Tyrin responded.

"Hundreds of years old, it was erected by the late King Rillod in an effort to keep his enemies at bay," Tyrin continued, "these days, no one knows what lies beyond the wall. In the past it had been manned by an army, keeping out what must have been a real threat. Today, it stands solitary and undefended, a relic of times passed. The ground remains perpetually scorched in front of it as a testament to the struggle which ensued at that place in the distant past," Tyrin concluded with a sigh. It seemed he had drawn the parallel between the time he told tales of and the time which they were moving toward. The conflict on the horizon could result in much more scorched earth at the cost of human life.

Hours passed before the village of Endal appeared in the distance. Along the southern road, the only light that existed was that of the moon above. Luckily for the two young men, a full moon illuminated their path and provided a reassuring breadth of vision on their dark and mysterious route.

The sun would not be up for yet a few more hours, but the men proceeded at the same pace. Rigorous enough to make good time, but not so much that it would wear the horses out, they galloped into the village at a brisk pace and spared no time for niceties. Though it was Neach's first time entering the eastern village, he lacked the attention and energy to take in his surroundings, as his mind was transfixed elsewhere.

Endal was a smaller version of Leirwold, in that it served as the hub for the eastern half of the Kingdom. Though its edifices were less impressive than those in the capital, deeming it a village seemed a little unfair to the craftsmanship which had erected such an organized community of thousands.

On its northern, southern, and western borders, it sat along the Forest of Light, which Neach and Tyrin had spent time in earlier that day. A great stone wall had been raised in an effort to keep any wildlife from interacting with the townspeople on a regular basis. The forest was a beautiful sight in the nighttime, as it seemed to glow from the inside, permeating out into the darkness, and acting as an explicative form to comprehend the delineation of its given name.

Before long, they were headed west out of the village, directly toward Leirwold. Their path would not deviate much until sunrise, as they headed on a direct route through the heart of the forest toward the capital.

The forest cocooned the two weary travelers in an embrace of mystique. On either side of the road, trees rose as high as the eye could see and acted as a natural barrier for Neach and Tyrin. They spoke little in the hours preceding, but as they entered the depths of the forest, Tyrin slowed to a trot and began conversation with Neach again.

"Amazing that this place exists, isn't it?" he asked Neach. The answer he sought was obvious, but he seemed willing to hear Neach's take on the natural beauty of the wooden fortress that was the Forest of Light.

Neach nodded in agreement and looked to his right. Tyrin's chiseled face was illuminated by the moonlight and he looked the part of a stoic military leader in the current atmosphere.

"When this is over, I hope to see more of it," Neach rebuked.

Tyrin vigorously shook his head in concurrence, and appeared to appreciate Neach's desire to return one day to his oldest haunt. Since he was a young boy, he had spent countless days exploring the interior of the forest, learning it's every crevice.

As a child, Tyrin was brought up by his father, who was an active member of the House Goedwig. He sent him into the wild on his own from the age of eight, in order to allow for the growth of a relationship with the nature that their lineage hearkened back upon.

In one specific instance, Tyrin had entered the forest from the northern edge, close to where he and Neach had entered earlier in the day. After wandering deep into the grip of the woods, Tyrin found himself lost and alone. A common occurrence for those who spend their days in the forests of Duncairn, he gambled on a direction and headed that way with conviction. Night fell, and he was forced to take shelter in the forest for the duration of the evening. This was the first time that Tyrin had fallen in love with its ethereal beauty. While he lay at the base of a tree, the fairies had come out and greeted him with their song. They saw that he was not hostile, and cradled him in their glow to remove any sense of fear from the young boy's mind. It was on that night that Tyrin grew fond of the otherworldly beings that inhabited the land. Their benevolence in the face of his adversity created a soft spot in his heart for everything that lived within the wood.

After emerging from the forest that next day, Tyrin never forgot the grace of the fairies, and made it a small objective in his mind to protect them from any imminent danger. Unfortunately, in the current circumstances, the fate of his House and himself appeared to be in much more peril than that of the tiny angels of the forest. He learned every inch of the area, and as he and Neach hurdled across the western road, it was as if he were doing it with his eyes closed. Tyrin had developed a form of muscle memory from the previous journeys to the capital along this path, and knew to avoid the various holes and dangers that lie along it.

The young men neared their destination as the first inklings of sunlight crept over the tree line. The vibrant reds and purples of the early morning sky showed the stark difference between their current tranquility and the task that loomed off in the distance.

The eastern gate of Leirwold led directly into the marketplace. As the two men entered the capital, people were just beginning to flock to the trade hub to sell various goods. Furs, cloths, exotic spices, and secondhand weapons were just a few of the breadth of items that could be purchased. While the people of Leirwold strolled wearily to their posts, the two young men were entering their last minutes of conscious. The late night was beginning to take its toll on Neach, as he slumped over Rine. Tyrin stood tall as ever to his right, determined to let any weakness be squashed before it was recognized by his peer.

From the marketplace, they headed west and Neach saw his first glimpse of a different side of Leirwold. Due west of the marketplace district laid the slum district. The most defined aspects of its borders were the road that cut straight through it, in a grid fashion. In the space which wasn't covered by road, shanty homes were placed in disarray with fires burning all around them. If he hadn't known better, Neach may have believed that the war he so feared had already begun. Lo, it seemed that directly in the shadow of the Castle, the impoverished peoples of the city laid claim to their poorly constructed homes.

The people of the district looked on at the two men with empty eyes. Most of them couldn't hope to ever own something so lavish, and Neach was unsure whether the look he was receiving was one of admiration or disdain.

After the slums came the university district. By the time they reached it, the sun had risen higher and the people of the city were now out in full force. More horses could be seen on the roads, and in the university district students flocked to their courses in droves. At the head of the district lay the university library. A large circular building with stone inlays, it hung over the district as a bastion of educational standard, and represented all that was good about learning in the capital city.

South of the library lay the lecture hall which housed hundreds of students daily. The young students sat in awe, as the Kingdom's greatest orators espoused their informed beliefs and understandings upon their own malleable mental form. Like an artist with a mound of clay, the lecturers molded their pupils into the most well informed members of the city.

As they rounded the library, Neach saw someone out of the corner of his eye that he couldn't have mistaken for anyone else. The beautiful girl with whom he had danced with during the festival earlier in the year was walking along the path, holding a collection of books in her hands. The topics ranged from philosophy to the study of the stars, and Neach approached her, as he saw Tyrin moving further from his vision.

He dismounted Rine and walked toward her, with butterflies flapping their wings rapidly inside his stomach.

Her eyes met his and a large smile broke out across her face. She came toward him, and they met in the middle of the lawn, in front of the library.

"Well, well, if it isn't the fleet footed boy," she quipped, with a beaming smile still taking residence upon her face.

Neach couldn't help but blush.

"And to think I may have never seen you again," he retorted.

She laughed a hearty laugh and threw her head back. Her black hair flew back, as she pushed it behind her shoulder.

"I hate to leave things like this again, but I have class to attend to," the girl said, with one foot moving in the direction of the lecture hall.

"It would be unfair of me to continue this game so I will oblige you, my name in Jenos," she said as she blinked her vivid green eyes in the early morning sunlight.

The air seemed to be completely sucked out of Neach, and for a moment he struggled to regain his breath.

"And I, am Neach," he responded shyly.

His intention on any other day would have been to make an impression on the girl, but the lingering exhaustion had already taken its toll.

"With that I bid you adieu," Jenos said chuckling as she strolled swiftly toward the lecture hall.

For a moment, Neach was frozen in place. The girl who had caught his eye some time earlier had an even more beautiful name than her dazzling appearance would have suggested.

As if violently awoken from a dream, Tyrin appeared ahead of him shouting.

"What is it you're doing? Come along," he hollered from the side of the lecture hall.

Neach obliged, but for the moment, he felt infatuated with the idea of seeing Jenos again.

"We're headed to Daniel's," Tyrin said, "The rest of the House has agreed to convene there and discuss our options going forward," he concluded with the same commanding tone that he had used upon their first meeting.

He was evidently unhappy with Neach, but he had failed to see the girl with which he was conversing. Neach hung silent for the rest of the journey. They headed south, through the rest of the university district, and into the heart of the craftsman's district before arriving at the entrance to Daniel's home.

Neach reflected on the previous weeks and how far he had come since his first visit to the home. Once a young, naïve boy, he had arrived for a second time, hardened and mature.

As they tied their horses outside the house, Neach couldn't help but be excited to see Daniel once more. Though the circumstances may not have been ripe for joy, he felt at home with these people. He had only met a small portion of his bloodline to this point, and would be charged with the task of meeting each individual soon enough.

With a hard knock on the door, it swung open as they were ushered inside by the strange artist who was Daniel.

He extended his hand for Tyrin and then Neach and spoke softly, as not to wake the other residents.

"The others arrived late yesterday, you are the final guests we have been waiting on," he whispered.

"I trust your trip wasn't too demanding, was it?" Daniel asked with a smile. Even in light of the hostility brewing just north of their current position, Daniel found a way to derive happiness.

He led them up the stairs, toward their quarters, and opened the door for them to enter.

They walked through the doorframe and Neach nearly collapsed on the bed which was placed close to the door.

"I'll be back to wake you in a few hours. I'd suggest getting as much rest as possible for the time being, we have much work to do," Daniel closed the door behind him, as he shuffled back towards his room.

Across the room, Tyrin sat atop his bed and stared out the window. Barely capable of keeping his eyes open any longer, Neach fell into a deep slumber and found solace in his dreams, if only for a short time.

For in the morning they would wake; a new dawn, a rising sun, shedding light upon the horrors that might lie beyond the walls of Castle Leirwold.

# XV

A bird sang outside the open window, as Daniel slipped in front of the crowd of people that had gathered downstairs in the foyer. Murmurs resonated through the hollow halls of the house's interior, but they stayed hushed, almost silent.

Neach said nothing, as Tyrin stood to his right speaking to a woman with short white hair. He was unfamiliar with the faces that were meandering about this grand home this morning, and was doing his best to stare straight ahead, as to avoid awkward interaction.

After exchanging niceties with an older man located near the front of the pack, Daniel stood atop the raised platform that was placed at the head of the room. He was wearing a red velvet robe and looked as if he were still weary from a largely sleepless night. Unfortunately, sleep was hard to come by for the members of a House who were being targeted and killed. To his left, he heard whisperings of a younger man named Fril who had met his demise in Balthusom on the northwestern coast of the Kingdom. This revelation sent a ripple of fear through Neach's body, as he realized that Balthusom was only a short ride north of Spleuchan Sonse.

Daniel cleared his throat and allowed a few minutes the sounds to die out as if they were the final remaining embers of a burning fire.

"Greetings and good tides, brothers, sisters, dearly beloved," he chuckled, but struggled to garner even a single smile from the on looking crowd.

He cleared his throat again, this time to refresh his facial features into the stoic necessity that the situation demanded.

"We are gathered in this hallowed space today, not only to craft a plan of action going forward, but to remember those who have fallen to this day, fighting for our righteous cause," Daniel's face grew grim as he withdraw a piece of folded paper from the pocket of his robe.

"Hirak Dulowil, aged thirty-seven of Cyll, Jup Weren, aged twenty-nine of Siriac, Cil Syrac, aged fourty-two of Fletwod, Josa Fennik, aged nineteen of Siriac, Wren Cunnig, aged twenty-four, also of Siriac, Norr Millo, aged fifty-six of Jorwel," as the name was read aloud, a tear welled up in the corner of Tyrin's left eye, "And most recently, I'm afraid, Fril Alge, aged sixteen of Balthusom," Daniel concluded the list and folded the paper back up before placing it in his robe pocket.

The murmurs began again, as Fril's name was read from the list. There must have been a few house members who had not heard the news yet, and the shocked expressions on their faces told a taut story of sorrow.

"We bow our heads in disdain that their lives were taken from them at an unfairly young age," Daniel led the procession and hunched himself forward.

A minute or so passed before the silence ceased and Daniel began to speak again.

"In an effort to pragmatically handle the situation in front of us, we will break our ranks into groups of fifteen and reconvene in due time. With the one-hundred eighty blood members present on this day, by my count that will result in twelve equal groups of fifteen," he concluded, as the large swath of people began to congregate with those closest to them.

Neach stuck close to Tyrin, as he waded through the people toward another boy who appeared to be their age. They embraced each other in a strong hug, and he went down the line of thirteen others and did the same as Neach stood behind idly.

"Brothers, sisters, this is our newest initiate, Coinneach of Spleuchan Sonse," a certain air lingered over the words as Tyrin gestured toward Neach, who had begun awkwardly fidgeting.

The first to extend their grace was a young man name Dirk, who hailed from the village of Cyll in the southwest. He maintained a sorrowful expression as he introduced himself. His hair was shoulder length and fair, accompanied by light blue eyes.

Next came a dark eyed girl by the name of Pliss from the eastern capital of Endal. She approached him with more conviction than Dirk and a firm handshake. Her gaze seemed to peer into the deep catacombs of his interior emotions.

The final person to welcome Neach into the House was a beautiful girl by the name of Vilxa. She had long blonde hair that flowed down past her collarbones, and eyes as blue as the southern sea. Vilxa gave Neach as shy smile as she extended her hand. He grasped it lightly in his, and shook with little firmness. Few words were spoken before she retreated to her original position.

Before Neach was able to introduce himself to other members of the group, Tyrin assumed a leadership role at the head of the congregation. He stood on a chair, as to intimidate the others, and project his booming voice across the expanse of people.

"Now that we have all rekindled our old relationships," he said with a curious glare toward Pliss, "It is time we get down to business. Shall we?" his words were met by a smattering of grunts and applause.

There was a sense of guttural appreciation for Tyrin's leadership amongst the other members of the house, specifically those who were around his age. Like a conductor directing an orchestral composition, the members of the small group watched attentively as Tyrin's hands flew up and down and directed their every thought and movement.

"Who here, in our illustrious coalition of youthful minds, has the slightest idea what it is we are up against in that bastard King and his men?" Tyrin questioned. Nervous expressions were exchanged between the others surrounding Neach, and not a single individual popped up to respond.

"Just as I had suspected," he continued, his tone growing somber yet again.

"Whilst in the Forest of Light, Neach and I came face to face with the danger that we are confronted by. One of the King's men was dispatched to rid the crown of us both, but was, unsuccessful," he smirked a devious smirk and the audience's eyes grew wide.

"Friends, our time is running out in the City of Leirwold. It is only a matter of time before Henrig discovers our new base, just south of the castle, so we must act swiftly, but with efficiency."

His words were met with cheers and embraces that seemed to raise the morale around the room. Though Neach had no qualms about Tyrin's confidence, he was concerned about the mental fragility of some of his peers. Dirk seemed to physically be shivering at the thought of fighting against the crown, while a young boy with red hair at the back of the crowd held his head in his hands.

"Brothers and sisters of the House Goedwig, we must stand strong in the face of adversity. For we are the just cause; we are the righteous beings in this cataclysmic war between good and evil," his words resounding with the amplification of a thousand shouts and a loud cheer erupted.

Tyrin smiled, evidently content with the raucous attitude he had instilled in his fellow house members. He motioned to Neach to come forward. With trepidation, Neach shuffled forward and found himself stood atop the platform next to Tyrin.

"This young man, not much younger than myself, is our hope, just as you all are. Coinneach of Spleuchan Sonse, what say you?" Tyrin coaxed a small diatribe out of Neach who was frequently soft spoken.

He mustered up all of the courage that he believed to be inside of him before he began his speech.

"Though we stand in this house, its physical reality is much less sturdy than the fibers which bind our blood together. I have been welcomed into this covenant with admiration and respect, and for that I am eternally grateful. In the face of darkness, the only source of light we may find is within ourselves. The shrouded tunnel of war which we are set to embark on will not always be clear, but it will be present nonetheless. Lean on your brothers, lean on your sisters. Lean, but be aware that you must shoulder the burden of others as well. With the might of the Gods, we will reclaim our freedom, and live to fight for our righteous cause once again," he concluded his speech with a thunderous cheer and applause emanating from every corner of the room. The other members of the house had ceased their conversations to listen to what the young man had to say. They looked on in awe as he commanded the full attention of every person in the home.

From behind him, Daniel approached smiling and clasped Neach's right hand in his own.

"You have done good, son," he whispered to Neach as he reclaimed his position atop the platform.

"Let it be known that we have concocted a most curious plan for infiltrating the castle. In an effort to keep the casualties to a minimum for as long as possible, we will be enlisting a member of this House to enter the castle as an entertainer. For centuries, our people have been the subject of song and dance as we maintained the peace and order within the Kingdom. Now, we must assume that role to do so once again. I'm afraid that King Henrig, being a member of our own bloodline, is aware of every member that currently lives and is associated with our fraternal organization. Everybody, except one," Daniel's voice trailed off as he looked in the direction of Neach. The room was silent and Neach froze as if Daniel's glare had put an incantation upon his legs, rendering them incapable of moving.

He approached Neach and shook his hand, his eyes wide with fear.

"You want m-me to infiltrate the castle?" Neach asked, perplexed.

"I do not want anything, son, but I can say wholeheartedly that the Kingdom needs this service of you. You are to pose as either a musician, or something else of your choice, in order to gain intelligence on the movements and actions of King Henrig, the bastard son of the House Goewig," the room cheered once again. Though the day was still young, many had been indulging in the ciders and beers of the city in an effort to calm their own nerves. Now, it seemed, the burden of this task was to fall upon Neach's shoulders. Young and narrow as they were, it was obvious that the eldest members of the house felt he was capable of carrying out the task.

"And so, members of the House Goedwig, in three days' time, our brother Neach will enter the Castle Leirwold. Lo, he will bypass the happiness that is oft associated with entertainment, he will require our blessing before this day comes," Daniel said and the rest of the room obliged.

There was silence for a few seconds before Daniel began:

Firgilli Cuma lare dishi procirila mon, drit dur vigi suda Cuma lare con

The words echoed through the hall as they were spoken aloud by all one-hundred eighty members bar himself. He remembered reading them in the Toriik Riamendi. If his memory served him correctly, the message read: "as the righteous heads into the bowels of the fire, cover him with a cloak of water".

Neach stood idly, as he was approached by the multitude of his brothers and sisters who gave their various praises and exaltations for the task he was about to take upon himself. He felt uncomfortable. Their praise seemed undeserving, as the burden he was taking up was minimal in the face of those who had died during the conflict. But, he took them in stride, and expressed his gratitude for their prayers and goodwill, as he prepared to enter the field of work that his House set forth.

As the people filed out of the area, Tyrin, Dirk, Pliss, and Vilxa remained behind to speak with Neach.

"Enough of this seriousness," Tyrin said with a smile on his face, "let us drink to our health while we still have it!" he exclaimed to raucous cheers from those around him.

He embraced Neach, and guided him out of the room, toward the dining area. The ground was lined with marble, and the furniture was lined with gold that twinkled in the early afternoon sunlight which shone through a stained glass window, encompassing an entire wall. The ornate decoration that flooded the dining room was typical of the lifestyle Daniel lead. Though a musician by trade, he had made a fair income as a travelling bard, and put it toward living an illustrious life. Tables of delicately carved oak and furniture, made with the finest velvet and animal skins, could be seen all throughout the house. It was a far cry from the simplicity of life in Spleuchan Sonse. Before coming to Leirwold, the most valuable item in his home had been his father's favorite chair, which his father had carved for him.

Tyrin swooped a bottle of wine out of a cupboard and raised it high in the air.

"To life, to love, and most importantly, to our brother Neach," the bottle came crashing down, as he pulled a large swig from its orifices.

He handed the bottle off to Neach first, who took an equally large drink. The wine tasted expensive but it still burned the back of his throat as it went down.

"That right there is the finest whisky from across the sea, in the Kingdom of Lejman. Drink up, for tonight we celebrate," his words were once again met with rambunctious applause. Tyrin never failed to evoke emotion from those who he spoke to. Neach thought that he would make a great leader in the future, even in his current young age.

The bottle of whisky was passed around for hours from person to person, and the laughter grew louder as the alcohol set in. Dance was ongoing through the wee hours of the night, and Neach found himself in embraces with both Pliss and Tyrin. Somehow in the chaos of the day, he had grown fond of his brothers and sisters. It seemed they had a connection as deep as the largest mineral mine in the Kingdom, yet they had only known each other for the better part of a day.

He sang songs he did not know, and even learned some in the native language that he knew he would ultimately forget in the morning. For tonight, all that could be heard throughout the house was bliss. Utter happiness and exuberance for these young men and women, who were embarking on a journey in which they were uncertain of its safety, filled the halls. They fought for what they believed was the righteous cause, and drank heartily as if it were commanded by the Gods themselves.

Tyrin had a different side to him when he was drinking. The seriousness and stoic nature that he usually upheld evaporated, and he sank back into the seventeen year-old being that he truly was. As the night grew old, Tyrin guided Neach outside, in back of the home. He held a curious item in his hand. It looked like a rolled leaf, and that was apparently exactly what it was.

"This, in my hand, is the leaf of the duvalnik plant that can only be found on Rosalia. The forest holds many secrets, Neach, and this one will help you understand them the most," he said with a laugh. His happiness seemed to multiply, as he become more and more intoxicated.

He lit the roll with a match, and inhaled deeply. As he exhaled, pink smoked emanated from his mouth, and Neach thought he could hear the morning birds singing in the distance. In fairness, the birds may have actually loomed near as the hour grew late. He handed it off to Neach, who inhaled like Tyrin did, before his mind seemed to explode into the open air.

He felt like he was flying above the home, above the city. Like a bird himself, he dove and banked and narrowly avoided rooftops. In his visions, he even saw Jenos. Her vivid green eyes were looking up at him from down at the university, and he could not help but smile to himself. The colors around him were exponentially more vibrant, and everything he thought seemed to fill him with happiness.

His body felt warm, like he was sitting next to the fire back at his home in Spleuchan Sonse. His eyes may have closed minutes earlier, but Tyrin snapped his fingers in front of his face to awake him.

"You should head to bed, Neach. Tomorrow you embark on your mission. For the good of the House and Kingdom, right brother?" he asked with a shy smile.

He clapped Neach on the back and headed back inside, as he followed close behind. The journey to his bed seemed much more perilous than the journey he would be embarking on the following day, but he was grateful to crawl under his sheets just the same before he faded off to sleep, the birds singing their song of joy in his head.

Out they come to spread their cheer; they drink till the morning to abide their fear. Joy is a blessing and joy is a curse, as the morning lark sings each day a new verse.

# XVI

His head felt like it weighed one hundred pounds. He was awoken by a loud pounding on his door from the outside. As it swung open, his head throbbed, and he raised his hand to his temple to prevent the onslaught of pain that was coming his way. Standing in his doorway was Daniel. He bore the same overenthusiastic smile as he usually did, but today it was different.

In his hands, he held a delicate green velvet robe with gold trimmings. He thrust it forward into Neach's face, and Neach groaned at the sight of the clothes, partially from their appearance, and partially from his hangover.

"There is an audition for entertainment at the castle today. I hear you are quite the shot with a bow, perhaps you could use that to your advantage?" Daniel chuckled as he posed the rhetorical question to Neach.

Neach had little time to react before Daniel thrust an ornately carved bow in his face again. The repetitiveness of Daniel's actions, combined with Neach's ill feeling, made for a very unpleasant interaction initially. However, he sucked up his pain and obliged Daniel's wishes.

"When does this audition start?" Neach inquired, rubbing his eyes with every word that left his yawning mouth.

Daniel laughed a hearty laugh before his replied.

"Twenty minutes; good luck!" he exclaimed as he slammed the door behind him and ran downstairs.

Neach couldn't help but wonder what it was that made Daniel such a peculiar individual. He was sending him off into danger with the widest smile on his face, laughing the whole way.

He donned the outfit which Daniel had bestowed upon him, and jogged out of his door down the staircase. Bursting out of the front door and onto the street in front of Daniel's home, Neach quickly turned the corner and headed for the castle which loomed overhead behind the house.

From a sprint, he slowed to a fast paced trot, as he approached the castle gate that was guarded by five men.

"I'm here for the audition, sire," he said in his most polite tone.

"What is your name, boy?" the fat, red faced guard in the center asked sternly.

"Coinneach," he hoped this would be sufficient, but was prepared to manufacture his way in if all else failed.

The guards separated at the sound of his name and he was permitted entry into the Castle Leirwold. From his first glance, he could not believe what he was seeing with his eyes. A massive square of grass was lined with flowers from the entrance until the bridge a few hundred feet away. The inside of the castle walls was expertly crafted, and it gave an artistic aesthetic to the otherwise purposeless rock.

As he headed over the Castle's moat, he entered the central sphere of the compound. The way the castle was organized, it had three rings which made up its design. The outer ring was the castle wall, which protected it from the rest of the city. The secondary ring protected the center market and living area of the castle from the outer ring, and the primary ring housed the King and his family in a large stone tower.

Neach's jaw dropped as he entered the secondary ring and saw how high the wall rose on every side. It was as if it were its own bustling city inside of the castle, completely cut off from the rest of Leirwold. He was approached nearly immediately and assumed that Daniel had sent word that he would be coming for the audition.

"Greetings, Coinneach! Good to see you here so promptly," the man chided with a thick layer of sarcasm. Neach had evidently shown up a few minutes late for his appointed time.

"Come along now, the King will be waiting," he added as he ushered him toward a room at the far end of the courtyard.

Neach's heart sank, and he felt as if it may hit the ground completely unencumbered. He was going to be face to face with the man who had ordered the deaths of his brothers and sisters. If he weren't in such a hurry, he may have been shaking where he stood, but he swallowed his fear and set his sights upon his ultimate goal. For the next few minutes minimally, he would need to muster all of his courage to entertain the bastard who wanted him dead.

The temperature seemed to drop a noticeable twenty degrees as they entered the King's presence. Outside, the early summer sun beat down and scalded exposed skin. Under the shade of the rooftop and with the luxury of personal fans in the form of captured criminals, Henrig sat atop a bejeweled throne, fat and happy. Though the air outside was humid and thick with heat, the King still wore his thick lion's fur robe around his broad shoulders and stomach. Neach was motioned behind a group of four other performers, and he watched on as they went before the King.

First to perform was a boy who appeared to be younger than Neach himself. He carried wooden balls in his hands and began to juggle them high in the air. It lasted no more than a few seconds before he dropped every item and was left empty handed. A silence fell over the room, as the boy was escorted out of the back toward the exit of the secondary ring.

Following the unimpressive young boy was a man who looked to be just older than Neach. He walked forward with no items in his possession, and his arms folded behind his back. There was a pause before he began his act, and the King stopped eating his apple to soak in what he was hearing.

They came up through the valley; they came from through the trees. The setting sun looked ripe like fruit from the branches' leaves. And into the wild they ventured; and into the sea they rowed. The Kingdom holds no secrets, for a secret's never told.

His song echoed through the far corners of the room, and it was greeted by applause from none other than the King himself. He seemed pleased with the performance, but did not wish to appear overenthusiastic.

He stepped forward with his bow and surveyed the area around him, looking for a catalyst to the chemical reaction he hoped to incite within the King's emotions. Initially, nothing caught his eye, but then he remembered a trick he had learned as a kid. As a young boy, his father Asgall had gifted him a bow for his ninth birthday. Along with the bow, he taught his young son how to create fire out of nothing. By dousing the tip of the arrow in alcohol, the friction created by the speed of the arrow when met with the enzymes in specific types of fruit could cause a spontaneous combustion, resulting in a fire.

"May I borrow your wine, my King," Neach asked politely as he bowed.

The King obliged and handed his goblet over to the young man.

What happened next took real courage on his part, but it ultimately paid off.

The string of the bow was drawn back, and the arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself in the apple the King was eating. Only a few inches from his hand, the arrow caused a slow burning fire that cast a glow on the wall behind him. His eyes grew wide and then a smiled followed suit. He was obviously impressed with his tactical prowess, and he watched as Neach aimed for his guard's hat and pinned it to the wall. His final piece was an arrow, with string tied to its feathers that he fired into the ceiling above the King's throne and swung across the empty space on. He landed atop the jeweled seat, standing overtop the King, and derived explosive applause and cheers from the whole room.

It was evident that Neach had won over the King's favor, as he rose to his feet to deliver his proclamation.

"It is quite obvious who has impressed me the most on this momentous day. Young man with the bow, what is your name?" the King asked.

Neach responded with little time separating the question from the response.

"Coinneach, your excellence. I hail from Spleuchan Sonse," Neach espoused.

The King smiled a smile that must have been brought on partially by the liquor.

"Well, Coinneach of Spleuchan Sonse, welcome to the embrace of the King. Every person who resides within the secondary ring of the castle is an important member of this Kingdom. We will spare no expense to make your stay here more enjoyable. You will remain under my supervision and care for the next month, as we celebrate the birth of my dear father," the King spoke softly. It was unusual for Neach. who had imagined he would be much more ruthless.

He moved as if his body were completely made of water. His feet made no sound as they struck the ground and he seemed capable of stealth performance, most likely a result of his training from the House. Though he walked without a sound, he remained upright and stoic, commanding a fearsome presence in front of him. When he reached the door of the royal quarters of the castle, he motioned Neach inside.

"In here you will find your accommodations," the King said with a smile on his face, "I trust they will be up to your specifications," with a giggle, he exited the room.

"I will call upon you in a few hours, until then, find your area of comfort, whether it be within the castle or in this room," the King removed his hands from the door frame and glided quietly into the hallway.

Neach was in awe as he looked around the room, which he now found himself living in. The sheets were made of fine silk from around the Western Empires, the pillows with the plushest down from the youngest birds in the Kingdom. Duncairn did many things right, but above all, they were known for their wood and ores. The bed frame was crafted from a dark strain of mahogany that had grain lines which threatened to run straight into the ground where they stood. Attached to the wood were curtains of velvet that would block the sunlight out with their thickness.

As he sat down atop his new, soft bed, Neach could not help but smile. Though he ascended to this position by betraying his blood, the King was doing very well for himself. Lathered in the richest foods and materials, King Henrig existed as a deity within the borders of Duncairn. People genuflected as he walked by and praised him in the highest when any good resulted from his reign. A peculiar thought, that the man who had killed his brothers and sisters was living a better life than everyone surrounding the great stone castle.

A few minutes passed before Neach decided to exit the room to explore the castle himself. He had only seen what little of the megalithic structure was in sight whilst walking through the front gates. There was bound to be more adventure abound throughout the grounds of King Henrig's fine estate.

He thought he would start with the watch tower, which existed right above where he currently resided. The staircase was located near the kitchen, and Neach had seen it when he entered the living quarters, guided by Henrig. Neach took a sharp left, as he left his bedroom and headed in the direction of the staircase that would lead to the watch tower.

It was difficult to imagine what he would find upstairs. Thoughts of ironclad warriors guarding the city's center sparked to mind, and Neach could not help but contemplate the battles which they had fought before coming to service under the King.

When he arrived, however, he found none of that. Up the spiral staircase he travelled without pause, not a single guard in sight. He continued up the narrow entry point for what seemed like an eternity, before the first glimmer of light cracked through the stairwell. Bits of red and brown broke up the otherwise gray walls inside of the somewhat claustrophobic space that Neach stumbled upon. Heavy brick cemented together with clay was the main material used for buildings in the city. He took notice of the stark difference between the thatched huts of his village and the more modern stone look of Leirwold whenever he ventured out of the craftsman's district, and into the heart of the city.

At the top of the stairs there lay an inscription:

From the tallest peaks we seek our shortest comings.

It was written in what appeared to be an ancient calligraphy of sorts, and Neach marveled at the time it must have taken to carve it into the hard stone.

Not much time was spent analyzing the writing, as Neach bounded past it toward the ledge. In the watch tower, the true height at which you resided was unknown for the most part. It wasn't until you reached the summit of the large and arduous hike that you found yourself with the most stunning view of Leirwold that could be seen with human eyes.

Panoramically, Neach spun himself looking in every direction at the mass of homes and businesses that comprised the city. He swore he saw Daniel's home in the distance, but convinced himself otherwise before long. From his new vantage point, he could see all of Leirwold, from the poor to the wealthy and back again. The thick early summer air seemed to get caught in his throat as he coughed.

Heat was like an old friend to his body. The winter had been long and only recently subsided, and though he spent a fair few weeks on Rosalia, he still found himself savoring every drop of sunlight as if it were a frond of water in a desert. He wiped the sweat from his brow, as he peered down into the castle's courtyard. From above, it seemed much smaller than he remembered, but he could just about make out all of the businesses that were placed in house for the King's benefit.

Duncairn had seen its fair share of Kings in the past, but none like the man Henrig. He was attractive for a man of his age. Dark, chiseled facial hair outlined a strong jaw line and provided a pattern for the grooves of his face that were so prevalent. Though his eyes were now sunken from age, their deep blue coloration was poignant. He had ascended to the throne because he seized it for himself. Before Henrig, the people had ruled themselves for nearly two hundred years, but he felt there needed to be a change. With an army funded and prepared by himself and a few friends from his home, Henrig marched into Leirwold and seized the castle which had been acting as a democratic stronghold for the last few hundred years. The tales of his treachery were unparalleled throughout the Kingdom. Neach heard from a young age that the King had raped and slaughtered all who existed within the castle's walls, calling them "naïve and brutish children". The violence was far removed to this point, as Henrig had remained on the throne for nearly fifteen years to the day. With his father's birthday approaching, Henrig would also celebrate his victory, but in a much more reserved way.

It all puzzled Neach as he stood atop the watch tower peering out over the old city. This collection of people and establishments must have existed for a thousand years, yet they all fought the same battles as their predecessors and never learned from their mistakes. He thought about the King and his sudden campaign against the House which had nurtured him so and taught him everything he knew. Why would he go on the offensive now, after so long? Neach thought. The answer never came to him and he was left to ponder a variety of issues for the next hour or so. In truth, it could have been much worse as he did so while watching the sun sparkle off the tops of homes around the city. He could heard faint laughter and shouting from all the up in the tower, but nothing distinct. The city coalesced into a melded pot of stew for him to indulge in and he did so heartily. For the first time since he left Spleuchan Sonse, Neach felt at ease.

The descent down the staircase was much smoother than the trip upward. He skipped and ran down the stairs as the new found bliss derived from the beautiful day radiated throughout his body. His feet hit the castle floor with a thud as he reached the main level.

His body felt lighter than it had ever felt before. As he entered his room, he thought he would fly away into the grasp of his linens. Unfortunately, he never met the respite of his bed. En route to his inevitable comfort, he heard someone approaching from the hallway.

"Coinneach, my boy, the King requests your presence," a fat man with a balding head yelled into the room.

"Where am I to go?" Neach asked innocently.

Laughter rose from deep within the man's belly.

"Why, the hall, young man, where else would His Highness eat supper?"

# XVII

He smelled it before he arrived in the room.

The aromatic pleasure of the finest spices in the Kingdom wafted past his nostrils, as he ventured toward the hall to sup with the King. His stomach growled in response to the impending meal, but he postponed the outbreak of hunger for the next few minutes as he made his way through the castle.

Near his room, the cloisters created an open air environment, which functioned as a breezeway on the warm summer day. Neach was grateful for the slight wind that blew across when he made his way down the hallway. Various geometric patterns were cut into the wall and left open to view out into the courtyard, where the final shop keepers were beginning to pack their belongings up for another day.

As he glanced out into the marketplace, he felt strangely at home. The community which existed within the castle walls was cohesive and well taken care of. The King made it his priority to see that his subjects were treated with the utmost respect and care.

The breeze came to a quick halt as he reached the humid darkness of the enclosed hallway again. Scents of rosemary and thyme grew more prominent the closer he came to the hall. Located at the edge of the secondary ring, he had heard stories from Tyrin the night before about its beauty.

He hoped he was not late, as a few minutes had passed since he departed his room. He had found himself caught up in the beauty of the precisely carved cloisters, and had spared quite a few moments admiring them.

Nevertheless, he entered the hall just as one of the King's advisors did simultaneously. Neach was able to identify his by the King's crest, which he had emblazoned on his robe, much like the boy from the forest.

What he saw in front of him was astounding. The ceiling rose at least thirty feet to the ceiling and every inch of wall space was covered with portraits of some of the most famous and infamous citizens of Duncairn throughout the Kingdom's history. Long oak tables were arranged in rows and placed parallel to each other, leaving little space between them for walking. Though the area appeared crammed at first, it had actually been exquisitely organized. Not a single square foot of space was put to ill use in crafting the most insanely detailed hall Neach had ever laid his eyes upon.

At the end of the line of tables there sat a high table that was raised a few inches off the ground to denote a higher stature of importance for those who dined at its quarters. From his best count, fourteen places had been set, and only his remained empty. The head of the table was reserved for the King, as Neach had expected, and he approached his side with caution.

"I apologize for my tardiness, your highness," Neach said tepidly.

The King smiled a slightly irritated grin, and extended his arm to touch his shoulder.

"It's alright, son. Now be seated, tonight we eat up in honor of your success today!" the King exclaimed to quiet grunts from his men.

And then he saw her.

Seated at the head of the table, a few seats from the King, was none other than Jenos. Her striking green eyes stood out from all of the others who sat at the high table, and Neach could not take his gaze off of her. Henrig seemed to notice almost right away, before Neach had even reached his seat.

"Ah, Coinneach, you have not had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, Jenos, have you?" the King boomed from the tip of the long, dark table that looked like a pillar laid on its side.

Neach froze.

The King's daughter; he had fallen for the King's daughter.

"I don't believe we have met, your Grace; Jenos, it is my pleasure," Neach said with a wry smile.

She replied with a seated curtsy, and Neach immediately stared down.

Great cheer erupted from every corner of the hall, as food and drink were passed around liberally. Neach felt uncomfortable in his own skin after making the revelation. His appetite was all but gone when the advisor who sat directly across from him demanded his attention.

"Lady Jenos is indeed a fair maiden, no?" the older man said. His eyes and face gave no hint of sarcasm or jest, and he appeared to be stone serious in his inquiry.

Neach swallowed hard on the roasted duck that had been prepared for the occasion.

"Yes, she is. Quite beautiful," Neach responded coyly. He had a habit of growing in comfort as time passed in places.

The man nodded in agreement and continued to devour the food in front of him. The King had ordered the preparation of the freshest vegetables and meats that the castle could muster for tonight. As he overheard from the others at the table, today was the beginning of a weeklong celebration for Henrig's father, which would culminate with a grand ceremony the following weekend. The nature of his employment now appeared to be quite clear, as he contemplated the next few days.

But his mind continued to go back to her.

Jenos, the "fair maiden", the black haired she-devil who had bewitched his heart with her beauty and wit, was the daughter of Neach's mortal enemy: the bastard King.

He could scarcely understand the predicament he found himself in, and his adolescent hormones did little to alleviate the pain he felt deep within his heart. After an hour or so, the King rose from his seat and began to speak to the collective hall, which now numbered in the hundreds.

"Friends, family, new subjects," he said with a glance toward Neach, "we are gathered here tonight to start the celebration of the grandest period of our year here in the Castle. My father, Filep of Endal, lived a life that was held in revere by all of the finest musicians of the land. He fought for the crown, and helped eradicate many plagues that threatened to destroy the fabric of our Kingdom. And so, for the next week, we will drink merrily, sing merrily, and play merrily in the spirit of his good faith. For without remembrance, we cannot understand the sacrifices of the past. Without remembrance, we cannot move forward to pursue greater things. So, we drink to the memory of my father, and all of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for the flag which flutters atop the castle wall. Drink up, friends, family; tonight we begin a journey that will end in our ultimate education and appreciation by week's end," the King's speech was met with an uproar of applause and cheers. The people seemed to genuinely love their ruler, a far cry from the monster Neach understood the King to be before coming to his home.

He sat down again and began to eat voraciously. Pausing momentarily, he looked up at Neach.

"Have you ever seen the city at night, Coinneach?" the King asked.

Neach was taken aback by the King's forwardness.

"Yes, sir, from my home I have walked the streets under the light of the moon," he responded attempting not to sound ignorant.

The King chuckled to himself and looked toward Jenos.

"That is nothing, my dear son, whence we finish our drink and food, I will take you to the battlements so you can lay your eyes upon the most stunning view in all the city," the King said.

Neach graciously accepted Henrig's offer and continued to eat all that was left on his plate. By the end, Neach felt as if he had been stuffed like a winter chicken. Never in his entire life had he eaten the amount of food that was provided by the King's grace the first night in Castle Leirwold.

A few minutes passed before a single voice broke out from the crowd.

From the wooded shores of the East land, to the western cliffs of yore, from South on Cyll's great mountains, to the Northern village whores, from the fairies of the forest, to the stone laid castle's core, there are bird singing above us and snakes squirming below, but the summer breeze feels warmer than the cold of winter snow.

He finished the first verse as the entire congregation joined in.

The Kingdom burns aflame, oh the Kingdom's glory holds. As the vultures fly above our enemies, only the Gods will know. Oh, only the God's will know the harshest deeds of old. When we fight in battle and take up the saddle, oh the Kingdom is our home.

Some of the older men around the room began to well up with nostalgia. Most of them probably hadn't fought in some years, but the memories burned vividly in their minds.

Such camaraderie was unseen before this moment. Never before had the love and loyalty of the Kingdom's subject been on such full display for Neach to experience. He found himself singing and clapping along with the grizzled men who surrounded him, and questioned again how the King could garner such support if he were as ruthless as they said.

Nevertheless, he cleared his mind momentarily, as he finished a glass of wine with a large gulp. His lips had turned a dark shade of purple, but nothing could take away from the fire which was being ignited deep within his soul. It wasn't long before the King approached his side and offered his hand in friendship.

"Come with me, young man, for I wish to show you a sight you will never forget," the King said joyfully, a grin beaming from ear to ear.

Neach had no choice but to oblige and follow Henrig out of the hall and back toward the cloisters. The breeze which comforted so during the day sent a shiver through Neach's spine, and if not for the alcohol, his teeth may well have chattered. Though the summer was upon them, the night still clung to the winter's cold with a vice grip.

"Do you go to the battlements often, your highness?" Neach asked, his courage no doubt brought on by the cup of cheer he had consumed a few minutes earlier.

Without pause, the King nodded his head in confirmation.

"Indeed, I travel here most often. It is nice to remove myself from the fracas of daily life within the Castle every now and again," he added.

Neach absorbed the words as if they were water to a rag, and added them to his growing encyclopedia of knowledge that he held about the King. Painted as a vagrant by every member of the House Goedwig, Henrig seemed a young man, as they bounded up the steps to the summit of the secondary ring.

For his age, the King moved quite nimbly. Neach questioned whether the King could beat him in a race if it came to it, but left those thoughts for another time. He trailed behind, as he struggled to keep his balance: a result of both the narrow stairs and the intoxication.

Soon, they reached the top and the staircase opened up to the Castle's battlements, which hung over the city like a daunting guard, crafted in metal. Large archers' towers and ballistae lined the wall for as far as Neach could see. In the darkness of the night, only their tops were illuminated by the moon.

"Come along, Coinneach, we're going to ascend one of these here towers," the King said with conviction. Though his age fought against him, he fought back with a might to maintain his youthful sense of adventure.

The climb was daunting to say the least. The only method of ascension was a rickety ladder, attached to the side of the fifty foot face of the back end of the tower. Neach climbed cautiously behind the King, knowing full well that if he were to fall he would surely take him with him.

By the grace of the Gods, the two men made it into the open air housing at the top of the tower. What Neach saw, when he peered over the edge, was even more impressive than the view from atop the tower near his room.

His vision went on unencumbered for miles, as he looked out beyond the city limits to the darkness of the wild pastures, which stretched far outside of the King's imminent domain. The moonlight sparkled on the top of the rivers' waters, and Neach could make out the outline of the mountains near his village low on the horizon.

"What do you think?" the King asked with a playful smile.

It would have been hard to hide his excitement and happiness at this moment, and Neach made little effort to do so.

"I'm surprised there hasn't been a damned picture painted of this scene, your highness," Neach said, not realizing he had just cursed at the King.

Alas, the King chuckled lightly and rebuked with concurrence.

"Tis true that this may very well be the best view in the entire Kingdom, but if it were painted it would cheapen the experience," Henrig responded.

Neach received the words silently and thought about the peculiar situation he now found himself in. How had he ended up here, with the King? He had taken a strange liking to him since his performance at the auditions.

As if reading his mind, Henrig validated Neach's thoughts.

"You know, Coinneach, there is a certain spark about you which I admire," he scratched at the bottom of his beard as he thought about his next words carefully, "What you did in your audition is unparalleled to anything I've ever seen before. The audacity required to pull off that move is uncanny; perhaps in another life you would have manned this tower yourself, under the flag of Duncairn," he concluded.

Neach had never considered fighting for the crown. As a child, he knew little of the distant land that was Leirwold, and even less about the elite warriors who were recruited to fight under the King's command.

"I have never had a taste for blood, sir," Neach offered.

"It is most definitely an acquired thing; some of the noblest warriors never truly accepted their fate as blood merchants. Unfortunately, it is both unforgiving and a necessity to maintain order in a land as vast as our Kingdom," the King looked off in the distance as his tone fell somber.

Neach chewed on the King's words for a few moments and wondered what he was referring to. Was it the incessant slaughter required to ascend to the position he now held, or was it the merciless killing required to eradicate the members of his House from ousting him from the position he felt he deserved?

"I had a wife, Coinneach, when I was much younger than I am now. When my hair was as black as the sky we now look up at, and my bones knew nothing of the heartache and pain they now harbor," Neach couldn't decipher whether this was coming on from pure good intention or the alcohol, but he listened nonetheless.

"Her name was Silvia. She was as beautiful as our daughter, if not more so. We were married at seventeen, and our daughter was born not six years later. Her passion for the Kingdom and myself ultimately led to her demise, unfortunately. She contracted sickness when Jenos was a mere child, and refused treatment to maintain the strength of our rule over the Kingdom. If I would have known that she was doing something so foolish, I would have provided the treatment myself," a tear welled up in the corner of his left eye which he promptly wiped away.

A thick silence hung over the two men as they peered out over the wall and into the sea of candlelight that was Leirwold at night. Fires could be seen burning just north of the Castle where the homeless and destitute laid their heads for the night.

"I fear a war is coming, Coinneach," the King turned his gaze toward the young man again.

"I know not when it will happen, but I can feel it in my bones. Rebel groups are forming as the days pass, and it is only a matter of time before they unify under the guise of removing me from my position atop the throne. It is my duty to maintain cohesion of this Kingdom, and if it costs me my own life, then it will be so. My wife did the same, and I will not let her death be in vein," he concluded as he removed his hands from the edge of the tower. They were ashen from many dry days without moisture, in which he had wielded both a sword and the edges of a pulpit.

"If you fear this war is coming, what do you plan to do about it, your highness?" Neach asked timidly. He did not want to push too hard on the King fearing that it would make him suspicious.

"Plans are the ultimate downfall of the smartest men, Coinneach. In order to survive and succeed, one must take each day in stride. No amount of preparation can prepare a man for making the ultimate sacrifice if necessary."

Neach quivered both from the cold wind which blew stiffly across the face of the tower, and from the thought of a full blown war erupting just outside the city's gates. He knew not what lurked in the shadows of the Kingdom, but the King was making a compelling case against their treacherous intentions.

"But enough of this talk, boy. Tonight is a night of celebration and we must treat it as if it is so, for even in the face of adversity it is important to show strength. Come along now, they'll be looking for us in the hall," the King said with a smile as he headed for the ladder downward.

The descent was exponentially easier than Neach would have expected. It's possible that the intoxicating effects of the liquor had worn off, giving him his mechanical functions back in full force.

They reached the staircase that exited the battlements, and the King seemed to have a renewed hop in his step. He skipped down the stairs at a break neck pace that Neach feared would result in a serious injury if he were not careful.

Song was still emanating from the bowels of the hall as they reached its entrance yet again. The warriors and merchants alike sang a song with their utmost vigor, as the King and his new favorite subject reentered:

"Come sail away, to the isle of Roses, the jungles aplenty, the door now closes. Sailing along on the open sea, you'll never be better than then. For the water is free and the water is timid, the water is rough and the water is rigid. In the depth of the night when the water is calmest, a monster will come to life; oh a monster will come to life."

# XVIII

He awoke with a shiver.

The covers of his bed had been removed in his sleep, most likely a result of his incessant movement. Though he gained the respite he needed most nights, his body always seemed to ache in the morning as if he had been running in his dreams all night long.

Neach pulled them back over himself in exhaustion, as a long yawn erupted from deep inside the cavern that had been created by the lifted sheets. This was his first morning in the Castle, and he found himself enjoying it more and more as time passed by. His bedding was made of the plushest linens from across the land, and some from across the ocean, which created a cohesive bastion of comfort that he slept upon every night. Though he lived like a pauper in comparison to the King, the same could be said for his past life in Spleuchan Sonse. The accommodations he was now privy to far surpassed anything he had ever been given as a young boy.

Minutes passed before he could muster the strength to rise from the bed. He felt as if it would hold him in its grips for an eternity, but struggled his way out of its soft exterior, regretting every movement.

The curtains that resided atop his bedroom's window were drawn apart, and the bright morning sunshine shone through the glass square. Neach squinted, as he looked out into the courtyard at the people who had begun setting up their day, just as they did every other day.

Today seemed more upbeat than the prior, however, as he heard song emanating from high atop the watch tower. He assumed it must have been another of the King's egregious ceremonies in remembrance of his father.

Pulling on a pair of tan slacks and a green shirt, Neach moseyed out of his room, and into the hallway that he was growing so close with. Light speckled the inside of the hallway as it came in through the open spaces of the cloisters, and Neach was thankful for the added warmth, as his teeth chattered.

With his arms folded and his legs stiff, Neach entered the hall to attempt to scrounge up food from the night before. What he found when he entered was both alarming and amusing.

Seated at the head of one table was a man whose face was buried deep into a blueberry pie. The vivacious purples and blues of the juice ran down his face, as if it were sweet, fruity, blood nectar. To his right, another man was slumped over a plate of rice, and had most likely been there since the dinner. Even atop the high table, a man sat with his head thrown back and a deep red wine stain down the front of his tunic. The King's subjects that worked in the kitchen were running around frantically, attempting to restore order before he wished to eat another meal in the area that looked as if it had been pillaged by enemy foot soldiers.

Neach walked to the high table and grabbed a bundle of grapes in his hand and immediately chomped his teeth into their soft skin. The juice flew out, and they snapped as he ate them one by one. After he had satiated a good portion of his hunger, he headed over to a man he knew as Lord Frylin, who was sat next to the man stained with wine.

He had awoken, most likely recently, and was holding his head in his hands, doing everything in his power to thwart the hangover which was plaguing his morning.

"Good morning, Lord Frylin," Neach said with a smile, the grapes still present in his hand.

The Lord from the northern city of Balthusom looked gravely serious, until a small laugh broke from his strained face.

"Coinneach, fancy seeing you here this early; last I saw you, you were speaking with the King's daughter," he said with a hiccup.

Neach stared back in awe as he thought of the time which Frylin was speaking of. That had been nearly two full hours before Neach had left the hall with the King, let alone returned to his room. Lord Frylin had no doubt blacked out or fallen asleep as a result of the whisky and wine, which was ordered in droves for the feast.

"That is quite a long ways removed, my Lord. I should have thought your memory better than that," Neach jested with the ailing Lord.

Lord Frylin did not take kindly to these words from Neach.

"Listen here, monkey boy, if I were King, I'd have you dead for that," he said as his eyes rolled back in his head from the pain.

Neach smiled even wider this time as he looked down at the tired man.

"Well then, I should consider myself lucky that I'd sooner be crowned the ruler of Duncairn, than yourself," he exited with a fake jab to the Lord's left arm, and Lord Frylin had abandoned any attempt at maintaining his royal dignity.

He walked with a new sense of courage and composure. The young boy who had left Spleuchan Sonse months earlier was now only a shell of its former self. His head was held high, as he glided through the empty halls of the King's castle, aimlessly wandering with no intention of reaching an ultimate destination.

Though he remained a young man, Neach had grown in untold ways as a newly initiated member of the House Goedwig. Fenris had taught him valuable lessons, and he still read the Toriik Riamendi before he slipped into the comfort of his bed at night. On this beautiful summer morning, Neach thought he would indulge in its text yet again.

Sunshine was streaming through the intermittent clouds in the sky and down upon the whole of the city, causing a warmth to rise from the black ground. Its brilliant glow was nature's candle, and it burned perpetually high in the sky above Duncairn. Neach couldn't have asked for a better start to the day, and for the first time in weeks, he felt he had the relaxation he so desired. After returning to his room, he collected the House's tome and slid it under his baggy shirt.

Out into the courtyard Neach strolled, and he walked across the open space to the shade that was being provided by one of the stalls. He sat down in the cool air and breathed a sigh of relief. Though he appreciated the heat, it was increasing rapidly throughout the day and threatened to suffocate him.

As he sat beneath the shaded wall, he opened the book to the point where had finished the night before. No matter how many times he revisited the text, he was always struck by the extent of the detail that went into crafting its binding and individual pages. He had read a few hundred pages, and made no more than a dent in its extensive size. The section he had opened to have an eloquent illustration of a wolf, bear, and a large black cat, the likes of which he had never seen. Atop the picture were the native words: Blidole Feralion.

He swept his finger across and revealed the translation that he could understand. Though his Goedian was improving every day, these two words were ones he had not encountered throughout his time thus far.

The Feral Bloodlines, it read, long ago, before the dawn of the first Kingdom, before the first town was raised, there resided three legions. These legions were forged in the earliest moments of our universe and live on to the current day. On the island of Duncairn, the once near extinct House Goedwig resides survived by the sons of Forlid the Grey and Wrena the Tawny. Their blood seeps deep into the land and grafts a tangible connection between themselves and the space from the Cliffs of Baltha, to the shores of Cyll.

Beneath this paragraph description, there was a family tree drawn out that depicted the very origins of the House Goedwig. Because of the age of the text, it only went back so far. He didn't even see Fenris' name located on the tree, and he assumed that he was the oldest remaining member of the House.

Following the description of his own house, there laid another descriptive paragraph. Denoted by a small bear at the top it read, across the sea, in the Kingdom of Lejman, the people of the House Wirnej maintain a foothold amongst the icy wasteland that is their Kingdom. Descended from Jolnik Surfia and Drague Plokko, the House Wirnej hearkens back to their blood relation with the ancient bears which used to roam the land.

Again, a family tree depicted the history of the House Wirnej up until the current time, or at least until the most recent documented time.

Neach's eyes grew wide as he read further on along the pages.

Following a small black cat, it read, perhaps the most revered of the feral bloodlines, the House Farrak is also the most recently formed. No more than fifty years prior to the creation of this edition of the Torrik Riamendi, the first members of the House were born in the Kingdom of Shirla. Related to the panther by blood, their first member, Asil Turawi remains alive to this day. Their call the desolate deserts of Shirla their home, just south of Lejman.

He closed the book with a loud thud that startled the stall worker nearest to him. Neach couldn't process exactly what he had just read. If what the book said was true, there were hundreds if not thousands of others out there who were just like him.

Neach held his head in his hands as he pondered what he had just read.

As he sat in confusion, two boys dressed in full royal attire approached him.

"You there," they shouted, "What is your business here?" this time with an even more imperative tone.

Neach jumped back startled.

His reaction was met by uncontrollable laughter. The boys who he thought had discovered him reading the sacred text were, in fact, his own brothers, Dirk and Tyrin. Disguised in exquisite robes, they had entered the Castle and surprised Neach, who had been lost in his own thoughts.

Aghast, but returning his heart to normal palpitations, Neach rose to his feet and shook Dirk by the collar playfully.

"You should be careful with that," Dirk urged, "It could get you killed in a place like this."

"And the same goes for you; I nearly took my blade to you!" Neach hollered.

Alas, the young men laughed and joked about the situation, in an attempt to mask their underlying concern about the intended mission at hand. He had almost forgotten his true intentions in the good cheer and festivities, and his brothers arrived at an optimal time to remind him of his duty.

"So Neach, how goes it?" Tyrin asked, his voice returning to its stern normality as his brow furled up in a peculiar motion.

What could he possibly say to them? That life wasn't all that bad in the castle? That the King had taken a liking to him? That the girl he had fallen in love with many months earlier was the King's daughter?

"It goes well, brothers, come along, to a place where we won't be bothered," Neach said, betraying his true feelings.

Behind the watch tower nearest to his room, there sat a training ground for the Castle's young knights. If he would have spent his youth within the confines of these Castle walls, Neach would have no doubt picked up a sword at a young age and learned the art of swordsmanship.

Metal clanged against metal, and wood thudded against wood, as the different levels of knights engaged in training that was relative to their skill. When they reached the yard, Neach led his two brothers behind the weapon smith's hut and began to speak.

"Has there been any plan set forth by Fenris or Daniel?" Neach asked immediately, desperate for some answers or, at the very least, action.

Tyrin lowered his head and looked off into the distance for a moment before responding.

"I'm afraid our situation is much more perilous than we thought before," Tyrin began, "The King called for the raid of Siriac, and we've just gotten word that we lost six more brothers during the fighting. He moves swiftly and efficiently, as the House taught him so well," he concluded, his face taught with the lines of stress and sorrow.

Neach waited for more, but was left hanging onto nothingness.

"What does that mean for me; for us? Are we meant to stand by idly until he rounds us up from right underneath his nose?" Neach asked in a demanding voice. The shy boy of old had been replaced by an ever hardening man, intent on action.

Tyrin shook his head and spit on the ground behind the hut. His demeanor told the entirety of the story as if it were a finely crafted tapestry from the ancient times.

"You are meant to... abort the King's chipper spirit in three days' time," Tyrin said softly.

Neach looked confused at the choice of words Tyrin had espoused.

"Abort the King's 'chipper spirit'? And how am I meant to do that?" Neach asked, again commanding a dominant role over Tyrin for the time being.

Tyrin paused for what seemed like an eternity before he humored Neach's question with a response.

"You are meant to kill the King, Neach" his words were met by horror in the face of the young man who hailed from a western village not too long ago. He had barely been fit to kill his sheep, and now he was meant to kill the most powerful man in the Kingdom.

"You're insane!" Neach shouted, immediately hushing his voice after the initial disbelief.

Some of the men who were training in the area looked backwards, but continued on in their task momentarily afterward.

"You expect me to kill the King? What am I to do after that?" Neach begged for a reply which would spare his own life. He was not in the business of bartering his head for honor, and he did not intend to begin today.

Tyrin glanced around the corner of the hut and looked Neach directly in the eyes with his steely gaze.

"Two days from today, a day from the 'morrow, you are to maim the King whilst he has you performing your feats of archery. I, Dirk, and Plix will have snuck into the Castle that day, and will be present during your show. When the arrow leaves your bowstring, we will do everything in our power to ensure that we all leave the grounds with our heads intact," he spoke the words coolly, but they threatened to burn his mouth with each syllable. What he was suggesting was regicide, a direct act of treason against the King. People had lost their heads as a result of much less in times past.

Nevertheless, Neach agreed to the plan set forth by Tyrin.

"Fine, I will do it. Let us hope that the Gods are in our favor when we follow through," Neach spoke as if he were a military commander in the presence of men who were all as young as he. Their faces still smooth, their chests bare, but their hearts were filled with the anger and passion of a hundred warriors dead. So many of their own had died in the struggle against the King, and they felt it was their duty to end the bloodshed, once and for all.

Tyrin and Dirk left without another word, as they shook hands with their brother, who they were sending into the deepest chasms of danger for the good of their house. As Neach watched them walk away, through the gates of the Castle, he could not help but think of Jenos. Her beauty seemed to radiate through the walls of the fortress, as if it were the strongest star in the universe. In just a few short days, everything he had known had been turned on its side. The identity he had started forging when he left the confines of Spleuchan Sonse now seemed a distant memory, and he feared that it still had some settling to do before he could finally sleep easy.

# XIX

His dreams.

They burned white hot in his memory, and twisted like a sharp knife in his mind every time they came. Luckily, when they left, there was no permanent damage to either his body or his psyche.

As he tossed and turned in his sheets, his eyes fluttered back and forth in rapid succession, as if they were searching for an undefined object in his room.

Inside Neach's mind, he was frozen.

He looked down at his feet and they were exactly as he knew them, but he was incapable of moving them. When he looked at his hands, they too were just as he expected, but stuck in one place without any flexibility. They were raised high above his head, as he lay down on the ground, and his legs were pointing directly downward.

His breath exploded into the night air with every inhale, and a cloud of fog seemed to be rising up from the ground around his body. In complete contrast to the fear that he held deep within him, the sky above was completely clear. Neach was thankful for this, until he realized that his eyes had not deceived him.

The sky was completely devoid of any clouds, but it was also devoid of starlight. A grand moon presided over the field which he laid in, and he took comfort from the fact that he wasn't completely isolated in the dark. As he looked down again, he saw a familiar sight.

Coming toward him, slowly, but with determination, was a frail wolf.

It was black in color, with eyes that shared various hues of red and yellow. Its fur had streaks of gray in it that made his body shiver at the sight. He had read about this wolf before: the wolf of death. Glinjatuk, as it was known in the book, was strolling toward him slowly as it licked its lips.

The wolf circled him for a few minutes, and Neach's heart stopped, as it came to a halt next to his right arm. Slobber ran out of its mouth and onto Neach's hand, as it stood over him, looking more ominous as the time passed.

Neach couldn't understand why he was having this vision. The wolf represented death: that much was sure, but was it present because of the King's imminent death, or his own? The very thought of dying in the catacombs of the Castle made him shudder in his bed, as his mind continued to race at a terrifying pace.

At the moment when he thought Glinjatuk would claim his body, a strange thing happened; Neach heard a rustling from close by. The dastardly wolf growled and bore its teeth, but after a few moments paused completely.

Out of the brush, another wolf emerged. Neach knew it by a name that was close to his own heart: Fenris. The purple eyed creature moved with pace toward Glinjatuk, and when they met, they both evaporated into a colorful smoke above his body.

Neach was awake.

The night was not kind to Neach, and as more time passed, and his task grew closer, he found difficult to do anything without his mind wandering to the inevitable. He was out of bed for near an hour when he headed to the hall to grab his morning respite, in the form of ripe fruits and hearty breads. The hall he knew from a few nights earlier was a distant memory, and Henrig's family crest hung low from the ceiling above, representing the commencement of celebrations.

He remembered something that Fenris had told him in Rosalia: the King hailed from a long line of righteous men, one of the most revered in all of the Western Empires.

This meant little to Neach at the time, but as he ventured deeper into his role as an entertainer, he realized that the King was held in the highest regard of the people of Duncairn. It would be a tall task to convince them that their own loyal, noble leader was in fact a traitor. This thought, however, was senseless. There would need to come a day of reckoning before that would have even the slightest relevance.

It was almost as if the blood was already on his hands. When he would take to the bath to cleanse himself, it was a subconscious effort to cleanse his body of the wickedness he would be participating in, just a few days from the current time.

Succulent strawberries and blueberries were left in a bowl for him at the high table, most likely by the King himself. He had taken a great liking to Neach in the few days he had been here, and had seen to it that he was treated to various amenities that the other subjects were not privy to. They looked on in disdain, as he grasped the fruit from within its bronze cask.

A woman walked toward him with yellowed teeth and smiled an incredulous smile.

"If it isn't the King's bitch himself," she jested, "Come to dine after a long night with our Highness?" when she laughed, the others followed suit in a caucophony of laughter that threatened to make Neach's ears bleed.

Alas, he kept his cool and returned the favor of jest.

"Unfortunately, no; when I called upon the King it seemed your boy son had already taken my position," Neach said with a brazen smile, taut with lines of outright hatred for the putrid woman who stood before him.

With a look of horror, the woman walked swiftly away before yelling out at him.

"You be careful boy! There are secrets within the confines of these walls that none would dare speak; there is most certainly room for more," she warned with a gravelly claim. The ominous tone in her voice sent shivers down the young man's back, but he proceeded to indulge in the fruit left for him by Henrig.

Sans drunken debauchery and merry song, the hall was a beautifully decorated place. Functioning as the center of the bustling castle, the hall was where men and women of the crown came to dine and drink in the presence of royalty and their fellow subjects. On any given night, the hall would see hundreds of visitors who lived within the borders of the castle walls, some staying till the sun rose the next morning.

But something was different about the hall this morning.

It had been thoroughly cleaned the night before, and Neach could not help but notice the fine detail which was put into the décor. Though the crest banners fell low, near to the table, they were held up by ornate golden rods that protrude from the wooden ceiling beams. On each table, sat a collection of flowers, gathered from the garden just outside his window. Summer snaps, fire roses, and spring lilies completed a molten bouquet, which threatened to light the wooden table below it aflame. The flowers of spring and summer were a welcome sight for the weary Neach. He always remembered the coming of the season was marked by the first fire roses sprouting from the ground outside of his home in Spleuchan Sonse. In the winter, none but the frost thistle survived the harsh weather, but in the spring and summer, grand blooms took place and covered the ground, as far as the eyes could see.

He was admiring the stunning centerpieces when a familiar voice whispered just behind him.

"Hello, fleet-footed boy," it cooed in his ears, tickling with every word.

Neach wanted to spin around quickly, but decided it would be best to play it off as normality.

"How long we've known each other and you still don't know my name?" he quipped with a beaming smile.

She sat beside him and placed her hands within her lap.

"Now, now, Neach, don't be so hasty," her black hair flipping over her right shoulder, "there will be plenty of time for niceties."

Though he was unsure exactly what she spoke of, it caused butterflies to erupt within his stomach. Jenos looked stunning as usual. She was wearing a red, yellow, and orange based dress that resembled the flowers placed atop the tables. No doubt planned for the celebration, the gown contrasted with her black hair miraculously, and caused Neach to become short of breath momentarily. In her hair, there laid a sprig of summer thistle. Different from its winter peer, the summer thistle lost its hard, prickly, spikes, and was left with soft hair in its place. The green of the thistle met the green of her eyes and they danced together in sweet harmony.

He must have been staring oddly, because Jenos tapped him on the shoulder.

"Neach?" he struggled to regain functional consciousness as she laughed, "Perhaps there won't be time for niceties, then."

His cheeks must have turned the color of her crimson dress from embarrassment, but he did his best to recover.

"My apologies, Lady Jenos, I'm afraid last night's sleep was not kind to me," his quick witted response seemed to please her, as she pushed her hair behind her ear.

"Well whatever it is, I'm sure it can be fixed by a day in the city," she said shyly, all the while smiling.

"Don't try to use your feet on me again, Neach, my father has already approved of it," Jenos beamed from ear to ear, and Neach couldn't help but follow suit.

He rose from the table, and was grabbed on the arm by the fair lady, the daughter of the King of Duncairn.

Never before had he seen a more beautiful summer's day in the Kingdom. He had been lucky enough to experience wonderful weather in the recent days he spent at the castle, and this day was unfolding into what would prove to be its pinnacle.

Jenos bowed to the guards as she led Neach out the front gate of the castle, toward the heart of Leirwold and the city seemed to open its arms in a wide embrace to the gallivanting couple, as they left the safety and security of the large stone castle behind them.

There were few words spoken in the first few minutes of their walk, but Neach found comfort in the silence. Their minds existed in sync, a mental harmony, and they expressed their joy without a single phrase uttered. A gnawing cold had once bitten at Neach's insides when the winter was young and he feared it would reach its maturity quickly. But now, in the warmth of the summer, his heart filled with an unbridled heat, that he would have attributed to the meal a night previous, if it weren't for Jenos by his side. Never before had he seen a girl as beautiful as her, and he was struggling to make the impression that he desired.

Yet, as they walked through the university district, past her library and favorite tea place, along cobblestoned grounds, their hearts mended as one. Engaged in a perilous dance that threatened to drop their very hearts to a hungry pack of lions at any second, the two forgot their lives momentarily and lived as if they were free creatures. Free to roam the lands, unencumbered by human suffering; free to speak and laugh as they please; the burden of man's intelligence a distant memory.

They reached their destination, as the sun raised high above them in an effort to shed its everlasting heat all at once, atop their unprotected bodies. Jenos had jested with Neach when he asked the location they were headed for, and she kept the secret held deep within her until it was directly evident before them.

Bypassing the armory and slum districts via the main road, the couple had ventured northward outside of the city limits. Scattered around the massive capital's walls were apple trees that hung low over the grass, as their fruit grew heavy. Jenos took Neach by the hand, and guided him toward the riverbank where the largest of the apple trees resided, in an effort to gain some shade, as well as soak in the picturesque landscape of the world just outside of Leirwold.

"Here," she said, grabbing an apple from the tree, "I promise you'll never taste a fruit so sweet anywhere else in the land," her eyes cutting holes through him, peering into the distance.

Neach took the sumptuous red fruit from her hand and rotated it in wonder. There were apples in Spleuchan Sonse that grew as well, but none of this caliber. With a swift bite, he dislodged a fair portion of the apple, and chewed as the sweet juices ran down his throat.

They sat and talked, for what could have been a lifetime, intrigued by each other's simplicity, with a total disregard for the complex nature of things tossed to the side like week old bread. Laughter and sigh conjoined at the oratory hip, their words danced through the air with the acumen of a young bird, newly lightened of his burdening lack of flight.

Some time had passed, and the sun was lowering itself to just above the mountains in the distance. Neach had scaled them only a few weeks prior, but much had changed since then. As he sat with Jenos, wrapped in his now strong embrace, he wondered if certain things were meant to be kept secret. The truth of his intentions would surely result in the collapse of his new found relationship with the King's daughter, and the less she knew the better. A bitter twang arose within his stomach, as he digested the thought of betraying the girl he had fallen in love with.

"Do you ever wonder how exactly it is that we got here?" the princess asked in a quiet voice, as she looked out on the water from atop the shore.

"If I'm not mistaken, you lead me to this place," Neach said with a chuckle. Humor was a medication to alleviate any wound, and he felt as if he had contracted a terminal disease.

She smiled, but less sheepishly than would have been expected. The King's daughter was many things, but weak was not one of them. If the King failed to produce a male heir, she would be the rightful owner of the throne of Duncairn. All of her life, she had been prepared to seize command where her father left off, and it led to a brazen belief in herself and her identity.

"Unfortunately, I do not mean this riverside; I mean it on more of a grand scale. Was it the fates of the Gods which led us to one another, or simply the fool's luck? Or is it possible that neither are at play and a day will come where what we now have is both irrelevant and unimportant," the conversation had taken a more somber tone, but the princess spoke with a genuine curiosity. Neach could not fault her for her questions, as he had the same ones himself.

"Just as the unfettered crop does not grow on its own, I believe these things are a result of a multitude of arbitrary things, and some of pivotal importance," Neach began to say.

"And now I'm supposed to believe the archer is a master farmer?" Jenos said. It was her turn to jest and she let out a loud laugh while looking up at Neach.

He smiled a smile he never knew was inside of him. A genuine feeling of bliss fermented within his bones when he was with the princess. She related to him in many ways, but unfortunately they were very different in one article in particular.

If the princess had known of his true profession in agriculture, it's likely they would never had known of each other's existence. The class system within Duncairn allowed for no mobility, and it was rare for anyone to make it to the capital from a place like Spleuchan Sonse.

Nevertheless, Neach amused her.

"It doesn't take a fisherman to know that fish don't drink beer," he said with a chuckle. The old adage was actually something he had heard from Fenris when he was in Rosalia. Though crude, it expressed the sentiment that some things were known to all.

Jenos' smile turned a shade of grey and the joy left her face.

"My father used to say that when I was younger," it seemed Henrig had known Fenris as well.

"Your father is a great man," Neach began, "he has done many great things for this Kingdom," even as he spoke the words, they seemed to leave a foul taste in his mouth. To falsely promote an individual, only days before their imminent death, seemed a devilish deed.

"My father lost his way when my mother died," the princess cooed, her voice trailing away, "and I'm afraid he never did see the path again," her words echoed around the river basin and within Neach's own mind. Something told Neach that the princess was not the fondest of her father.

"When I was five, he killed my uncle, because he dared to speak out against his ailing father," tears began to well up in her eyes as she spoke, "The man is ruthless, and no good he has done has come without great cost."

Neach held her tight within his arms, as she sobbed softly. Though she was young, the event must have been traumatic. Differing from the past days, a new picture was being painted of the King. In contrast to the vibrant colors of war and honor thrown on the canvas by his subjects, his daughter slung mud and tar against the white sheet. He remembered something Tyrin had told him the night before he had entered the castle: those closest to power are the ones most likely to feel its wrath.

Eventually, her tears subsided, and she turned around to face Neach.

"It's getting late, we must return to the castle," as she spoke she grabbed him by the waist and kissed him again. Like a flash of lightning, the kiss sparked feelings deep within Neach's heart that he thought were the things of dreams.

The sun had sunk beneath the horizon provided by the mountains, and the angle of its light proved that the afternoon was growing late, as the princess held Neach's hand within her own. They would return to the castle for a meal and more celebration, but the ultimate outcome of the celebrations would be mourning if the House had its way.

A woman stood on a corner singing as they walked, hand in hand, past the slum district.

Fire rose dancing and waterways dry, the summer brings heat and the winter asks why. In the bitter cold chill the fire cracks on, when the summer heat is burning, there's no hiding from the sun.

# XX

Dusk hung low over the city, and cast a dark shadow over top the tallest buildings. Its bold purple and reds painted a caricature of a summer day passed on the canvas provided by the sky. Legends had been told for generations that sunsets were the sky's own battle against the demons of the horizon, and each night it ended with the same outcome, consumption. A sun consumed by Earth, light consumed by dark, day consumed by night. Satiation came with difficulty in the Kingdom, and things had only gotten worse since the King's self-imposed eradication of all members of the House Goedwig. Entire villages were consumed by flames, as the King burned rebels alive in an attempt to make a statement to all who opposed.

As they entered the castle gates, a new flame burned high atop the watch tower.

Tall and defined, the pyre was crafted in the shape of a triangle attached to the top of a straight wooden beam. The triangle sought to represent the balance between the Gods, the Royals, and the Supernatural. A burning triangle was a method of warding off supernatural spirits and restoring equilibrium to a given area.

Jenos squeezed Neach's hand tight as they strode across the moat and into the heart of the castle, where hundreds of people had gathered.

It seemed the celebration had already begun within the walls of the secondary ring. Men sang loudly and women watched on in shy respect, as the outpour of testosterone threatened to combust.

"What silly men," she said, her eyes slanted in disgust, "They sing songs of joy when all they have ever known is mediocrity," her posture was that of a queen, but she was still young in her age.

Jenos walked with intention and dignity, as was expected of the King's daughter, but her eyes showed the pain of a life lived with sorrow. She had watched her mother die and her father turn into someone she despised. Despite his best efforts, he had become the man Jenos dreaded. A man hell-bent on maintaining his power, and naïve to the damage he was incurring around the Kingdom.

"Mediocrity is the fruit of life, they say," Neach retorted as they neared the crowd, "If every man strove to be King, there would be no law, only constant struggle," as he spoke, he was unsure if he believed what he was saying. Deep down, he believed that all men sought power; the only difference was the scale at which they desired it.

"Sometimes fruit can be spoiled, Neach. I fear that time is soon," she spoke softly as to keep his thoughts quiet from the onlookers.

"There is great unrest in the Kingdom," the words hissed from her mouth, "Rebel factions find their bases everywhere from Balthusom to Fletwod, and my father sees no means of reparation beside unforgiving slaughter. We live in a fractured world, Neach. Unfortunately, the pieces have been so jostled that a complete repair seems impossible," her words echoed with the weight of a large iron cask. For the third time in as many days, impending war was being mentioned.

"Perhaps we can fix it if we start with the edges first," Neach replied.

"Even the greatest puzzles are capable of being constructed. What rebel groups are these that your father fears so?" he asked tentatively, remembering his role in the castle.

"I've heard whisperings of them. They descend from animals, and they act as brutish. No morality is forged in the heart of the wilderness, only the means of survival. It's been said that each Kingdom of the Western Empires holds its own animals within its depths, I just pray that ours are easily tamed," she concluded with a slight gasp that proved the extent of her exasperation.

Neach knew very well the animals she spoke of. He himself was one. Feral blood flowed through the veins of thousands of people, who he had yet to know, and he could only assume that a portion of them acted as the princess said.

Two criers entered the scene, in front of the pyre as horns blared and the toiling crowd grew silent.

"We present to you, Lord of Leirwold, King of the Island of Duncairn, Kingdom of Honor in the Western Empires," the criers stepped aside as the sea of people parted their way to make room for Henrig.

He walked with conviction and smiled at his subjects as he passed them one by one. For a faint moment, there was eye contact between him and his daughter, but it passed in due time.

"Greetings, people of Leirwold, subjects of the Kingdom of Duncairn," his voice boomed through the courtyard and the people looked on in awe as he spoke, "Tonight, we celebrate the birth of my dear father with the burning of the ceremonial wooden triangle. Its meaning is known to most, but its importance in these times of struggle is best reiterated. We face a great disturbance in our Kingdom, as summer feigns its warm benevolence upon us. Dissidents from all corners of our vast world threaten to remove power from the people and regents, and vow to lay untold waste to every village and city in the Western Empires. This triangle calls for the harmonious relationship of the regents, supernatural, and the Gods above. We hope they look favorably upon our Kingdom tonight, as we begin the celebration of my father, who fought for nothing else other than an equilibrium," the King's words were met by a raucous round of applause, and Jenos simply frowned.

He wore a gilded black robe, and his crown served as the diamond atop the illustrious banner that his outfit laid forth. Within the seams of the golden headpiece, rubies and sapphires dotted the yellow, and sparkled in the early evening sunlight. Behind him, the fire from the pyre crackled loudly, as the dampness of the wood was removed and turned into large puffs of black smoke.

His face looked distraught, but he dared not show his emotions to his subjects. To them, he was their source of perpetual hope. A talisman of optimism, King Henrig's presence was larger than life, though he was dwarfed by the massive fire burning at his back.

"Now, we bow our heads in silence, in remembrance to not only my father, but every person who has ever given their service to the Kingdom in the hope that we could live lives of peace," the King's words resonated through the open space and the silence that had already hung over the square persisted.

Neach looked around at the hundreds of subjects whose heads were now bowed in fullness to the memory of Henrig's father. The only person whose head was raised beside his own was Jenos. She stood, stoic, and on the verge of tears, before she bolted toward the inside of the castle. He let her go, but even as he watched her leave, his heart pained to see her in such a state. Long held disdain had boiled over, and was now threatening to scald the hands of Jenos and her father.

The silence passed and the King was faced with jubilation.

People sang and drank, eat and laughed, all the while, the King paced in front of the triangular pyre with a look of agony on his face.

"Your highness, this has been a most beautiful ceremony," as he spoke the words, a bitter taste erupted in the back of his throat. He wondered how long he could continue to deceive the King before it would break him.

The King hardly looked up at Neach when he spoke.

"It is, my son, but some of the greatest beauties of the world have a very dark side. This triangle does not only represent peace, but it represents the pain and grief which has been exerted to achieve that peace in the past. I am confident we will one day return to this oasis, but for now, we journey through the desert with any drink to parch our thirst. I fear it will only get worse from here."

With those words, the King turned and left.

Neach was left with a concerned look on his face. Something had changed about the King in the day passed, and he was not sure what exactly had occurred. For now, he needed not worry about the King and his toiling emotions. In the coming days, he was expected to end his life, and he would need to expend his effort on coming to terms with this grisly fate.

He walked back to the large crowd of celebrators and searched for the wine.

Lately he had been searching for the solutions to his problems in the bottom of a bottle. Unfortunately, the liquor seemed to drown him in a drunken stupor that he feared he would perpetuate for years to come. When he arrived at the drinks table, he found one hundred of flagons of wine completely filled.

A whiff of its top told him enough about the taste of the alcohol, but in truth, it did not matter. He would drink till he lost consciousness, and hope that he found his way to his quarters. Such was the way of the burgeoning alcoholic.

When he succumbed to the coaxing of the violet liquid, he wandered into a group of people who were dancing in tandems. Realizing the futility of motion, he slipped past them and headed toward the training ground which he knew would be empty at this hour of the night.

As he walked, the clouds parted and a near full moon shone down on the city. He swore he could make out features atop the surface of its milky face, but he attributed it to the wine.

Stumbling and without guile, Neach reached the training area, flagon in hand.

Whispers.

He heard whispers as he rounded the corner and pressed himself flat against the wall. Nearly chuckling at himself for being so quick to engage in his stealthy behavior, he paused when he heard a young woman's voice break the crisp evening air.

"What you are suggesting is absurd," Jenos said quietly, her recipient unidentified.

That identification would not take long, as the next voice crackled through the open space.

"Absurd is sometimes necessary, dear. The boy will live, for now, but if he gets too close, he will not be spared. My House believes they have succeeded in cunning their way into my castle walls, but, unfortunately for them, their ranks are not united in the same cause. I was told of their intention the night it was conceived," the King's tone sounded as if he were spitting acid on the ground with every word.

"Why not kill him, to make an example?" Jenos asked, her voice quivering as she cried, the sarcasm thick in her tone, "Surely one more head lost at the swing of your sword wouldn't cause you less sleep, your Highness," Neach was frozen in fear, but couldn't help but smile at her audacity.

And then came another swift sound, the sound of flesh on flesh.

He crept around the corner, enough to have a line of sight, and saw the King standing over his daughter as she held her face. Henrig had hit his daughter in response to her dissidence.

"I warn you not to defy me, my daughter. If we are to survive the coming war, our family's best interest can only be served through cooperation," his words hissed like a field snake in the weeds, and Neach's face boiled red with anger and drunkenness.

With every ounce of energy in his body, he fought against the initial reaction. Nothing would have pleased him more than to confront the King, then and there, and fight for the respect and dignity of the girl he had fallen in love with.

As he crept in the shadows, the King began to walk toward him. He crept into the crevice behind him, and disappeared into darkness. Blinded by anger or fooled by Neach's stealth, Henrig walked past Neach and didn't react in the slightest.

Following close behind was Jenos. Neach wanted to jump out and embrace her, and wipe the tears from beneath her eyes, but he remained hidden, knowing that exposing himself now would result in his imminent demise. When she passed, he walked out slowly, peering around the corners as he went. The alcohol had struck him with full force, and he struggled mightily to reach his seat in the courtyard.

When he reached the open space where the crowd was still gathered, he saw Jenos waiting for him at his seat.

"Where have you been?" he asked innocently, knowing the truth of her disappearance.

He hoped she would tell him of her father's plan, and beg him to run, but he knew better than that. She would remain silent for the sake of the King's safety and the safety of the Kingdom.

"I was meeting with the daughter of the Duke of Jorwel. She's a lovely girl, in town for the festivities," the words dripped with falsity, but Neach mustered the strength to believe her.

"Is it normal for the other members of royalty to come to Leirwold?" he asked, his question innocent enough. He only wanted to move onto a different topic, there would be no sense in brewing on it any longer.

"Most years no, but this year, it is special. Father believes the only way to maintain a unified Kingdom is to make the nobility seen by the rest of the population," her words singed with disdain for her father. Though she obeyed him, she seethed at the mention of his pompous faux royalty.

As she spoke, a clamor arose from within the crowd. Murmurs rose and retreated like the tides of the ocean. Jenos stood tall, as she peered over the expanse of people.

In front of the large group, a wooden pillar was being raised and placed deep within the castle soil. It stood nearly twice the height of a man, and was wide enough to have been a support beam for any building in the capital. When the wood was raised in its entirety, a procession emerged from the darkness beyond the secondary ring of the castle.

Jenos' hands rose to her mouth and she gasped so loud that it made the hairs on Neach's neck stand up.

"There's going to be an execution."

# XXI

The boy's hair was shoulder length and fair and his eyes were as blue as the clearest river tide in spring.

Dirk.

Spearheading the group of people, was the boy he knew as Dirk, whom he had met at Daniel's only a short while earlier. He looked as he had when he came to visit Neach the day prior, but his eyes were surrounded by deep purple rings, and his face was cut in multiple places.

His heart sank to the floor, as he was led to the wooden pillar by the King's faithful executioners. Dirk tried to remain stoic and resolved, but tears flowed down his face, as they tied his arms behind him and his legs flush to the wood.

The King followed behind the group of people and came to the front of the wooden pillar to make a speech.

"Brothers, sisters, as you know, the Kingdom of Duncairn is under attack from ruthless heathens who claim to have a righteous cause, in comparison to that of my own. They mercilessly slaughter innocent civilians in their quest of 'good', and they cannot be allowed to maintain a grip of fear over the subjects of this Kingdom any longer," his words rung out as if they were inside of a heavy brass bell, struck with the utmost force allowed before it would break.

"This boy that you see before you is a member of this House which feels they are responsible for taking the King's law into their own hands. Just yesterday, I discovered him dressed as a market worker, sneaking into the castle," as the King spoke, Neach's stomach plummeted. Dirk had been giving Neach vital information, and now he would pay for it with his life.

"For the crime of treason, the most dubious of actions, this boy will pay with his life. If there is anybody who wishes to enact the policy of mercy on him, speak now," the crowd fell wholly silent except for the ever growing sobs of Dirk as he hung there on the wood.

"Very well; burn him," the King's words sliced like a sword into an open wound as Neach sat frozen to his seat and watched as his brother writhed in agony.

The executioners doused the pillar in oil and lit it with their torches. In seconds, the wood and boy were reduced to immolating pikes, ablaze in the early summer evening.

Neach looked away, but returned his gaze to Dirk with tears in his eyes. He couldn't let him die like this, without giving him the proper respect. His screams lasted a few minutes before they ceased, snuffed by the flame in a bid to make dissidents quiet perpetually.

A somber silence hung over the crowd who had gathered initially for celebration, but were now faced with the very cold reality of death and treason. Dirk's body was removed from the premises and Neach fought back sobs of fear as he sat next to Jenos. After all, it was possible it could be him burning in front of the masses soon enough. He wondered why the King had let him live so long already, if he knew of his affiliation with the House.

His thoughts were not left unattended to for long.

"What are you thinking of?"

The silence was broken by a forceful whisper from Jenos. Her gaze remained steadfast and forward and the side of her face had turned a bright red color. She rubbed it with her hand as she spoke calmly.

Neach stared at the ground as he responded.

"How is it that man's life is valued so little, but man's impact valued so much?"

His words rang profound in the aimless murmurs that had filled the courtyard.

"We hope to make grand changes, to have a profound influence on our chosen field of expertise, yet we kill and die on such whimsical notions," he spoke softly, the death affecting his ability to speak.

Jenos bowed her head and for a moment they were in unison.

"I do not know why man acts the way it does, I only have faith that it will ultimately prove to be the decisions of man which ensure our survival."

Neach raised his head to look on at the crowd. A normal execution would have seen as much celebration as any birth, but on this day they remained silent. The killing had obviously worked in the way the King intended; Dirk was made an example, and he hoped word of the repercussions of treasons would permeate throughout the Kingdom.

For now, all Neach could think of was the boy he had only just met. Burned alive, tortured at the hands of the King he was meant to take down. A boy who reluctantly fought against his King, now free of the chains his troubled life had wrapped him in.

"Come, Coinneach, my father will be awaiting us in the war room," the words held an ominous tone to them, even as she spoke so elegantly.

She rose from her seat and grabbed Neach's hand to guide him forward. He was reluctant at first, but stood and followed her as she wished. The young man was no match for a beautiful woman, especially one with wit as sharp as hers.

They left the courtyard, and Neach felt more at peace after leaving the site of the execution. Velvet rugs were hung around the walls of the halls, as the preparations for the celebration moved along swiftly. They were red with golden animals encrusted into their skin, and golden ropes tied around the borders. Each one embraced Neach, as he walked past them and gave him hope that his feral ancestors were walking with him, through the cold halls of Castle Leirwold.

He knew not what awaited him in the war room, but part of him hoped the King would reveal what he knew. Unsure of how much longer he could keep it silent, Neach nearly welcomed condemnation by the King; it was the least he could pay for Dirk's death.

When they arrived, Neach was surprised to see only the King hovering over a collection of maps which were spread out across a large oak table.

"Come in, son," he called without looking up.

"Leave us for a few minutes, my dear," his words were directed to Jenos, and she seemed to understand immediately.

She walked briskly out the door, and left Neach to deal with her father on his own.

When he turned to look at the King, he was staring directly at him.

"Do you know what I'm looking at here, Neach?" he questioned calmly.

Afraid to look ignorant, Neach simply shook his head and walked over to Henrig.

"These are maps of our great Kingdom, son. The red "X's" denote enemy strongholds within the Kingdom. There are a few groups of note, but none are as threatening as the House Goedwig. You know of them, but let me show you why it is so important to me that they are crushed," the King's voice rose louder as he spoke more. One of the most glaring things to Neach, was the fact that Daniel's house was not marked on Henrig's map. He found minimal solace in the fact that his brothers and sisters would be safe in the shadow of the Castle.

Pulling a larger map from beneath the table, the King's face lit up in a devious form of illumination, as he looked down upon the elegant cartography.

"This map details the Kingdom of Duncairn nearly four hundred years ago, when our first King reigned. King Wrelnor unified all of the cities of Duncairn, and maintained power over his subjects for nearly twenty years. They were happy! You see, Neach? Life was better, then!" the King seemed to be losing his sanity, slowly, as the two men spoke in the room full of armaments and maps.

"Alas, after those twenty years, a group was formed based on some insane tales, and they brought down the burgeoning Kingdom in a ball of flames. For hundreds of years, the Kingdom toiled in poverty and violence, a direct result of the House Goedwig. And now, they threaten to do so again, something I will not allow to happen; I will kill a few hundred people if it means preventing the past from happening again," fire burned in his eyes, as his fist pounded the table.

His diatribe ended, as his fists came to rest atop the table for a final time. Tears were building in his eyes, as Neach spoke with trepidation.

"Surely there's another way to fix this?" he treaded lightly as if on broken glass, hoping not to set the King off further.

Henrig looked to Neach, with a wild passion in his eyes, and whispered ominously.

"I have seen the things they can do Neach, they harbor dark spirits within them and torture men relentlessly," he shook as he stood in place.

"All will be consumed by their evil, if not now, then at some point in the near future," with that, he released Neach's arms from his grips, and stood up straight. In moments, the man who he believed to be a shell of himself was restored to a stoic man of reason and logic. Adorned with his family crest atop his breastplate, Henrig stood glistening in the crackling firelight, returned to his posture of days passed.

It was as if the words he spoke to Neach were a burden being lifted off of his shoulders. The more he had spoken, the more he returned to his normal self. He had sentenced a young man to death to make a statement, and Neach wondered whether he was capable of coming to grips with the reality of the situation. For all of the King's fervor and anger, he rarely seemed a violent type. All other options must have been exasperated for him to be blinded by his fury.

He strolled toward the fireplace, and looked into the hearth with disdain. Its flames licked at his deep brown eyes as he stared into the distance. Far beyond the limits of the stone foundation, the King looked into the soul of the Kingdom he controlled. Years of service to a nation of his people, his subjects, on the verge of collapse, because of a rebel force that threatened to destroy the fabrics of civilized life in Duncairn.

"Have I told you how my father died, Neach?" the King asked warily, as his eyes teared from the smoke that slid out of the grasps of his chimney.

Speaking to the back of King Henrig, Neach denied hearing this one of his anecdotes.

"It was nearly five years ago, now. My family lived in the village of Balthusom before we ascended to the throne. As a boy, my father worked in the mines of Balthusom, harvesting iron ore, and would take me fishing on the Northern shore of Duncairn, after the work week was over. We caught large bluefish, sea robins, and the occasional cold water ling. His escape was his fishing; it allowed him to escape the smoke and soot of the mines. When I won the throne, my father refused to leave Balthusom, and he lived in my childhood home until his death. On a cold winter's day, nearly five years ago, my father sat on the rocks near his boat and watched the ocean go by in front of him, pulling in and out with various tides. As he sat in his leisure, an assailant slit his throat from behind and threw him into the ground beneath him, killing him instantly. The assassin fought under the flag of the House Goedwig, and was attempting to hold power over me as I sat atop the throne. They are ruthless, and they do not appreciate loyalty Neach. If it is up to them, each man and woman will die until they are the only remaining bloodline," he took a breath after his longwinded speech, and looked at Neach.

"And that is why they must die. Every last one of them must die, eventually," his voice trailed away, as he looked back into the fire.

Neach stood in awe, as the King spoke his feelings to him in such honesty. Unfortunately, the King was unaware of the accidental surveillance that Neach had done earlier in his drunken state. Though the alcohol had worn off, he felt inebriated by the weight of the punishment which the King said would ultimately await him. He felt drowsy, as he sat in a chair near to the table. Before he could control himself, he was careening toward the floor, headfirst.

With a crash, his head collided with the marble and his world turned to darkness. Everything which had appeared so clear around him earlier faded gradually to black until his eyes closed, trapping his mind in their smoky encasement.

Sleep, it seemed, came in many forms.

# XXII

A red velvet tablecloth was sprawled across the table, its fringes frosted blue. The fringes were completed with dark green tassels, which hung down far from the table and brushed against the knees of the men, who sat at around its borders.

Outside, a heavy snow fell, as it seemed to do perpetually.

Snow banks had drifted to the windows of the old hall, and in some spots it was nearly twelve feet deep. The people who lived here were used to the conditions, however, as it never warmed up. Winter was simply a way of describing the year; cold, dark, and relentless.

The head of the table was occupied by a man with a large white beard that had been carved exquisitely, a telling sign of his wealth and prominence. He wore a long black cloak with a faded blue breastplate. The breastplate was gilded around the edges of a scene, which depicted two wolves facing each other.

To his right sat a man who also wore a long black cloak, but his breastplate was green with gold trim. His scene depicted a large cat with its paw raised. On his left, another man with a breastplate, this time of bronze, with a golden trimmed footprint carved into the metal. The three men sat around the table and looked out the window, as the man at the head rose to his feet.

"Gentlemen, I suppose it isn't necessary to explain why I have called this meeting, but I will do so regardless," his words were met by an instant reply from the man with the cat atop his breastplate.

"You should do well to explain this, dragging us to this godforsaken place, to discuss business with the likes of you," his voice dripped with anger, but it also held another quality that was striking. Though they spoke in the tongue of Duncairn, the man's accent lent itself to elsewhere within the world.

"Business has always been a touchy subject with you, hasn't it?" the third man spoke, his long blond hair pulled back behind his hair, allowing for full exposure of the grand smile he was bearing.

The man with the green breastplate smiled a smile just as large in response. His dark black beard was well kept and short in length. His skin looked as if it had been scorched in the sun for some time, and as a result, it gave off a tanned glow.

"I'd suggest you quiet yourself, Rodrik, before you get yourself into trouble which you cannot handle," the smile dissipated from his face quickly.

At the head of the table, the old man grew weary. His thoughts were elsewhere, but this meeting had been called for a reason.

"If we are done quarreling amongst ourselves, as I said earlier, it is time to discuss the matters of this meeting," his tone grew angrier the further he got into the sentence.

"South of here, in the Kingdom of Duncairn, a war is being waged against my people. We seek to defend ourselves, but I fear the single enemy we face will soon multiply to many," when he finished he was greeted with a snort.

"And what would you like us to do about it?" the man in bronze asked, "we haven't allied ourselves with the likes of your people for decades; we will not start now."

The man in green nodded his head in concurrence. Tension hung thick over the room, as it threatened to boil over and cause an open conflict.

"Brothers, I fear this is something we must overcome. I have reason to believe the Eastmen are looking to expand westward," as he spoke, the two men fell silent, looks of horror upon their faces.

"They haven't come west for thousands of years, since the beginning of days. Why would they come now?" the man in green asked. The look of fear in his face was so apparent, that it was impossible to hide.

"King Henrig of Duncairn is not pursuing the extermination of my people himself. He has enlisted the help of those who reside east of the great expanse. If they are to arrive on the shores of Lejman, we all face destruction," once again, the men looked on in awe. His words pierced the air, as if they were arrows through thin cloth, leaving their targets writhing and in pain.

"This simply cannot be true," the man in bronze exclaimed, as he stood up.

"I demand some form of proof before I put my men on standby," his voice shook as he spoke.

"I had assumed you would say as much," the old man said, as he reached inside a book that was sitting on a shelf behind him.

He withdrew a feather that was colored purple and green, beautifully pressed in between two pages.

"Do you know what this is?" the old man asked.

The man in green spoke up this time.

"Is that the feather of the riggibird?" his eyes grew wide as he approached the old man in shock.

Silently, the man nodded, and placed the feather back into the book.

"This feather was found outside my residence on the East side of the island. Therefore, we can assume that they have arrived on our shores already," his voice grew quiet as he concluded.

"Surely if they had already arrived we would have known?" the man in bronze asked in a whisper.

"Unfortunately, as you are aware, what I have found here is only a piece of information regarding their whereabouts. I can assume, in good conscious, that the feather which I have come in possession of was being carried by a scout. But, there is no telling when they will make their move. We must unite before the inevitable happens," the two men looked at each other across the table, and the man in green nodded.

"Fine, we stand with you. However, know this: if our people are led astray by yours again, there will be things much worse than hell to pay, by the Gods I swear it." He stood from the table and walked out of the door, into the falling snow.

Left in the hall were only the old man and his tall, young counterpart from Wirnej.

"I apologize for all that has happened in the past, Rodrik, it truly weighs on my heart every day of my life," the old man said.

Scoffing at his statement, Rodrik looked the old man directly in the eyes before he spoke.

"I will never stop seeking retribution for what you did to my father, but I will put it aside in the best interest of my people. Just know, this agreement does not mean we are friends. We are simply unified by a collective futility," he rose as the other man did, his hand clasped over his leg, which appeared to be wounded.

"Now come, enough of the seriousness and cold, there's a fire burning in the mead hall," his words came as a singeing respite to the old man. Though he grew weary in his age, he could always count on both Rodrik and his father to be up to a pint if it was provided.

As he stood, he smiled a small smile to himself; though it had not gone completely according to plan, he hoped he could sleep a little easier at night knowing the people of the two other Western Kingdoms would support him.

Far across from the old hall, where they had met, a mead hall brewed with warmth and happiness, as the few hundred people of the village gathered inside to escape the cold. It stood tall, taller than any other building, and its peak bore a carved sea serpent, which protruded high into the white sky.

Thick oak board provided insulation, and their outsides showed the signs of decay from water damage. In a place where they were perpetually inundated with snow, it was no wonder they appeared faded and wet in the blowing winter drifts.

The old man approached the hall by himself and pushed hard on the large doors. Their handles had frozen cold. Dark brass shaped to fit a large man's hand, they threatened to crack from the temperature when he grasped them and pushed forward.

When the doors opened, the desolation of the outside world evaporated and rose to the heavens. Hundreds of smiling faces greeted the old man as they sat drinking and dancing. A man played a lute in the corner and his song sang out into the warm hall, like a summer bird low on the horizon.

In the center, a large fire hearth burned, spreading its warmth to every corner of the room, in an effort to eradicate any cold that attempted to enter.

As he neared the high table at the front of the room, his wife bowed to him, and he nodded in response. Her beauty radiated nearly as warm as the fire, and it kindled warmth within the cold recesses of his heart. The old man stepped up to the high table and stood in front of his seat at the head of the table, before turning to those in the hall.

"Family, my friends, my closest peers, help me in welcoming our guests to Vuler," when he spoke, the two men rose to their feet at their respective tables. It seemed that even this agreement would only be a stepping stone to reuniting the two leaders.

"I give you, Rodrik of Wirnej and Yahul of Farrak," his words were met with a smattering of applause from his subjects.

"I hope that we can all show them a good time during their visit; they have travelled a long way to be here with us," he smiled as he looked to Rodrik.

When he had finished speaking, he walked to Yahul and presented him with a flagon of whisky.

"Drink up Yahul, this may be the last time we can celebrate anything for a very long time."

"You're all the same, aren't you? There's more to life than this dastardly drink. I think I'll pass," he looked away in disgust at the old man's request.

Seconds later, he turned back and grabbed the flagon from the man's hands, and drank deeply. Whisky ran down his cheeks, and his face cringed, as he gulped down the massive portion of alcohol.

"Perhaps life is simpler than I thought."

With a laugh, the old man rose from his seat and headed for Rodrik. He sat by himself, across the hall, fiddling with a blade against the wooden table.

"I hope you can forgive me for angering you two earlier," the old man said with a smile on his face.

"We both know that you are never deserving of forgiveness," he rebuked without looking up from the table.

A silence hung over the two of them, as they sat separately from the rest of the hall.

"Rodrik, I'm sorry for what happened to your father," the old man spoke quietly to the younger man who looked strikingly like the father he once knew.

"It was out of my control, he did not care to hear the words I spoke. His mind betrayed him. He was one of my best friends when we were young, I would not have let him go willingly," the old man spoke as a single tear built up in his left eye. He quickly wiped it away, and turned his head slowly away from Rodrik.

"A lot of good your sentiments do, when my father is either dead or toiling about somewhere in the western sea," and with that, he rose again and walked toward the door. He thrust it open, as he stepped into the dark night.

The old man followed behind him and slipped into the darkness.

"You're going to need to control your temper if we are to be successful, Rodrik. I can understand if you won't forgive me, but don't let my people, or, your people, for that matter, suffer because of it," as he spoke, his breath shot out in front of him, illuminated by the moonlight. The sky was clear, and thousands of stars joined the moon in a nighttime dance across the wide expanse.

"Do not tell me what to do old man, you had best remember that you are the one who called me here, because you needed help," he looked the man directly in the eyes as he spoke, "I can just as easily sail back to Lejman and do my best to stay out of whatever problem you've created for yourself," Rodrik's words cut deep into the old man. He feared every day that this war would ultimately be grafted from his hand, but his words validated those fears.

"If we are to prevail, we need to be a unified force, as we were years ago, during the Godless times," the very mention of the period caused Rodrik to shudder. Impossible to discern his shudder from one caused by the cold, he chattered his teeth and walked back toward the door.

"Perhaps unity can only result after complete desolation," he said, as he opened the door to enter the hall again.

As the door creaked open, a loud crow was heard echoing throughout the village. High above the ground, a large beast flew through the sky, directly in front of the moon.

Rodrik looked up in awe as the old man's jaw threatened to crash into the snow beneath it.

"The riggibird."

# XXIII

It all came rushing back to him.

As if flood gates opened and water poured in, in the form of color and defined shapes. He couldn't be sure how long it had been since he passed out, but he knew it must have been some time, because the sun had risen on a new day.

"What happened?" he asked sheepishly.

Over top of him, Jenos stood with a bowl of water, dabbing his forehead and cheeks. Her touch was gentle, and each dab was filled with affection.

"I couldn't let you two speak alone forever, I wasn't sure what he'd do," her words sounded surprisingly calm for the situation they found themselves in.

"Don't worry, my father thinks you fainted on your own accord," she spoke sweetly, but her eyes lent themselves to a night spent thinking of the inner guilt she felt for putting Neach in this position.

"How exactly did you do this?" he questioned as he stared at the ceiling. A great mural had been painted depicting a grandiose struggle between good and evil, and it loomed over the room like a brazen old warrior.

If only it were that simple, he thought to himself.

Jenos sat down beside him before she spoke further. Her eyes were puffy, as if she had cried a thousand tears, and her nails were chewed off in haste. Neach knew of the reason for her sorrow, but he couldn't tell her what he had seen.

"In your drink after I met with my father. I had a portion of sleeping pills that I stole from the Castle's infirmary: a collection of herbs. You seemed not to notice," she whispered coolly, as she kissed his forehead.

He was unsure whether to thank her or be angry. He had witnessed the King's proclamation of his true identity, yet he felt he needed to conceal it further.

"I heard you two talking last night," he said, his voice hoarse.

Surprisingly, the princess seemed unsurprised by this news. It was as if she had known all along.

"Then, in that case, you know that what I did was somewhat of a necessity," she looked out the window as she spoke, and Neach thought he saw a glimmer of a tear in her eye. She rose to her feet abruptly and walked to the open air.

"There is a great war coming, Neach," she spoke again, but with more fire in her words.

"I know, I know. Every blasted person from here to Jorwel has told me of it. If there was something I could do, I would gladly end it before it begins," he sat up, as he grew angrier by the minute.

Knowing she had struck a nerve, she returned to the bed side and caressed his knee.

"You have more of a responsibility than you know Coinneach," she smiled sweetly as she gazed into his eyes, "I fear you do not know the full scale of the conflict which brews in the distance," she looked away again, but returned her eyes just as quickly.

"I need to keep you alive, Neach. You may be the only sane person left in this Kingdom," she spoke nothing of the love the two shared for one another, but simply of the ramifications war would have on the Kingdom. She was truly the King's daughter, and she kept her eyes steadfast on the ultimate goal, which was the safety and security of Duncairn's borders, both exterior and interior.

She chuckled lightly as she finished her sentence. Though her eyes were marked by heavy bags, her dark black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that revealed her slightly pointed ears. Her green eyes shone in the early morning sunlight, and Neach reached up to kiss her, as he pushed her hair behind her ears.

"I have a sneaking suspicion that even the sanest of men are not wholly aware of the depth of their troubles, my lady," he faked a bow in bed as he laughed louder than she had. Somehow in this tense moment, the two found a way to look past the night before.

As they sat in the room, celebration was beginning with song and dance, occupying the whole of the courtyard. In a few hours' time, he would be expected to kill the King.

A drunken man approached the window with a bottle in his hand, and smiled as he did a jig. He bore no teeth in his smile, spare a scraggly canine that looked as dangerous as any knife Neach had ever seen. Soon enough, he backed away and returned to the festivities, which were ongoing.

"I suppose you are aware that my father knows who you are," Jenos asked, returning to the more serious business that presided.

"Indeed I do. Tell me, Jenos, Princess of Duncairn, why is it you have chosen to spare my life?"

His eyes shimmered as he looked deep into the green pastures where her eyes should have been. When he looked into them, he not only saw the present, but the past and parts of the future. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, as it tended to do.

"Perhaps I like you," she began, rubbing his leg, "Or perhaps I feel my father is blinded by rage. Either way, you've made a good impression on me, farmer boy," she smiled again as she looked at Neach. A few months removed from his home, the young man who was accustomed to tending the fields now sat with the Princess in a room which was furnished with the finest silks and linens.

"I hope that I can keep it up, then," he jested as he drank from a jug of water.

She laughed and peered out the window. In the courtyard, a grand carriage was being prepared. Its wheels rested on golden axles, which were adorned with rubies, and a long silk strand ran down from front to back. It was red, and it held the crest of Henrig's family emblazoned atop its roof and bottom. A magnificent sight, it looked like a chariot ready for battle.

Atop its glamorous base, a plush velvet cushion sat with a backboard of solid mahogany. The King's loyal servants prepared a spot for him atop the carriage, as the white horses were affixed to the reins at the front.

"There's going to be a parade, Neach. I've already told my father that you won't be able to do your act; he seemed to understand," she spoke, not knowing the consequences of her actions.

"I need to be there Jenos," he said as he nearly choked on his words. Now that she knew of his background, she would not let him near anything that would occur today.

"Look, Neach, whatever reason you are here for, it must wait. We cannot act rashly in the face of great danger. You will stay here at rest for the remainder of the day," her words cut like a hot blade into his flesh, and he bled the blood of his friends and family into the sheets of his bed.

He knew there was no sense in fighting the Princess. She would remain strong in her decisions, just as a ruler should.

Outside, a large number of people began to gather. Nearly five hundred men and women, subjects of the King, gathered in front of the horses. They wore great, red outfits. Long silk dresses for the women, and thick red cloths for the men, all in the spirit of the summer and the King's family crest. Their hair and faces were done with makeup and other products, to make them look as stunning as possible, as they led the King's carriage through the city.

From out of the shadows, the King emerged bearing a long, golden scepter with a wolf's head attached to the top. He mounted the carriage and sat in his velvet seat atop the glistening jewel of craftsmanship. He wore a black tunic under a long red cloak, and his breastplate bore the crest of his house atop its black iron. It almost appeared evil, but the people who surrounded him looked far too happy.

To the south, his troops would be gathering, preparing to take him through the city in a celebration unparalleled to any seen before. Bards would walk with his bejeweled chariot, encasing his every move in song while flame eaters consumed the heat of the sun without injury. A grand spectacle for the people of Leirwold, the people the King served.

Near a thousand men were stationed throughout the city of Leirwold, and they all converged around the entrance of the castle to greet the King as he was lead out by hundreds of his subjects. He bore no smile to accompany his grand procession, but he wore his pride on the sleeve of his shirt. The warriors wore their finest armor, encrusted with the crest of Duncairn, and they wielded fine steel swords, only taken out for this special occasion. The King waved to them as he passed, and they responded with cheers and laughter. For a man who was so revered and feared around the Kingdom, Henrig held a respectable relationship with his people.

When they left the castle gates, a sea of onlookers was unleashed upon the procession. The citizens of Leirwold lined the streets in the thousands, as they camped along the parade route, which would lead through the craftsman and university districts, to the brewery district, and through the estates district before returning to the castle. It would be the culmination of a week of celebration in honor of his late, beloved father.

Flowers were thrown at his feet as the carriage proceeded slowly through the crowd. The people threw themselves before the King out of respect and appreciation for his loyalty. Trouble was brewing in the city, however. Atop the roofs of buildings which made up the city's university, strange shapes glided atop the shingles and wood. They wore brown to blend in, and to the trained eye, near a hundred men could be seen.

But the King proceeded in blissful ignorance. He threw gold pieces to the on looking crowd and accidentally hit some of his soldiers. They laughed and he did as well, reveling in the glory of the power and wealth he held.

The first death was swift.

A man lunged from a rooftop before stick his knife through the throat of an unsuspecting soldier. Like bats they came from the tops of buildings, screaming and shouting in their fury.

The procession which had now numbered in the thousands scattered as the soldiers were left to fight off the attackers. The King urged his men onward, while a portion stayed behind to deal with the miscreants.

Leading the charge was a man by the name of Sep. He was the King's most trusted military commander, and was held in the highest regard by people across the land. Successfully orchestrating defenses of the capital and other villages throughout Duncairn, Sep was revered for his prowess. Today, however, his plan of attack would need to be different.

They moved like the night.

Furious blade swipes and quick movements made difficult work for the King's men. Individual struggles went in favor of the aggregates in most cases, as they held the advantage of light, stealthy tactics. At the head of the battle, Sep sat atop his steed, swinging down at approaching attackers with his long steel blade.

He called the blade limb because it had claimed so many, he believed it was turning into one of his own.

The men in brown dodged around fountains and benches, as they slashed and swiped at the soldiers of Duncairn's fighting force. At one end, an angry girl shouted as she was cut down by a steel blade. Her throat opened, as blood poured out, before the man put her out of her misery by placing his blade between her ribs. Another man shouted for her as she fell to the ground.

"Plyxx!" his words echoed over the other cries of battle emanating from the spot.

He too was cut down from behind, as he looked on in agony at the girl who had crumpled into a heap at the base of the library.

Daniel lay on the ground outside of the lecture hall with a deep red stream of blood running from his stomach. A blade had pierced his right about the kidney and there would be no saving him now.

He shouted at a soldier in anger.

"Kill me now, heathen. Do it before I'm forced to live with this pain any longer," his words were exasperated and it took every ounce of his energy for him to get them from his throat.

The man simply looked down at him, with blood running from a cut below his eye and laughed. They would be no mercy on this field of battle.

He writhed in pain and shouted for help, but none arrived. He was destined to die at the hands of the King, like so many of his brothers before him.

Blood ran down the steps and into the grass, creating a sickening brown puddle.

The men slashed and hacked at their elusive attackers until one by one they were rounded up or killed. At the end of the bloodshed, nearly all of the attackers had been killed, some had been captured, and inevitably, some would be unaccounted for. They were joined by nearly eighty of the King's men who lay writhing in the mud around the university's grounds.

Though they were separate in life, they existed together in death. Their flesh would decay and their bones would pile just the same. Man and woman, dissident and crusader; whether they fought for the righteous or died for their own greed, they died in unity; rulers of their dirt kingdom, hoping to find solace in the Gods of old as they lived a life rejecting their wishes. Neither man nor woman purely to blame, only life itself could harbor such a burden. In the streets they would sing of them, in their homes they would cry, but tonight they slept alone in a heap of flesh and bones, strewn in patterns of disarray across the city.

They moved like the night.

The King and his men ran quickly from the battle and slowed back to a trot as they entered the brewery district. Drunkards and beggars alike would not know of the fighting just to their south, so Henrig resumed his normal position as the commander of his own personal parade.

Rooftops shook and chimneys whistled as the stalkers moved into position again.

This time, however, the King noticed in time.

"There, atop the roofs!" he shouted to his soldiers.

Before the attackers could do any damage through their surprise tactics, the King's men were scaling the sides of the buildings in pursuit of their fleet feet.

Men and women alike were killed without reprieve, their throats slit, allowing the blood to run out before their bodies were tossed to the side.

Some were taken as prisoners; others ran as fast as they could, out of the hands of their enemies.

The King did not discriminate, and he watched as his soldiers killed nearly a hundred people in the grounds surrounding his castle. The rebels had come close to his throne, but they had ultimately been put down, for good measure. The righteous always prevailed in the end.

Carnage covered the city streets in the two districts closest to the Castle, and the King surveyed it with tears in his eyes. Hundreds of his men, taken out by a handful of people from the House he once called his own. Their tact was honorable, but he could not forgive such an attack on a day of celebration as this.

They would all die; those in captivity first, and those who escaped, after. A fire burned in his heart for all of the wrong reasons.

He saw men he had known all of his life, consigned to death in their own city at the hands of people he had once considered brothers. He saw Sep and it hurt him the most. His most tactically savvy commander, slain along with his horse. They laid in a disheveled heap next to each other, a collection of flesh and bones.

Henrig removed his crown as he pushed his hair back. It seemed as if his brow were permanently furrowed these days, but today it wrinkled to a new degree. His loyal servants, taking part in a celebration, had been slain in their most innocent form. Many of them had refused to carry swords that day, something that Daniel and his counterparts must have known.

When he came to Daniel's body, he dismounted his carriage and walked toward the lecture hall, avoiding dead bodies which lay at his feet with every step.

He was clutching a wooden medallion which had the crest of the House carved into its soft flesh. Even in death, he held a smile upon his face as if he were laughing at the possibility of living a life without burden, once and for all.

Years ago, Henrig called this man a friend. Today, he stood before his dead body as the target of his most ruthless attack yet. No doubt orchestrated by Daniel, this assault had taken everyone by surprise and left the city in panic.

"You were always a bit naïve, Daniel," the King spoke softly as he held the medallion in his hand.

"None of this was necessary, but I guess it is fitting for a man as twisted as you," he ripped the medallion from the man's neck as a sort of sick war prize, claimed off of the most prominent victim of the battle. If not for the sudden shock of it all, the King would have produced tears at the very moment.

In the castle there was calm. Not a single sound could be heard throughout the courtyard after the grand procession left through the main gates. Jenos looked down at Neach as he lay in his bed, sapped of his energy.

"I believe it is time you tell me your story, Neach," she whispered softly, as she sat down next to him once more.

A simple task, it seemed, but, unfortunately, he wasn't sure of it himself.

For the next twenty minutes he dazzled her with tales of Spleuchan Sonse, the trip to Leirwold for the first time, his journey to Rosalia, his training, meeting Tyrin, and ultimately the rest of his House. He told her of the times he thought of her, in the mountains, on the sea, in the city's crowded districts. He told her of his brother Ealar and his parents, whom he hadn't seen in months. He told her of the anger he often felt for his family for hiding such a secret from him for so long. He told her everything, and she listened to every word.

When he was done, he lay back, further exhausted from his memories. They seemed a nice consolation after it all, but some which he harbored brought him more pain than anything else.

"So, you and my father are part wolf then?" she asked quizzically.

He laughed to himself softly before responding.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what I am. But according to legend, we were all descended from a wolf, ages ago, in the Godless time," her eyes grew wide as he recounted tales from the Toriik Riamendi to her. Only a few months ago, these same stories would have seemed just as absurd to him.

"Neach, my father is plotting something heinous. I do not know the specifics, but he rides East frequently, to the Forest of the Wicked, and he does not tell me why. I fear danger for you," her eyes welled up minimally and Neach sensed weakness for the first time. The usually stoic princess was rife with emotion, as she thought of him in danger.

"Do not worry, my lady, I will not let anything happen to me," he chuckled again, obviously tired of the constant seriousness and talk of danger that filled the halls of the castle.

She too laughed, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. The two sat in peace, something that rarely happened in the last few weeks. Solace held the courtyard in its grips and threatened to never let it go, a welcomed respite by the two young lovers.

They moved like the night.

A hawk screeched high above the castle as two men came riding in atop their horses. They travelled unusually fast and disrupted the tranquility that presently resided over the grounds.

Jenos peered out of the window in curiosity and was confused by what she saw. These two men were her father's soldiers, but they were spotted with blood.

They pulled up short of the room where her and Neach sat and walked in briskly.

"Your Highness, there has been a battle," the man on the right spoke softly. He appeared to be out of breath and was losing blood from a deep gash in his side.

"What, where?" she asked, confused.

"Near the university, and a second ambush was attempted in the brewery district. It seems the rebels have gotten much more audacious," he winced as he prodded his fingers into the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding.

"Very well," she said, assuming her role as resident ruler of the Kingdom, "Is my father okay?" she asked sheepishly, her resolve dwindling.

"He is indeed, should be arriving within the hour; he is surveying the dead as we speak," his voice held an ominous tone, but his face appeared white as a summer cloud.

"Thank you, gentlemen; see to it that your wounds are healed as seen fit," the two men left, hobbling and grimacing. Jenos turned back to Neach.

"Neach, my father knows you are one of them; I fear he will not spare you if he finds you here," she said, her voice quivering.

"Then come with me, Jenos. I know of a place in Fletwod that can hold us until further notice. There's no telling how many people died today, and I believe the King will see me dead once he finds me," he sat up in his bed, more confident than he ever remembered being.

And then the princess cried.

Tears streamed down her face like a deep river cutting a channel through the Kingdom. He stood up at once and embraced her, hoping to calm her down.

She sniffled and unleashed every ounce of sorrow and anger which she had held in for so long, all at once. Looking up at Neach, she kissed him softly before removing herself from his arms.

"I have been lied to for too many years, Neach. My father has betrayed me, my mother, and many others in the Kingdom. But your House threatens to do the same, how can I trust you?" the tears streamed down her face without any sobs. She regained control of her emotions for the time being.

"Jenos, I know little of this House or your father, but what I do know is you captured my heart when I saw you for the first time months ago. I will not betray your trust, and I refuse to put you in danger by being around your father," he rose to his feet as he spoke and clutched her hands in his.

"There are two horses tied up just south of here, in the craftsman's district. We can take them and ride for Fletwod today," his voice dripped with desperation, but he tried to remain strong.

She looked away momentarily and then returned her eyes to his.

"We will go."

It took only minutes to gather their things around the castle grounds. Little by little, soldiers were returning from the fighting, battered and bloody.

Around the men they slipped, and out of the front gate of the castle they ran. Not a single eye caught them, as they hurried through the streets for Daniel's house. Most people of the city had gone just north to survey the battleground that had transformed a university into a bottomless pit of blood and sorrow.

But not them.

Neach and Jenos were headed for their escape route, out of the city and out of the King's reach. They would ride south from the city gates and for a few hours along the river before they reached Fletwod. He hadn't heard much about the town, but he hoped it held the answers he was looking for.

As they ran for the house, Neach couldn't help but think of the reason he left Spleuchan Sonse in the first place: his father. Not Asgall, the father he sought was his blood relative. He had been so blinded by love and curiosity that he had lost his way during the journey. In his mind, he committed himself to finding him, and he would start in Fletwod.

When they arrived, there was no one to be seen inside the house. Neach feared for the worst, but untied Rine and another horse for Jenos. It had a long mane and bleached white hair, but its eyes burned with the passion of a grizzled soldier. He thought of the similarities between the young princess and the horse, but could not dwell on it for long.

With a swift leg swing, he mounted his horse and helped Jenos onto her new steed. They would carry them far, but how far had yet to be seen.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked as a child would their parent when they first teach them to ride.

He nodded silently and spurred Rine on toward the southern gate. They were hurdling fast through the great city, but it remained silent.

All the sound had gone from the once great capital and all the two were left with was their thoughts and the soft clopping of hooves along the stone walkways.

# XXIV

The King fumed as he walked back and forth in his war room accompanied by two out of three of his most prominent commanders. Sep had been lost in the battle and the other two were slightly wounded during the ambush.

Henrig himself had escaped with not even a scratch. It was either a testament to his bravery or his stupidity, neither of which could be positively acknowledged.

As he paced, he twiddled his thumbs rhythmically.

"Let me understand you correctly: my daughter and the rebel boy are both gone?" he asked, seeming particularly annoyed.

"Yes, your highness, one of the cooks said they saw her headed for the southern gate with the archer," the commander spoke quietly as he cleared his throat.

So much violence and an equal amount of bloodshed had been witnessed in the last few days, and the two men were eager not to become a part of it yet again.

"We will dispatch men in the morning to find them; they won't get far on foot," the King boomed with his head hung low.

Such a turn of events had truly rung home with the benevolent leader. From celebration to utter agony in a matter of moments, he rubbed his hands together as he contemplated his next move.

"Do we have a final tally of the dead and captured, commander?" he asked in a kinder manner. His sincerity was wearing thin with the abominable deeds the rebels were executing.

"Yes, your highness. We count eighty-seven dead and fourty-two captured," he spoke with his chest puffed out as a sign of victory. The King appreciated his service, but he knew there would be more violence to come.

"And what of our men, Frederik?" he asked this time with a look of sorrow upon his face. Deep lines were taut into his skin; wrinkles of time and terror carved into his life's canvas.

"Unfortunately, my lord, nearly two hundred dead of the thousand who were present were killed. Our grand commander Sep was amongst them, as you are aware," the commander stepped back slightly, fearing an immediate outburst from the King.

"Very well, if you could leave me to myself, it would be much appreciated, gentlemen. The Kingdom sleeps well with you two in charge tonight," his words were layered in a disingenuous fabric that wrapped around each phrase tight, but the men accepted the sentiments willingly.

He looked down at the map on the table and saw the various headquarters of the House Goedwig marked by X's across the Kingdom. When one was pillaged, it was covered by his wax seal, which depicted his family crest, and only three bases remained. The King was growing ever closer to eradicating them from the land, but he knew they were only getting stronger.

His mind wandered to his most recent trip to Rulici, the capital of the Eastern kingdoms.

He and his commanders sat at a long table, crafted entirely of gold, as they looked on at the fat king. Somehow, he had fallen into possession of the two separate kingdoms of the east and molded them into one unified body, something that hadn't been done for thousands of years. Henrig knew if he didn't approach them now, they would ultimately venture west and pillage the lands, as they had done in the past.

It was late winter, and though the snows were only beginning to thaw in Duncairn, the grounds of Rulici were rife with flowers and other premature buds. The sun beat down upon his skin with vigor when he first landed, and he distinctly remembered removing various layers of clothing upon his arrival.

"So you wish to ally yourself with the great Kingdom of Floritola. I must admit, nothing like this has ever happened between our two sides of the world," he had laughed a womanly laugh as he slipped a grape into his mouth.

"What is it that we will get out of our little arrangement?" he had asked, more serious this time.

"You will gain a claim to the most prized lands in the Western Kingdoms if you assist me in taking care of our little... problem," the King had smirked devilishly, much to the pleasure of the King of Floritola, who laughed giddily at the proposition.

"Lejman and Shirla hold plentiful resources and beautiful women, both of which I could help you procure," Henrig's face turned shades darker as he spoke.

"I believe we have many things in common, Davi, if I may call you by first name," the King of Duncairn bellowed. I assure you, if you are to help us in our endeavors, we can surely be of assistance to you," he sat back in his chair as the fat king contemplated his offer.

"Very well, I will send two riggibirds with men to scout these lands you speak of. You will have an answer when the summer reaches its hottest point in your end of our great and expansive world," again he laughed as he snapped his fingers. Without notice, King Henrig had been gently eased out of his seat and directed toward the door.

King Davi of Floritola was a childish man, but he held technology and means that no one in the Western Kingdoms had ever seen before. The riggibird was a massive glided bird, which could hold ten men on its back as it travelled long distances. The people of Floritola rode these birds as those in Duncairn rode horses, and it amazed Henrig to see them in action throughout Rulici.

In a flash, he was back in his war room in Leirwold, pacing back and forth yet again.

Out in the courtyard, a man was being beaten and interrogated by one of the King's commanders.

"Stand down, Frederik. We do not want to kill the boy yet," his words were met by a glare from the royal commander.

"Well, well, boy. What name shall I have the pleasure of calling you during your stay in our lovely castle?" the King smirked as he spoke to the boy would was cut above the eye and lightly on the cheek.

"T-tyrin," he spat out, his mouth bruising from the beating he had been receiving.

"Well, Tyrin, you and I will be getting to know each other very well in the near future," with a kick to the stomach, the King walked away and Tyrin was dragged to his cell.

Early evening had fallen over the southern road, and the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. In the south of the Kingdom, vision wasn't impeded, as the lands were primarily low. No mountain ranges blocked the sky from view and on a clear day, one could see for miles on end without disruption.

Neither had spoken much since they had left Leirwold a few hours earlier. It was Neach who broke the silence first.

"When we arrive in Fletwod, we are not to tell anyone our names," he began,

"Just as you cannot trust your father, I am not sure who I can trust, as well," he concluded, as Jenos sighed audibly.

"I understand, Neach. Where is it that we are going exactly?" she asked calmly, far removed from the blinding anger that had overcome her earlier.

"We are going to visit a friend of mine who lives there. I would say he won't be expecting us, but then again, I have a feeling he may be," his words were met with confusion by the princess who contemplated their meaning momentarily before tossing it to the wind.

Their horses trotted along at a fairly brisk pace, as they wove their way through the southern countryside. The road followed the path of the river for the most part, and on the left side, pastures with sheep and foxes could be seen in abundance. She secretly loved every second of the journey. For all of the regality of her youth, she had never experienced true adventure. Perhaps that was why she had fallen so hard for the mysterious boy from the small western village. He offered a new sense of discovery, of a different life, in a different place.

As she looked at him riding, she found herself admiring him again. The frail, clean shaven boy she had met during the festival months ago was gone, taken over by a lightly bearded man whose arms threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt. He had grown in the last few months and assumed his responsibilities as a man, something she admired.

Rolling hills passed, and the river remained a steady constant to their right, as they passed through an unfamiliar part of the Kingdom. It seemed the wildlife was more prominent in this area, perhaps a result of the winding stream. Nevertheless, as darkness consumed the whole of Duncairn, their horses galloped into Fletwod. The first candles were being lit in windows by wary citizens, but the village gave off a glowing air for a different reason.

People looked on at them with smiles upon their faces, and their kindness radiated from their souls into the evening air. The summer humidity had taken its hold of the south, and Neach wiped sweat from his brow, as they approached a small hut on the outskirts of the village.

The King lay in bed, restless and wide awake. Though he tossed and turned, he found no respite beneath the covers of his linens.

He stared at the ceiling and the grand mural he had ordered painted when he first assumed power in the Kingdom.

Good versus evil, he thought, if only it were that simple.

As he turned toward the windowsill, he noticed something flying toward him in the moonlight.

Its wingspan was immense, but it looked as if it were one of the hawks he kept in the aviary. The hawk landed with a soft crash onto the windowsill, and around its ankle was a piece of paper that had been tied twice over.

The King reached over in confusion and untied the paper from its ankle, as he watched it fly away into the night again.

He opened the paper and read its contents a few times before he fully comprehended its meaning.

For all that you have given us; we will give you just as much.

Is this some sort of riddle? He thought to himself as he sat up in his bed.

But then he remembered his meeting in Rulici. The summer had been going on for quite some time, and the humidity hung thick in the air around the capital, as if it were a hex put on its borders to prevent men from breathing properly.

Immediately, he realized its meaning. Davi had sent his riggibirds, and they had found their prize to be desirable. It would only be weeks before the Eastern troops arrived on the shores of Duncairn.

His "palace" was not as impressive as Neach had hoped. Though he remembered the tale, he had wondered whether the project he had embarked on as a young man had ever been completed. Evidently, it had not.

"Whose house is this, Neach?" Jenos asked with a yawn. The night had grown old, and they stood outside in the summer heat which was progressively getting cooler.

"Just give me a moment," he pleaded with her as he approached the door.

With a swift three knocks, he demanded the attention of whoever happened to be residing inside. From inside the home, a grumbling could be heard and Jenos looked at Neach curiously.

The door swung open with a fury, and a man was standing there in his night clothes, with a sword aimed at Neach.

"I'm sorry to have showed up unannounced, sir," Neach said, "But I had thought you wouldn't mind," he finished with a smile.

"Of course not Coinneach," the old man spoke, "But when you enter my home, you must only call me Fenris."
