 
## Dawn of the Valiant

## The Valerious Chronicles: Book One

## By Julian Saheed

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Julian Saheed

Cover Art by Julian Saheed

Edition 3

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Discover other titles by Julian Saheed:

The Tyrant's Onslaught: The Valerious Chronicles Book Two

Silent Harbinger

### DEDICATION

This is and will always be dedicated to Melina, who took a red pen and transformed a story into a novel.

### ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Steph, who found all the bugs.

To my proof readers. Fross, Chris, Davide, Tom and Ben, without your help this would have never been possible.

To the individuals whose kind words of encouragement drove me to continue, I thank you for the motivation.

### Table of Contents

Prologue: A Tyrant King

Chapter One: Outcasts

Chapter Two: Promises

Chapter Three: The Great Desert

Chapter Four: An Unforeseen Future

Chapter Five: The Call of the King

Chapter Six: The Eastern Highway

Chapter Seven: Pure Magic

Chapter Eight: A Prophecy Fulfilled

Chapter Nine: Queen Triel

Chapter Ten: The Heavens Erupt

Chapter Eleven: The Bitter Bite of Dargon

Chapter Twelve: Dilemma

Chapter Thirteen: The City of War

Chapter Fourteen: Troubled Times

Chapter Fifteen: The Ruins of Gastonile

Chapter Sixteen: Deadly Bargains

Chapter Seventeen: The Citadel of Kings

Chapter Eighteen: The Machinations of a Tyrant

Chapter Nineteen: Duathnin

Chapter Twenty: The Academy of Nyrune

Chapter Twenty One: A Dangerous Request

Chapter Twenty Two: Errollan's Choice

Chapter Twenty Three: The Valiant

Chapter Twenty Four: Realisations

Chapter Twenty Five: Friends and Fiends

Epilogue: A Bitter Night in Dargon

About the Author

PROLOGUE

### A TYRANT KING

"Blind loyalty is not admirable, it is the path to an early grave," said Zephra as he stepped over the bodies littered in the snow.

The birch doors of the Academy loomed as their final barrier inside. He motioned to his brutish accomplice, who after sheathing his sword, charged forward, smashing the doors inwards.

The third companion checked their backs with one last cautious gaze as he stepped over the splintered wood. "Are you sure of this?" he asked.

"Ask me once more," replied Zephra venomously.

A cold wind swept into the hall beside them and carried with it the bitter remnants of last night's snowfall. Wrapped tightly in their crimson cloaks they marched through the hall, sending haunting echoes ahead of them. Those onlookers who stayed to catch a glimpse of the intruders quickly ran from view, scurrying into darkened rooms and slamming the doors behind them. A king's ransom had been paid to gain the support of the rest of the Academy's guards. Coin well spent.

They continued to the end of the hall where two iron-bound doors stood sealed. Zephra raised his hands, summoning forth his new powers, and sent a wave of force forwards.

The doors burst open with a thundering crash.

As the powerful magic that had shattered the ancient entrance dissipated, the three men stormed into the chamber.

"Remove your hand from that seal at once!" roared Zephra, pointing threateningly at the throne.

On the opposite side of the room, King Friedrich Hermagoras, ruler of Dargon, had stopped just short of pressing his royal seal onto the treaty. He rose from his stone throne in outrage. "How dare you!" the King boomed over the panicked crowd.

A slight smile curled towards Zephra's hollow cheeks as he strode purposefully closer to the King. He quickly scanned the room, paying close attention to a slim foreign man in blue vestments standing before the throne. "You did not really think that you could hide your actions from the people, Cousin?"

"I am hiding nothing," replied the King.

Zephra then stopped and turned to his two companions. The crowd, sensing the growing tension, fled their seats and gathered at the sides of the room. His companions both stepped hastily to his side.

"Zephra, you have no place in this assembly. You must be utterly bereft of your wits to come here and destroy the doors of my council hall. Doors that have stood untouched through centuries of conflict."

"You seek to partner with our most hated foe!" screeched Zephra. "What you plan is sacrilege!"

"I have ruled this nation since before you could stand on two feet. If I seek peace, then I will do so without question and without your approval."

Zephra's eyes widened in anger and the foreigner before the throne backed away in fear. "Such a fool...You underestimate me."

"You have ever been a plague upon the Hermagoras bloodline," replied the King.

"I am the Hermagoras bloodline!" snapped Zephra. "And I also know that what you are planning is in fact not in the best interests of the Dargonian nation."

"I am the King and I decide what is in the best interest of my own land!" the King shot back.

"This man is our mortal enemy," screamed Zephra, pointing at the foreigner in blue. "If the kings of old were here to see a Feldonian ambassador in the Academy of Gushkall they would murder you on the spot. This is a crime against our people."

The Ambassador, now fearing for his life, quickly moved to join the huddled members of court at the room's side. The King ignored him and took a step towards his young cousin. "You go far to assume that you can come here and accuse me of crimes against my own people. If we did not share the same blood I would strike you down. My actions today will mark a new era of peace. An era where our children are given good food and shelter, not a sword and shield."

"You wish to end a war which has raged since the beginning of time, since the very dawn of our age, instead of taking the steps towards victory."

"Listen to me carefully, Zephra. This war you speak of is what has held our nation back. I will be the first king to see Dargon rise to its true potential." The King's voice reflected his belief in his words.

"You," sneered Zephra condescendingly, "know nothing about the true potential of Dargon. You sit on that throne thinking only of your own desires and growing treasury, not of what we could truly become."

"My reckless cousin is accusing me of not knowing what is good for my own nation," the King replied, speaking to the crowd mockingly. "Know this Zephra. I have waged war with the Feldonians since my first day as this country's ruler and I have seen nought but senseless casualties of a one-sided contest."

"That is why you are not the right man to lead this country," Zephra retaliated harshly. "We have the manpower and will to claim this world as our own. What we lack is someone powerful enough to lead our armies over Lake Moonsong and burn Feldom to the very ground. Someone like me!"

The King's face tightened, the anger growing in his eyes. "Guards, remove this treacherous fool and his companions from this council room. I grow tired of his youthful bickering."

Four soldiers, who were standing ready at the King's side, moved towards the three intruders. Within an instant Zephra's companions had their own weapons out and stepped in front their leader.

"I think you also underestimate my companions," Zephra said gleefully. "Oh, have I failed to introduce them? How very rude of me."

His two companions removed their hoods; the larger wearing a fearsome golden helmet made to resemble a snarling bear, and the other revealing his dark, deep set eyes.

Zephra pointed his hand towards the man with dark eyes. "This tall young man to my left you will recognise, Cousin. Mandigal, head disciple of last year's class at the Academy." Zephra grinned. "And this gigantic brute to my left," motioning to the helmeted figure. "Is none other than Luschia."

This announcement drew gasps from the crowd. They cursed and said silent prayers to Gushkall. In the room's centre the four advancing guards stopped dead in their tracks.

"Luschia!" The King roared. "You were exiled from these lands. Banned from ever entering Dargon again. The carnage that you caused here in this Academy is unforgivable. By coming back here you have sentenced yourself to death."

As he turned to face the King, a muffled laugh escaped Luschia's golden helmet. A laugh so chilling that many of the onlookers drew back with fear.

"I think he disagrees. Perhaps you wish to try to detain him," Zephra said with a wide smile.

"You dare come into my throne room with these two fiends and stalk around as if you are the lord of these lands," the King said, his temper reaching breaking point.

"You sent us away under false accusations," Mandigal said. "You sent us away because you were afraid of what we were becoming."

"I was not afraid of what you were becoming, you insolent savage. I was afraid of what you already were. The three of you nearly brought about the downfall of this Academy."

Mandigal swung his sword through the air in anger, his magic sending forth a ripple of energy that shook the room. "You cast us out of the Academy because we were excelling too quickly. You were looking to hinder us. You were threatened."

The King snorted. "Luschia brutally butchered almost thirty disciples on the day of his exile."

Another horrifying laugh emanated out of Luschia's helmet. Mandigal pointed his sword at the King. "I had no part in that bloodshed. I do not deny the atrocious crimes that Luschia committed, but I was exiled because of my friendship with him."

"And that in my opinion is reason enough!" roared the King. "Any friend of that beast deserves no better than death." He paused, biting his lip. "I should have never helped you in the first place."

The anger surged in Mandigal's eyes and he began to advance on King Hermagoras.

"Mandigal, restrain yourself!" Zephra commanded.

The room fell deadly silent and Zephra once again turned to face the King. Friedrich Hermagoras could sense what was on Zephra's mind and knew the danger he was in.

"I know why you are here Zephra. I am not as foolish as you may think," the King said, taking a deep breath. "I cannot give you what you want."

Luschia began to laugh once more as Zephra shook his head. "Cousin, what I want is not something you can give me, but rather something I must take."

The King, fearing as much, sank back into his chair and the crowd moved further away from the three men, huddling together near the entrance of the room.

"So, I shall tell you just why I have come to visit," Zephra continued in a level tone. "I have come to tell you that I will be the one who fulfils Dargon's destiny. I will unite all of Dargon under one banner, something that has never fully been achieved in our proud history."

"And how exactly do you plan to do this Zephra?" said the King, knowing exactly what was coming. "Claim the throne? You may be my cousin, but you have no right to the rulership of Galdovan."

"You know why we have come here."

At that, Mandigal and Luschia rushed at the now stationary guards with their swords raised high. The crowd turned away as the two intruders crashed loudly into the four soldiers. Those who turned to catch a glimpse of the struggle quickly turned away in terror.

The King, seeing his guardians fall to the floor motionless, rose once again from his throne and drew a sword from the seat's side. "Guards!" he yelled out.

"Sit down!" Zephra screamed at the King. "This is my time to talk." He turned to face his companions. "Secure the door."

Luschia and Mandigal ran to the entrance and raised their hands. Within moments a shimmering wall of magic covered the entrance. The noise of the guards running through the corridors drew closer.

"I may have only just become a disciple of Gushkall, but do not think that I am weak," Zephra continued. "When I spoke with him, he saw my potential. He saw in me the very saviour of Dargon. And he gave me power!"

Zephra's eyes began to glow with a red fire and a crimson mist slowly formed in the air around him. King Hermagoras stepped back, almost toppling over his throne, and clutched his heart in fear. "What have you become?"

"No one has ever wielded a greater power. I have more of Gushkall's blessing than anyone has ever received. I have become the envy of all disciples, the envy of all Dargonians."

"You have become a power-hungry monster!" the King defiantly replied. "Nothing more."

Zephra laughed. "Yes, I admit that I crave power. But that is what will drive me to bring Dargon to its true destiny."

"You will drive Dargon into the ground. Your craving would lead these people to their doom," the King said, pointing at the frantic crowd.

Zephra began to step towards the throne. "I grow tired of your insolence. I will give you an option."

At the entrance a few of the loyal Academy guards reached the barrier and began to pound against it with their shields. The loud banging filled the room and the crowd began to scream wildly. They were silenced by a terrifying glare from Mandigal.

Zephra reached the throne and clutched the King's throat, lifting him off the ground with an unnatural ease. "You can give up your throne and swear allegiance to me," Zephra said, tightening his grip and causing the King's face to turn red. "Or face the consequences."

King Hermagoras, astonished by Zephra's sheer strength, lifted his hands, trying in vain to pry the fingers from his neck. The banging from the entrance grew louder and more intense with each passing moment.

"Hurry Zephra! Do what must be done," Mandigal called. "This will not hold forever."

Zephra released his grip just enough for the King to answer. Half choking, the King managed to utter, "Never!"

Zephra shook his head and let out a long sigh. He tightened his grip on the King's throat once more. "It is a pity, Cousin. You were always one of my favourites," he whispered. "But no one will stand in my way."

With an audible roar the red mist surrounding Zephra swirled to completely encircle the two of them and his eyes grew red with a fire from within. "Fear not, I will make sure that your son grows up to be a fine man," Zephra whispered contemptuously into the King's ear.

The King's eyes widened in terror and he began to struggle even more.

A bolt of red fire then shot through Zephra's extended arm and into the King, sending him into a series of violent convulsions. A raging scream escaped the lips of King Hermagoras as Zephra's god-given powers drained his life away.

The terrified crowd watched as Zephra tossed their King's limp body aside. "Being the King of Dargon is such messy business," commented Zephra with a sigh. Taking a seat on the ancient throne, Zephra leant back for comfort and motioned to the cowering Feldonian Ambassador. The shivering man hesitated, but Zephra's cold stare quickly swayed his mind. He made his way slowly towards the throne and stood there, trying hopelessly to stop his body from trembling.

"I want you to go back to your wretched King and tell him what has happened here," Zephra instructed. The Ambassador nodded hastily. "I want you to tell him that the only time that there will ever be peace between our nations is when every last Feldonian is lying ten feet underground."

Zephra then waved his hand towards Mandigal. "Remove the barrier. These loyal fools will swear fealty to me or suffer for their ignorance."

A sense of unease filled Mandigal's mind as he looked at the former King's limp body. It was too late now. He dispelled the barrier, allowing the guards to rush through.

* * *

The western coastline of Feldom shone with the last remnants of the setting sun's rays. Iara picked up the wicker basket containing the dry clothes that she had just collected and paused for a moment to rest in the cool ocean breeze. Her dark windswept hair blew out over her face and she smiled, taking pleasure in the peaceful calm of the sunset.

A sudden scream brought her quickly out of her reverie and she turned to see a row of longboats upon the western beach. Weathered vessels that had seen many long years on the open sea. She narrowed her eyes to peer past the sun's glare and dropped her basket in fear. Miirvkin raiders were streaming over the beach and had already entered her small village. It had been so many years since the Miirvkin had braved the rough waters of the Sea of Turmoil. In that time the defenceless towns scattered on the coastline had let their guard slip, hoping foolishly that perhaps the threat had left them for good.

Iara knew that this was a false hope. A race as brutish and unconstrained as the Miirvkin could never lay dormant. Ever since she could remember, the fear of their attacks had weighed heavily on the minds of those who dwelt in the northern fishing villages. Brutal assaults that carried no warning and left no man, woman or child unharmed. The Miirvkin sent only their fiercest warriors over the sea. Hardened men whose sole ambition was to pillage the land of all that their own harsh homeland could not provide.

The pealing of the warning bells soon filled the air, clanging violently in the small commune. It would alert the soldiers of the neighbouring city of Fenhelm to the village's plight. Iara, shaken from her trance, ran up the small hill. Her mind turned only to the small nursery in which she lived and worked; the children would have no protection from the savage whims of the raiders. She prayed that she could get them to safety in time.

As she neared the simple stone cottage, the noise of the panicked villagers began to mingle with terrifying screams. An overpowering fear was beginning to take hold of her and she quickened her pace. The last attack that she could recall had been when she was a small girl. At that time she had been protected by her father. He had led Iara and her sisters out of the town swiftly enough. Yet that had been the last time she had ever seen her father. He had returned to aid those trapped in the village and paid for it with his life.

The stone cottage appeared as she rounded a corner. Entering the nursery, she found the five babies under her care sleeping soundly in their cots and thanked the goddess Skiye that no one had found them yet. She called out to her maid frantically, but there was no response.

Where could she be? she thought to herself uneasily.

Iara knew she had little time. It would not be long before the raiders would find the nursery. If found, the babies would be taken and forced into slavery, or worse trained to be used as sport in barbaric games.

Then, from the back room of the nursery, came the pound of heavy footsteps. Iara paused, her hands trembling and then her heart sank as a huge warrior, so tall that he was forced to stoop as he entered the room, walked into the light. His bronze skin glistened under the suit of thick leathers and exotic fur that covered his shoulders. Under his cold eyes was a thick sun-bleached beard.

As quickly as she could Iara moved to the one cot where her own tiny baby boy, Thibalt, lay silently. She snatched him up. The warrior moved to grab her, but she slipped free of his powerful grasp as he struck his head on a beam above. She made for the doorway and grabbed the young boy sleeping in the cot next to the door, whilst the raider shook his dizzy head.

Knowing there was little else she could do for the other children, Iara ran from the cottage, her heart racing.

Rounding the corner, she ran as fast as she could down the street, hoping that the Raider would not follow. As she headed for the eastern end of the village, she risked a glance behind her and saw that the Raider had left the building in pursuit. The savage look of hunger in his eyes drove her forward. She was not ignorant of her fate should she fail to outrun her attacker. The few women who survived a Miirvkin raid were often worse for it than those who passed from this world during the brutal attacks.

Yet even with the raider hard on her heels, she soon struggled to keep up the desperate pace at which she ran. The warning bells would bring aid to them, but it was no short distance from their village to Fenhelm. Iara realised that it would take some time before any soldiers would arrive to reinforce the village's meagre forces.

She looked down at the two boys in her arms. Young Thibalt, her own son born only a few moons ago, looked up at her, innocently unaware of what was happening around him. In so many ways he already resembled her with his chestnut hair and full face. The blonde child in her other arm, Thibalt's younger half-brother, Christill, still slept soundly. Iara had promised herself that she would care for Christill after his mother, Lissi, had not made it through his birth. She had loved Lissi as a sister, despite the infidelities that had brought Christill into this world and knew that Thibalt would be better off in life with a brother. Especially so because their father had abandoned them.

The cobblestone street that she followed soon turned right and rose to a steep incline. Iara struggled with the two boys and knew that it would not be long before her pursuer caught up. From her left came a loud scream, but she could not bear to look.

Despair filled Iara's mind and she wept at the thought of losing Thibalt and Christill. The warning bells then came to a stop leaving only the awful sounds of struggle echoing through the village. She turned to see how far away her attacker was and in her haste tripped on a raised stone in the road. Iara managed to turn just enough to shield the children from the fall, but in the process slammed her head on the hard ground. Her vision swam as the two boys rolled from her grip onto the ground and began to wail.

She made out the shape of the Raider standing above her, but the darkness enveloping her mind proved too strong. Her final thought was of her son, who's crying grew fainter with each passing moment.

Reinar called out one final cheer at the top of his lungs and his raiders returned it with passion. The deck of the Miirvkin ship, Iron Stride, was covered with the spoils of their attack, the atmosphere one of great revelry.

"All right, all right. Enough celebrating," Reinar cried out to his crew. "Now, out on the open sea or I'll personally see to it that every single man is flogged to within an inch of their miserable lives."

The raiders let out moans and many a complaint, but moved swiftly to raise the longboats to the ship's side and get them underway. The fighting had been furious once the trained soldiers from Fenhelm had arrived to the village's aid, but the Miirvkin were no fledglings. They had made their retreat to the longboats swiftly, allowing the Feldonians little chance to pursue them out onto the water. And there would be no threat of a chase. The few Feldonian ships that could catch the Iron Stride would stand no chance in open battle. Besides, they were much too far away to cause concern.

Reinar walked along the weatherworn wooden deck of his flagship and let out a sigh of relief. The seasoned veteran was a proud man and took his command seriously. It was clear to his men that they would act with the honour that their maker, the great god Beon would expect. He said a silent prayer thanking Beon for the spoils his raiders had claimed and thought with excitement on the homecoming they would receive.

Stepping around a barrel of dried fruit, he noticed one of his raiders heading below deck with a bundle in his hands and moved to follow him. Reinar recognised the man as he watched him turn into the sleeping quarters. Curious, Reinar followed him in and saw him stooping over something that he had placed in his hammock. "What are you doing, Jerac?" he asked in a low voice.

Jerac turned around with a start and Reinar noticed the strong man cringe and grab his side.

"Are you hurt?" Reinar asked moving closer.

"Stay back! I am fine," Jerac replied roughly.

Reinar, slightly taken aback, stopped with a puzzled look on his face. He then grew stern, displeased by Jerac's tone.

"Sorry, my lord," Jerac quickly apologised. "It is nothing. Just a cut."

Reinar ignored the man's assurance and moved to inspect the wound. He removed Jerac's hand and lifted his tunic to see a deep cut in his side. Reinar stepped back in shock as he saw the severity of the injury. "Jerac, this is a dire wound."

Before the Raider was able to reply, Reinar's attention was drawn to a low murmur from Jerac's hammock.

Reinar moved towards it and caught his breath when he saw two babes lying, bundled up in a blanket. "Great Beon! How dare you do this?"

"Their mother was dead," Jerac replied, trying to justify his position. "I was well within my rights to take the children. It is the way of our people."

"You know my laws. The old ways are not our way," Reinar returned, raising his voice in fury. "As long as I am in command no children will be harmed. You knew this well enough. The Miirvkin of Hamal have not committed this heinous act for decades."

"We are raiders, we come here to take what we want," Jerac replied. He then looked for sympathy, realising that he could not win this argument. "My wife can bear no children. I have taken these two as my spoils rather than Feldonian trinkets. It is my right."

Reinar's wrath only grew stronger. "You have dishonoured yourself and all of your brothers. Did you think that this would go unpunished?"

Jerac made no reply.

Taking a deep breath, Reinar noticed Jerac's wound once more and sighed. The anger inside him began to subside. He had seen deep wounds like this many times before and knew that Jerac would likely not survive the journey back. "Maybe Beon has already seen fit to punish you. I fear you will struggle to fight the fever that that wound will bring."

"Then leave me to my fate," moaned Jerac, sitting down in pain.

Reinar shook his head and turned to leave the dying Raider. The rage brought about by Jerac's actions still burned inside of him, but the knowledge that he was going to lose another one of his men caused him even greater grief. As he returned to the deck he felt the ship lurch forward as the sails unfurled themselves. He turned towards the Feldonian shoreline where their old enemies would be quashing the flames his men had set in the village. It was too late to turn back and return the infants. Doing so would put the rest of his men at risk. Great Beon give me strength, he prayed.

His crew moved about the ship, transporting the spoils into the lower decks. They were oblivious to the soft crying of two young Feldonian boys, and the dying groans of one of their own in the sleeping quarters below. Their commander however could not clear his mind as he stood against the railing, staring into the cold grey water beneath them.

An excerpt from the Chronicles of Silphuras Hilke

Taken from Book 9, Page 488

Dated 11th1034 The Fifth Age

Upon my next trip to the Third Plane, I was greeted once again by Skiye. The presence of the gods never ceases to amaze me.

Appearing in the form of a beautiful woman, she sat down upon the glistening ocean to which she had summoned me. For the first time in my visits to their realm, I found myself with a feeling of belonging. She asked me what I wished to hear, and knowing the one question that I had long been too afraid to pose, I asked Skiye to explain to me how the mortal race of men first came to be.

At first she seemed surprised and unwilling to answer, but knowing that I was pure of heart, she bade me to sit down and I obeyed. I will try to put in writing what the great goddess revealed to me. Though in truth, I could never put down in words all that I learnt on that day.

We mortal beings live on a plane of existence called Fellarrnur in the ancient tongue of the gods. What we do not know is that Fellarrnur was created by the gods from their own plane, Teefarrnur. They themselves are unaware how Teefarrnur came to be, yet they do know that each and every being receives its life from this plane.

Teefarrnur is made up of a form of raw power that everything we know of is created from. This energy is what we men using the common tongue call magic. The gods are made up of this and they in turn make living beings such as us from that very same matter. So consequently we are all linked to Teefarrnur. What separates us from the gods is the fact that mortal beings cannot survive in Teefarrnur. Therefore we are bound to inhabit Fellarrnur for the short span of our lives.

Once our lives are over, our energy is transported through the planes to the Third Plane of existence, which acts as the link between Teefarrnur and Fellarrnur. Our energy is returned to the gods so that they might use it to once again create life. It is on this Third Plane of existence that the gods can interact with living beings. Here the gifted of us men are granted powers to wield on Fellarrnur.

Skiye revealed that Teefarrnur itself gives its energy to the millions of gods that inhabit it, which they then use to create life. And when the gods choose to create living things on Fellarrnur they must give up a portion of their own energy. When certain gods choose to create entire worlds they must make a great sacrifice and offer all of their energy, ultimately destroying themselves. This is how Kovi was created. A powerful god, large beyond belief, created our world countless years ago. He was named Kovicus, and when he created the world he made this great sacrifice.

With the final shreds of his power, Kovicus broke up into four smaller portions of energy, which became the guardian gods of Kovi that we know today. These four each took from their maker certain features, and were subsequently bound to Kovi. Their fates were tied to the fate of our world and thus they became the true guardians of Kovi.

Yet the world that Kovicus created was barren and lifeless and thus the four guardian gods were given the task of creating life. Skiye was the first of the four to craft life upon Kovi. Using her power she created the seas, the oceans and the clouds. She then populated these waters with an abundance of life forms which became the first living creatures to grace our world.

Beon was the next god to pour his energy into the world. In a single moment he raised and created the lands that we now live upon. He summoned the mountains and the rolling fields, the islands and the vast deserts. Once the land was formed he unleashed animals onto the world. All creatures, from the smallest bug to the bears in the frozen north were given life in a single passing moment.

Nyrune was next. She filled the world with all manner of plants and trees, creating food and shelter for the living creatures, and once done, she gave the world weather so that things would grow and so that life could flourish.

The final guardian god, Gushkall, did not like what he saw and gave to the world something which could not be seen. He gave the world chaos and disorder. In order to entertain his own vile mind, Gushkall added an element to the world which we see in many forms, from earthquakes and plagues, to death and decay.

Thus the world of Kovi was created in its entirety. The four gods, thinking their work done, returned to the Third Plane to watch over it from their home. The living creatures were left to fend for themselves, and in that they thrived as the populations grew larger.

As the vast eons progressed, they grew disinterested watching these unintelligent creatures carry out their meaningless lives. So for one final time they banded together and chose to create a race on the world with the capability to grow in intelligence and achieve wondrous things. The four gods each created one man and one woman on Kovi, in the centre of the land that we now call Feldom.

The four pairs, each created in their own god's image, began life working together as one to build a stable existence. Their creations could father children and so emotions could evolve beyond what they then were. It seemed to the gods that all was well and that their new race would achieve great things, until the day that Gushkall's creations betrayed them all. Jealously murdering the children of their kin in the dark of night, they left their company to begin a life of their own.

Outraged and deeply hurt, the remaining three men began to fight amongst themselves. The gods watched as the men they had created fought and saw the separation of mankind. They were outraged at what Gushkall's creations had done and shunned him.

Beon guided his creations to another land across the seas where a new nation would be formed, the land known as Miirvk. Nyrune drove her creations south and created a vast forest in which they could live. In this forest, Karmena was to be built. Skiye's creations chose to remain in the original spot on which our race was created and founded the great nation of Feldom.

Now, though the other gods shunned Gushkall's creations, Gushkall himself was pleased and he led them to the east where they would create their own realm, now known as Dargon. The three other gods did not approve of Gushkall's actions and in their spite they blocked Dargon off from the rest of Kovi.

Beon summoned from the earth a vast mountain range which stretched from the North Sea down to the Misty Forest, and in the only gap between the mountains, Skiye crafted Lake Moonsong. Nyrune then used her power to bring the cold to the eastern lands, so that nothing could grow. Thus Dargon was separated from Feldom and the other lands of men. And thus the mortal races of men began.

CHAPTER ONE

### OUTCASTS

Fierce waves crashed angrily against the rocky coastline of Miirvk. Never before had the people of Hamal seen a storm with such intensity. The inhabitants of the city, largest and oldest in all of Miirvk, stood outside at the waterfront, braving the torrential rain, waiting for their returning raiders.

In a land of sweltering heat, forsaken by the goddess Nyrune and her influence over the weather, rain was a horrific omen. To many it was a sign that Beon had been angered, as in the past it had rained so fiercely only once. That had come during a time of great civil strife, when Beon was angered by his people's own self-destructive war.

The Iron Stride, though heaving in the gale, eventually managed to dock and set its anchors down. Tired yet triumphant, the raiders left the ship, braving the winds to bear the spoils from their journey proudly on their shoulders.

The tall Miirvkin warriors came down carrying with them riches from Feldom that their own land could not produce. Gold jewellery, valuable pottery, rich spices and colourful cloths, were amongst the many things taken by the raiders. One of the warriors left the ship carrying something else.

Reinar held the two infants, covered from view in a large cloth, as he walked up to his wife Kera and their young daughter. The natural difference between the Feldonian and Miirvkin races was amplified by the boys' tiny presence in Reinar's arms.

Not long after their departure from Feldom, Jerac had succumbed to his festering wounds. Following his death, the proud commander had taken the two into his cabin, unsure what to do with the boys. Sewn onto their clothes he had then found their names, and to the displeasure of many of his men, he had seen them well fed and cared for during the long journey home.

"Beon is angry, Reinar," Kera said softly.

Reinar looked up to the sky, heavy rain pelting his face. The dark clouds swirled with contempt and he wondered if he was the reason for Beon's anger. "I have never seen such a storm," he replied, trying to hide his suspicions.

"I am afraid."

Reinar saw the concern in her face and lowered his gaze to stare at Thibalt and Christill who were now stirring in his arms. Kera followed his eyes and gasped.

"What have you done?" she said in shock.

Reinar, fumbling awkwardly, handed Thibalt to Kera and led her up the beach towards the city. He did not miss the disapproving stares from his men that followed him. "I will explain what happened later. First I must speak with Lord Bearn. Where is he?"

"He is in council with the Disciple."

"Good. I may need his advice as well," Reinar added.

A call came from behind, as Reinar's daughter ran up the beach behind them. Her blonde curls bounced as she skipped along the sand. "Father, Father, wait!" Seeing the infants, she gasped. "Are they going to stay with us?" the girl asked excitedly.

Reinar quickly checked to make sure that others had not overheard. Then struggling to find a reply he simply said, "I must talk with Lord Bearn, Siri. I will speak with you later. We will have plenty of time then."

"Oh, you never have time for me," Siri said, pouting her lips to show her disappointment.

Reinar managed a smile and handed Christill to Kera. He picked up his daughter and lifted her onto his shoulders, lightening up her mood.

"You can come with me to see Lord Bearn then," Reinar suggested.

"Can I Mother?" Siri asked excitedly.

Kera nodded her head causing an even larger smile to appear on the young girl's face.

"Look after them until I return," Reinar said. He then began to walk up towards the city with Siri chatting happily on his shoulders.

Kera looked at the two infants and could not help but feel for them. Walking up the sodden beach towards her house, she felt a deep foreboding about what the future held.

Reinar walked spellbound by the sight of the city in the rain. Hamal was the first settlement founded by the Miirvkin. Situated on the southern coast of the continent, it stretched far along the coastline, up to the Cliffs of Miirvk on the south eastern point of the nation. Due to the harsh, arid climate, the majority of Miirvk held little arable land. As a result, the first Miirvkin had chosen to stay close to the coast, where there was greater prospect for farming, and the sea could provide its wealth.

No Miirvkin of his generation had ever seen the city soaked to this extent. The buildings, built primarily of mud or pale stone from the wilds, had turned dark from the rain and glistened in the weak sunlight. He soon reached a large house with a tarp covering its roof. The tarp was sewn from the furs of the Irian, a race of large cats that inhabited the desert, and was worth more than most Miirvkin families would ever own.

Reinar entered the open doorway ducking to avoid hitting Siri's head. Inside sat an imposing man with long brown locks at a round table, deep in conversation with three others. Reinar took Siri off his shoulders and cleared his throat. The man's eyes beamed with excitement when he saw Reinar standing in the doorway.

"Finally you return, my loyal Commander," the man boomed.

"It pleases me to see you in good health, Lord Bearn," Reinar replied not too convincingly.

"There is no need for formalities. Now come and sit with us. There is much to discuss."

Reinar walked over to the table and took a seat. He glanced at the other three men and spotted the man known only as the Disciple seated opposite himself. The Disciple wore a rich brown robe, covered in the drawings of the various creatures native to the Miirvkin continent. He stared at Reinar through his dishevelled grey hair, and for a moment there was silence.

"Your return has sparked some controversy," Bearn said, breaking the calm.

Before Reinar could reply, the Disciple banged his hand onto the table, shocking all. "This prize that you have brought with you pleases Beon," he said. "It has been too long since Feldonian slaves have been brought back to us. I thought you had grown soft over the years, but you have proven me wrong."

Reinar glared angrily at the Disciple, then at Bearn who was leaning back in his chair grinning. He had no idea how they had already learnt his secret, but held few doubts that the Disciple's powers were at the root.

"What madness are you suggesting?" Reinar said. "Do you not realize that water is falling from the sky? Beon is not pleased, he cries."

"For once use what few wits remain in that ageing head of yours and think logically," returned Bearn. "We live in a land where pure water is rarer than silver. Now Beon is sending the one thing that we cherish most from the very sky, and you think he is angry?"

"I do not understand," Reinar replied.

Bearn rose from his chair and moved across the room to Siri. "Hello little flower," he said, bending down to her.

Siri bowed in front of Bearn, showing him the proper respect, and then replied, "Hello Lord Bearn."

"Do you know why it is raining outside little one?" Bearn asked.

Siri raised her eyes to the ceiling as she thought. "Is it because Beon is thanking the raiders for the lovely gifts they brought back?" she replied innocently.

The men, excluding Reinar, began to laugh and Siri's cheeks turned red. She lowered her head in embarrassment. Bearn placed his hand on Siri's chin and lifted her head up. "Do not be embarrassed little one, because you are right."

Siri's eyes glowed and her lovely smile returned.

"You have such a beautiful child, Reinar. And she is wiser than most of us," Bearn continued, moving back to the table.

Reinar, angry at the behaviour of the others, left his seat and walked towards the doorway. He could not believe that Beon was happy. The storm was an obvious personification of his anger. History had proven this.

"If you are leaving then bring the two children to us when you return," the Disciple ordered.

Reinar fixed his eyes on the Disciple. "I will not bring them to you," he replied levelly. "Despite what you may think, I did not want to bring these children here."

"Then tell us why you did?" Bearn asked, mystified.

"During the raid, Carlen's brother Jerac took the two boys from their home. I found them with him after we had left the Feldonian shore." Reinar took a deep breath and continued. "You know my laws. Women and children are to remain unharmed. Our people have long moved past the barbaric ways of our forefathers. I was outraged when I found Jerac, but Beon had already decided to take his vengeance. He passed on our return voyage."

The room turned quiet and Bearn took his seat once again.

"I kept the children, because at the time I felt that I had a responsibility to our men. To see them return to Miirvk alive. I could not turn and bring the babes back to their homeland. Now I see that my choice was false. I should have taken them back."

"If you could not take them back you should have thrown them to the sea," said the Disciple.

"I am no animal!"

"Your actions were not false, Reinar," interjected Bearn. "Beon is pleased with what you have done. You have brought him slaves from our oldest enemies. The children's destinies now lie here in Miirvk."

"No!" shouted Reinar. "I did not bring them here to be slaves. No child deserves that fate."

"Then what would you do, Reinar? Send them back. There is only one choice," the Disciple explained.

Reinar's frustration was growing. "Listen to me," he spat at the Disciple. "You may be favoured by Beon and have the privilege of wielding his powers on Fellarrnur, but you have no right to play the god yourself and judge how these boys will live."

"What do you suggest then? The Disciple knows the will of Beon and is convinced that you brought the boys here to be our servants," Bearn reasoned.

Reinar had held fears that this moment would come, yet the feeling of reluctance inside of him had not subsided. He turned to look at Siri standing quietly by the doorway. She let out a small giggle and Reinar blew out a long sigh.

"There is only one choice, of that you are right," he said, pausing to look at Bearn. "I will take the children into my own family. If it is the only way to save them from slavery, then I will raise them to be Miirvkin."

The shock of this unprecedented proposal sent the room into utter silence.

Bearn was the first to stir, rising from the table. "Are you aware of what you are pledging?"

"If we are resurrecting the customs of our forefathers then you will know that I am well within my right to claim any slaves as my own."

"You are truly as much a fool as I had always feared," snarled the Disciple.

"And I may thus take those slaves to do whatever tasks that I may wish," he continued.

"I had feared as much," Bearn replied. "Your argument holds true. As commander of the raid you hold that right. But are you sure about this?"

Reinar glanced towards the Disciple whose face held a look of cold disapproval.

"Utterly," he answered.

Bearn moved towards a large chest and rested his hands upon it. After a long pause he shook his head and opened it. He removed a serrated dagger, with the hilt carved to resemble a pouncing Irian, and walked towards Reinar.

"I had faith in you," Bearn revealed, handing Reinar the dagger. "When all others claimed that you were no longer fit to command, I stood by your side. Now I see that I was blind. You have changed. The once proud Miirvkin warrior is gone. Before me stands a man with a weakness in his spirit."

Reinar held his inner emotions in check, unwilling to show any frailty.

"I do not approve of your choice, Brother, but as you say, you have the right to do what you wish with the spoils," Bearn added. "However, know that once you take this responsibility, it is yours to bear until death claims you."

"And do you really think that they will be accepted?" the Disciple asked with a sneer. "You have seen how the Feldonian slaves are treated in the other cities. They will be ridiculed, attacked and worse. It will not be long until they run away to the disgrace of your family."

Reinar's mind swam with inner conflict, but he knew that this was the only honourable choice left to him. "But at least they will be given a chance," he replied proudly.

He then took the dagger and cut into his palm allowing the flow of blood to drip down his arm.

"By the dagger of those who have walked this land before us, I swear a blood oath to those children. If broken it will be to the forfeit of my honour and the disgrace of my line," he announced, handing the dagger back to Bearn.

Bearn accepted the dagger, shaking his head in disbelief and placed it back into the chest. "Then it is done," he said. "Be gone. Go to your new family, Reinar, and know that in our eyes you have already dishonoured your forefathers."

Reinar glared one last time into Bearn's eyes and said, "So be it." He picked up his daughter and strode from the building.

As the Lord's home fell away behind them, Siri looked at Reinar. "Can I play with them?" she asked.

Reinar forced a smile, which she took to be a yes.

"I would like that very much," she added with a smile.

They continued to move through the city and Siri called out to her father once more.

"What is it little one?" asked Reinar.

"Why is it not raining anymore?" she queried.

Reinar stopped in his tracks and looked up to see a bright blue sky. He stood there for a long time, fearful of the future. He hoped that Kera would understand and let out another long sigh.

"Let's go home," Siri said, rousing Reinar.

"Yes, let us go home little one," he replied. "There is much to discuss."

* * *

In the first few years of their lives, the two Feldonian boys were kept apart from the rest of the city. However, as they grew, it became increasingly difficult to isolate them from the inhabitants of Hamal. They grew up alongside Siri, who, at four seasons older, proved to be both a protector and source of guidance. Kera had insisted that they retain the names that had been sewn into their clothing when Reinar had found them. Those clothes, long disposed of, had shown Reinar different family names. Yet he had deemed it safer to raise the boys as brothers, withholding their separate heritage from them. He had reasoned that life in Hamal would be difficult enough for them. As brothers they would, at the very least find strength in each other. Reinar had had no way of knowing that the boys in truth shared the same lineage.

Thibalt and Christill spent their time inside or near the family house, having quickly learnt their status within Hamal. Yet in that home they found a level of happiness. It did not take long for Kera to feel as though the boys were their own. And for that Thibalt and Christill were thankful. Reinar, on the other hand, attempted to keep a distance between himself and the boys, choosing to remain a strong source of discipline and authority. As was customary in Hamal, males were taught from a young age the harsh reality of life in Miirvk. The land gave little to its people and oft took everything. Survival depended solely on the strength of the community, and the Miirvkin would not suffer their people to show weakness under the watchful eye of Beon.

Their contact with children other than Siri was all but forbidden by Reinar. This was the most difficult for them, as they were forced to watch as Siri left their home, to attend her lessons and play with her friends. The reason as to their seclusion from the other children was then revealed to them.

According to Miirvkin tradition, males that had seen their ninth passing of seasons would begin their training. The lessons would teach them the skills and knowledge that Beon deemed necessary to make them worthy Miirvkin. Those unworthy individuals, that failed to pass their tests, were cast out from Miirvkin society. Sent to the wastes to fend for themselves and die undignified deaths.

Thibalt and Christill had been in Miirvk for nine summers to the day when Reinar sent them to the city centre. At first hesitant, never having been allowed out of their home alone, they sprang to the opportunity. They ran through the tightly packed walkways and eagerly pushed past the Miirvkin in their way, oft drawing jeers and threats.

They finally reached the large open area in the centre of Hamal known as the Mul'Pha Square. Here Hamal's young boys were gathering in a large group. Almost four dozen youths were huddled together in the northern side of the square, many looking upset, others excited. Reinar had provided them with no explanation or instructions, and they had known better than to ask, so they did not approach them.

Thibalt, utterly confused, turned to Christill, who was a good hand shorter than he, and saw that he was no wiser to their purpose here. The gathered men and women in the busy square soon began to stare at them, whispering amongst themselves. Not knowing what to do, they waited in the centre of the area, standing tightly side by side. Neither of them had the courage to join the larger group of boys who were now pointing and laughing at them.

It did not take long for the crowd to grow, along with their anxiousness. More of the onlookers began to point at them with unwelcoming looks, several even daring to throw stones at them. The brothers, lacking the bronze Miirvkin skin, and significantly smaller in frame, stood out starkly amongst those gathered.

After what seemed an eternity, the crowd turned silent as three men approached from a large mud brick building at the eastern end of the square. One of the three men wore a thick brown robe. Thibalt and Christill recognized him as the Disciple. The two boys had never seen the well-muscled man in the centre of the three before, but when they glanced at the third man they were surprised to see Reinar walking towards them.

The three men walked over to the huddled group of boys and then turned to look at Thibalt and Christill standing by themselves.

"What are you waiting for, you ignorant fools," the Disciple screamed at them in his shrill voice.

The shout shook them out of their trance, and they ran to the group of boys as fast as they could. As they passed the three men, they were both struck across the back of the head by the Disciple. The Miirvkin boys chuckled and cheered. Standing beside the taller Miirvkin, Thibalt and Christill instantly felt uncomfortable and huddled more closely together.

The Disciple clapped his hands loudly to stop all the laughter and gain their attention. The irritation on his face shocked the two boys down to the very marrow of their bones. His brow was clenched so tightly that his eyes were barely visible through his wispy grey hair.

"I want complete silence!" he roared. "Today you stand before us, to present yourselves to great Beon. You are all now old enough to begin your training. To demonstrate your worth." He paused for a moment, taking in the boys before him. "I have been given the mortifying task of beginning the lessons that will teach you the knowledge you will require in your miserable lives. You will meet me here every morning at sunrise."

Loud groans erupted from the group after this last comment. Thibalt looked at Christill with wide eyes. "Sunrise!"

"Silence!" the Disciple shrieked. "You will do as you are told or I will see that you are sent to the wastes."

The comment had the desired effect, bringing the group to stunned silence.

"Reinar will collect you at midday and take you into the wilderness. He is better suited to teach you the skills that a Miirvkin warrior possesses. Once done, you will return here for Beanon to collect and take you to the forge for martial training."

This was what the boys had wanted to hear, and they could not help but begin chattering away excitedly. Christill however noted the blood rushing to the Disciple's neck.

Before he could quieten Thibalt, the Disciple moved up and swung his hand in a wide arc, smacking Thibalt in the back of the head and sending him to the ground.

"I told you insubordinate children that I want complete silence. You will learn your place. I will see every one of you tomorrow at sunrise," the Disciple yelled. "And may Beon protect you if you are late."

The three men then strode back towards the large building that they had come from. Slowly the Miirvkin boys began to leave, talking excitedly. Christill helped Thibalt up off the ground and found himself wondering why Reinar had not stepped in to help. They both moved to walk home, but as they headed out of the square they were stopped by a group of boys that they had been standing with. They surrounded the brothers, towering over them, and began to poke and prod them.

"They are so small," one of the boys teased.

"What about ugly?" laughed another.

Christill lowered his head in shame which caused the Miirvkin boys to laugh at him.

"Leave him alone!" Thibalt shouted, putting his arm around Christill's shoulder.

One of the largest boys stepped forward. He was wearing thick furs over his shoulders, a luxury in Hamal, and a sign of his family's standing. He looked down at Thibalt, being close to a head taller, and spat on the ground. "How dare you talk to us like that, slave," he said, gripping Thibalt by the collar of his top. The boy raised his hand behind his head and formed a fist. "I will show you your place," he added, swinging hard at Thibalt.

Thibalt instinctively closed his eyes and tried to twist out of the way.

The impact never came.

He waited a moment before opening his eyes and did not expect the sight revealed. The boy's fist had stopped mere inches from Thibalt's face and was being held around the wrist by a slender hand. Thibalt looked for his saviour and was shocked to see Siri, blonde hair tied into a bundle behind her head, scowling at the violent boy.

"Do you young children have nothing better to do than fight? Go home before I tell your mothers," she scolded. She then let go of the boy's wrist, freeing Thibalt, and moved in front of her two brothers.

The group looked to their leader, who was not pleased with the treatment he was being subjected to. Yet the boy was not foolish enough to hit Siri in the crowded Mul'Pha Square. He backed off grudgingly and turned to walk away. The look he cast at Thibalt told the brothers that the matter had not been settled.

Once the Miirvkin boys were out of sight Thibalt and Christill let out deep breaths.

"Thank you," Thibalt said, embracing Siri in a hug. "That would not have ended well without your help."

"You have to be careful now, little brothers. I suspect you will be the target of many more attacks like this," Siri said.

"We never did anything to them," commented Christill.

"That is of no consequence to them. The blood in your veins is enough reason for most of this city to hate you."

Christill shrugged. "I thought they would at least try to talk to us first. See that we are no different to them."

Siri forced a smile, but they could both see the concern in her features. They all knew the truth, yet did not wish to speak it. Reinar had kept them isolated from the Miirvkin for this very reason. "We are a proud people. It will take a long time for most of us to see beyond the hatreds of our past."

"Don't worry," replied Thibalt, wanting to lighten the mood. "Christill and I will manage."

"If you can, take Jin with you when you are leaving home."

Christill's eyes brightened at the name and he looked around eagerly. "Where is he?"

Siri winked and put her fingers to her lips, letting out a high pitched whistle. From the street to their right came a huge figure, seven feet long with thick brown fur. It charged towards them at an astonishing speed and then leapt almost ten feet into the air, landing on Christill. Its massive paws pinned him down to the floor and it let out a growl that shocked many of the Miirvkin in the square. Jin was one of the Irian, a Miirvkin cat, caught in the wilds as a pup and trained by Reinar to be a hunting companion. Having been confined to their home, the brothers had formed a bond with the cat that few Miirvkin could rival. It gave out another joyous roar and began licking Christill's face. He tried to break free, but his attempts fell feebly against Jin's sheer strength.

"All right, all right, that is enough. We should to go home, mother will be worried," Siri said happily, pushing Jin off of them. The cat playfully rolled off Christill and crouched low, casting a threatening stare at Thibalt.

Thibalt raised his hand, the laughter draining from his face, and said, "Jin, don't..."

His call came too late as the cat leapt from the floor and wrapped him in its grasp.

Christill wiped the remaining drool off his face and watched gleefully as his brother was subjected to the same treatment.

Siri shook her head and turned towards home. "Fools, the lot of you," she called back at the boys.

The brother's did not hear the comment though, as Christill jumped onto Jin's back, sending the three of them into a rolling tussle. Siri left them there, content with the thought that they had all the protection that they would need.

* * *

The next morning Christill was awakened by the familiar feel of Jin's raspy tongue. Wiping the drool off his cheek once more, he stretched out a long yawn and turned to look out of the window. The morning sun was beginning to peek out over the buildings of Hamal, creating a breathtaking view. He then glanced across the room to see Thibalt fast asleep under his woven blanket.

Getting up to have a drink of water, Christill paused and stared out of the window once more. There was something strange about the city today, something odd about seeing the sun out over the horizon. The answer eluded him. He let the thought slip and moved to the water pail. Yet he could not shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He was stirred by Thibalt's shout as Jin slobbered all over his face. "Jin!" Thibalt screamed. "I was having a good dream." Thibalt propped himself up and wiped his face on his sleeve. "The gods only know how I am ever going to manage getting up before sunrise each morning," he added in.

Christill let out a loud gasp, surprising Thibalt, and causing Jin to drop into a defensive stance. Thibalt's words had jolted his memory. "Thibalt, it's past dawn!" he cried.

Thibalt glanced out the window to see the hot sun blanketing the dry cityscape. "No!" he replied.

"Yes!" Christill returned, in haste. "We have to go now!"

They burst through the house, past Kera, who was preparing some salted meat, and out of the door. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, swerving in and out of alleys and trying to get to the Mul'Pha Square as quickly as possible.

They finally reached the square, their hearts sinking when they found no Miirvkin boys waiting. A few of the Miirvkin moving through the square cast them looks of distaste. They looked around frantically for the other boys but found none. The only one they recognized was Jin, who had playfully followed them out of the house and through half of the city.

"Go ... home ... Jin," Thibalt said, in between breaths. "What are we going to do now?"

Christill looked around, his distress and fear growing, and then fixed his eyes on the large building that the Disciple had appeared from on the previous day. "We can try over there," he suggested, motioning to the structure on the east side of the square.

Thibalt shrugged his shoulders and began to head for the building. Jin, utterly disappointed, walked back home with his ears pointed down in dissatisfaction. They arrived at the doorway and had to reach up high to turn the handle. The door opened into a large corridor with several openings on either side.

They began to walk past the doors, carefully peering in, looking for any sign of the Disciple. The first few doorways they passed held Miirvkin men, sitting in large chairs with stone writing tablets, who scowled at them. They quickly hurried by these. As they neared the end of the corridor, they heard a familiar sound from a door to their left. There was no mistaking the Disciple's voice. They stopped moving and crept up to the wall beside the door. Within a moment the Disciple's voice ceased and the boys were faced with deathly silence.

Thibalt and Christill looked at each other with frightened faces, and then crept slightly closer to the opening. Thibalt shoved Christill in front of himself and motioned for him to look inside the room. Christill shook his head silently, pointing at Thibalt. Thibalt let out a sigh and popped his head into the doorway.

He found the Disciple standing in the entrance, glaring straight down at him with a face full of anger. Thibalt could not move. The Disciple reached out and pulled Thibalt violently into the room.

Christill watched his brother being dragged into the room and was frozen to the spot in fear.

"If you value your life you will come inside," came the Disciple's voice from the doorway.

Christill could not recall a more difficult moment in his life. He swallowed through the lump in his throat and stepped inside.

The Disciple instantly reached out and grabbed him by the neck, now holding both brothers tightly. He pulled them to the front of the room, where the Miirvkin boys were seated on the floor, and presented them to the group.

"Disobedience will never go unpunished in Hamal," the Disciple said, his voice full of contempt. "This is the first lesson that you will learn today."

Thibalt and Christill both struggled to breathe with the Disciple's surprisingly powerful grip around their throats. The Miirvkin boys, obviously pleased with the display, did not wish to further anger the Disciple and struggled to hold in their delight. The Disciple then threw the boys to the floor, where they crashed on top of each other.

"I refused to allow you to be taught amongst our youths. Told the others that you were nothing but vermin that should be stomped underfoot. But Reinar would have it no other way."

Thibalt helped his smaller brother stand up, averting his eyes from everyone else in the room.

"He may have had his way, but know that I will make sure you are put in your place," he continued.

The Disciple then raised his hands into the air and sent forth two globes of yellow energy that latched onto the brothers' chests. The magic surged into their bodies and they screamed wildly in pain. They both fell to the floor, writhing as the Disciple's power sent fire through their veins.

The Miirvkin boys cried out in shock and moved back. Yet the Disciple watched on with enjoyment as Thibalt and Christill suffered. Regretfully, the Disciple dismissed his magic and left the boys to groan on the floor.

"Now where was I?" he asked, as though nothing of note had happened.

The group was still too shocked to reply, staring wide eyed at the Feldonian boys sobbing in front of them.

"I asked you a question," the Disciple continued. "The next time that I fail to hear a response, you will be joining these two."

A stocky boy in the far corner of the room raised his arm high. "You were telling us about the lands across the s-sea," he stuttered.

"Ah yes," the Disciple said. "Miirvk as I told you, before I was interrupted, is as you would know not the only nation on Kovi. Across the Sea of Turmoil lies the accursed Kingdom of Feldom. It is a land starkly different to our own, covered in colourful vegetation and scattered with forests and rivers." He walked over to a large chest at the front of the room and pulled out a tattered map. "South of Feldom lays the Misty Forest, also called Karmena," he continued, pointing at the map. "Nyrune herself protects the forest from intruders and any man with an unjust heart will meet their end inside of it. Take note, the Karmanians themselves are a worthless people, even more villainous than their Feldonian cousins."

As the Disciple carried on, Christill and Thibalt slowly recovered from their ordeal. Although they held no visible scars, both felt as though their insides had been heavily beaten. They managed to move themselves to the back of the group of seated boys and lay down to rest.

To their surprise, despite the immense pain they had endured, their bodies recovered quicker than they had expected. Christill soon began to absently listen to the Disciple's discussion. He found himself drawn to the descriptions of the foreign lands. Each mention of Feldom gained his attention and he began to wonder what his birthplace was like.

Thibalt on the other hand could not bring himself to even look at the Disciple. His mind was filled with the humiliation and torment that the Disciple had caused them. He stubbornly kept his eyes from the Disciple and focused on the time left until the lesson was over.

As the morning passed, the Disciple told them of the four guardian gods and the magic they sometimes granted the four races of men. The Disciple, being the only man in Hamal blessed with the magical powers of Beon, did not hesitate to point out his own importance. Christill shivered as he remembered the pain the Disciple had subjected them to, and wondered what it would be like to return the favour. Yet he knew such hopes were in vain. Beon was a god that opposed the blessing of magic on mortal men. Only one man in each of his peoples cities was ever granted the right to use his powers. And even those were limited to a basic use of his energy, unlike the other three races of men, where magic was more widespread, and whole academies dedicated to the teaching of such blessings. Beon would never allow another Miirvkin to wield his power in Hamal whilst the Disciple yet lived, let alone a boy of Feldonian birth.

The Disciple's lecture turned to the history of the Miirvkin, describing the founding of Hamal and the pilgrimages that led to the other Miirvkin cities. He talked of the raids on Feldom that were once a common thing, yet had fallen away as the Miirvkin had grown more capable in the use of their own land. Christill soon found himself listening to each word, not allowing his disgust of the Disciple to stop him from finding out more about his homeland.

Thibalt continued to refuse to pay attention until the Disciple mentioned the war between Dargon and the other nations. The thought of brave warriors, fighting side by side over massive battlefields sent shivers down his spine and he unwittingly found himself savouring every word, the images remaining in his thoughts for the remainder of the day.

They soon approached midday and the Disciple signalled that the lesson was over. "Tomorrow, you will recite today's lessons in full. Now go and meet Reinar in the square," he commanded.

Thibalt let out a groan. "I should have listened," he whispered to Christill.

"Don't worry," Christill replied. "I will help you."

As the brothers were leaving the room, the Disciple stopped them. "This will be the final warning that you ever receive. The next time you disobey me, I will not be as forgiving as I was today." He pushed them roughly out of the room and slammed the door shut behind them.

"That man is a monster," Christill said, as they followed the other boys into the square.

"I swear by all the gods, that I will pay him back for what he did to us," Thibalt replied, spitefully.

"We cannot do anything foolish."

"I know," Thibalt returned. "Don't tell Reinar what happened."

Before Christill could reply, the brothers were once again confronted by the large boy from the previous morning.

"I knew that you would make fools of yourselves again," the boy said.

"Just leave us alone. What have we ever done to you?" Christill replied.

"You disrespect me by existing, slave. You should be serving me, not learning beside me. It is disgraceful to our forefathers."

"And who is your father, who deems himself wise enough to judge others," Thibalt interjected.

The boy swung his right hand hard, striking Thibalt in the face. "I am Cathan, son of Bearn. How dare you speak so disrespectfully about your lord!" he snarled.

Thibalt lowered his head and Christill stood speechless.

"I should tell the Disciple what you think of my father," Cathan said.

Christill grabbed Thibalt by the shoulders and led him away from Cathan. They did not look back at him as they headed to the centre of the square. To get angry at another boy was one thing, to make enemies with the future ruler of Hamal was another.

Reinar arrived to gather the group at midday. He inspected them briefly, showing little emotion, and then led them wordlessly out of the city. They passed through the old quarter of the city, which still held many buildings from Hamal's founding. These flat roofed, single level houses, stood out starkly amongst the larger constructs of the more recent generations.

However Reinar gave them no time to admire the area, pushing the group onwards at a fast pace. They passed noisy drinking halls, bakers trying to sell the last of the morning's bread, and a row of Masons' shops, outside of which stood several raw slabs of stone. Just shy of the city the land was dotted with the small farms that were able to survive in the arable land closest to the coast. Fields of sugar beets, barley and potatoes lay dispersed in between the larger rye plants. Once they reached the northern outskirts of the city, the Miirvkin desert stretched out before them.

The sight was one that Thibalt and Christill had rarely seen, and for a moment they stopped. In the distance, a fine brown grass carpeted the ground, occasionally spotted with larger razorleaf bushes, date palms and odd shaped cacti. Further on, miles from the city, the grass gave way to barren sand and dark rock formations. Standing under the scorching sun, Thibalt and Christill quickly gained a respect for the hunters that travelled into the wilds to bring back game for their families.

Christill, nudged his brother and whispered, "Has he even looked at you?"

Thibalt glanced at Reinar. "Not that I have seen."

Christill could find no reason that their father would pay them no attention, yet thought better than to question him. They were not unused to Reinar's stern nature, but Christill would have expected at the very least a greeting.

"There is no greater place than out here for you to become men," Reinar called out, gaining their attention.

The boys all turned and moved closer.

"Out here, you will truly find yourselves. Each of you will come face to face with your worst fears and test the limits of your body and mind."

Thibalt already liked where this was heading.

The transformation from child to man is not something that you will simply gain with age," Reinar continued. "The simple minded Feldonians consider a boy turned into a man when he reaches his fourteenth turning of the seasons. The Miirvkin know better." This brought smiles to many of the boys, and also sent several smug looks in the brothers' direction. "To become a man takes years of toil. Hard training that will mould your body to a form that is befitting a Miirvkin. Instruction in hunting that will allow you to provide for the community, and the attainment of mental discipline which will allow you to push through anything that stands in your way.

"I killed my first foe when I was not much older than you all. He was a Feldonian man, old and weak, yet still a soldier at heart. The warriors of our raid had left me alone, busy claiming spoils from the village that we had attacked. I had gone to find my own prizes and he came at me with a small axe, a deathly rage in his eyes."

The group listened on intently, mesmerised by the story.

"I watched him run at me and stood my ground proudly. By the time it was over I had received this," he said, showing them a long brown scar along his thigh. "But I had taken everything from him."

Thibalt and Christill had never heard Reinar talk of his childhood and were surprised to hear the passion in his voice.

"I thought Beon was watching over me that day. Yet I know now that I overcame that trial because of my training. I will see that every one of you is given the same chance. Your lessons with me will be difficult. You will feel pain, and you will want to yield, but remember that in life you are rarely given that choice." He paused and Thibalt saw his eyes flicker over him quickly. Both brothers noticed a hint of discomfort in Reinar's features, which was quickly replaced by his usual hard look.

Reinar then guided them out past the farms and into the wastes. Here they were made to endure the raging heat, whilst running through a series of rocky formations. Reinar gathered them together and set them to climbing a rough rock face that had few handholds. The boys struggled to make the twenty foot climb, and by the end of the trial only four of them were able to reach the top. Amongst them was Thibalt, who despite his smaller Feldonian heritage showed great strength in scrambling up the rock face.

Christill gave it his best, but could not find the energy to make the climb. He left the rock face, feeling ashamed and sat off to the side of the group. He watched as the Miirvkin boys laughed at his feeble attempts and turned his body away from them.

Thibalt walked up to him and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "It was your first try. There is no reason to be ashamed," he said.

"You had no trouble."

"I am also a lot bigger than you," Thibalt said with a smile.

The comment raised Christill's spirits. He did not however miss the looks of approval that some of the other boys cast in Thibalt's direction, and could not stop a hint of jealousy entering his thoughts.

As they continued their conditioning, Thibalt made every effort to avoid Cathan. Each time that circumstance brought him near, he could feel the tension thick in the air.

"One of these days I will show Cathan my true strength," Thibalt whispered to Christill, as they paused to stretch their legs.

"Be careful. He is no weakling, and the son of Lord Bearn. It would not be wise to make enemies with him."

"I think it is too late for that," Thibalt replied. "Look at him!"

Christill peered over to Cathan, who was staring at them, spite evident in his gaze. He was surrounded by several other Miirvkin boys and was undoubtedly the leader in their gang.

"I believe it would be best for us to keep our distance," said Christill.

Thibalt merely grunted.

Reinar signalled a halt and turned to face them. "It is time for your next lesson. I am not impressed by what I have seen, however you have many years ahead of you. In time I will see that you are made respectable."

Christill did not relish the thought of several years of endurance out in the Miirvkin Desert. He saw that his brother was not as concerned. Thibalt was talking to one of the other Miirvkin boys, a skinny youth named Palen, with a shaved head, who had been impressed by his performance in the tests.

Reinar led them back towards the city and they reached the Mul'Pha Square tired and sore. Beanon stood waiting impatiently, his arms, face and chest covered in ash and grease from the forges.

"You are late Reinar," he said, with the hint of a smirk on his face.

"I am never late."

"Hah!" Beanon snorted, "I must be early then." He let out a raucous laugh and motioned for the boys to follow him. Reinar left them without a word.

They followed Beanon through the narrow passages of the Hamal, heading closer to the southern shore. Unlike Reinar, Beanon could not keep himself from talking as he moved amongst the boys. They passed a massive building with a peaked roof and several high windows, and Thibalt and Christill overheard the other boys referring to it as the Arcein Arena. Thibalt asked Palen what it was and was told it was the hall where games were staged for the populous. Though children were not permitted inside, Palen added sadly.

They continued on to the harbour side, where they watched fishing skiffs unloading their catches. The dockside workers carried the fresh fish up to the mongers and butchers that lined the waterfront, and even from a distance the smell was overpowering.

Finally they reached a group of stone buildings littered with chimneys that were emitting thick black clouds of smoke. Beanon led them into the largest building and pushed them past room after room of glowing furnaces. In each forge they saw heavy set workers pounding away onto heated pieces of iron, sparks flying through the air. Beanon then showed them the rooms where the silversmiths worked the precious metals brought over from the city of Mulphus to the west.

Thibalt and Christill followed enthusiastically, staring wide eyed at the axes hanging from the walls and piles of spear heads covering benches. They reached the last room in the building and sat down on a round carpet. This room did not hold the acrid smell and level of dirt that they had encountered in the forges. The walls were lined with displays of exotic weaponry, armour and clothing that the boys had never seen.

"This room holds some of the greatest prizes that we have ever claimed from our enemies," Beanon called out. "There are items here that the Miirvkin of the past brought back with them from their raids on the mainland. Explore whilst you wait. I will return shortly." Beanon then left the room.

Thibalt stood up with the others and approached an unusually long spear that was mounted on the wall. Its forked blade was deadly sharp and resembled a crab claw. He picked it up and admired its beautiful craftsmanship. Cathan walked past him with a wicked smile on his face, causing Thibalt to tighten his grip on the spear.

Christill walked around, gazing at a collection of jewel encrusted scabbards and then a series of helmets, made to resemble beaks. He did not stop until he reached a tall, yet strangely slender, suit of armour standing in the corner of the room. The suit was made from an odd metal, with a dark mossy tinge that reflected the torchlight. Christill had never seen such a thing of beauty before. Behind the armour, a green cloak flowed gracefully down to the floor, and as he followed the cloak down, he saw that four fingers of the gauntlets attached to the armour held menacing claws. The keen-edged claws surprised him at first, seeming out of place on such a thing of elegance. But he later came to appreciate their use.

His eyes where then drawn to a bow that was hanging on the wall behind the armour. He shifted to gain a better look and was fascinated by its design. The wood had been ingrained with carvings of creeping vines and flowers, and its double arched shape was worlds apart from the simplicity of the rarely used Miirvkin bows. Christill felt a sudden urge to take the bow, but had to restrain himself as Beanon re-entered the room.

Thibalt quickly placed the spear back onto the wall and returned to the carpet. The group gazed up at Beanon, who had donned a bronze coloured suit of armour, and was holding a double handed hammer in his hands. He stepped closer, towering over them in an intimidating manner. The Miirvkin warhammer held two rounded spikes on each side of its heavy head, and the suit he wore was made from a series of small plates, joined firmly together to cover his chest, legs and upper arms.

"This, as most of you should know, is a traditional Miirvkin weapon," Beanon began, presenting the hammer. "It is much too heavy for any of you to wield, so you will have to wait a few years until you begin training with them."

A series of disappointed murmurs spread through the group.

"This armour is what our greatest warriors wear into battle," he continued. "It is made from metals hauled from the deep mines of the city of Mulphus. It is made flexible and strong, a valuable asset in battle, and also light enough to be carried in the heat of Miirvk. Let me demonstrate for you."

Beanon walked over to the wall and drew a thin sword from a sheath. He moved over to Cathan and handed him the sword. "I want you to strike me. Use all of your might."

Cathan held the sword awkwardly and gave Beanon a puzzled look. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"When I command, you obey...Relax, you will not hurt me," Beanon replied with a grin.

Cathan gripped the sword with both hands and sliced at Beanon. The sword struck his side and sent a dim echo through the room. Beanon looked down to his side then presented it to the group. They all looked on in awe at the armour that had not even scratched.

Beanon continued to explain the advantages of the Miirvkin armour for the remaining hours of the day. As the sun began to set, Beanon finished the lesson. He allowed the boys to attempt to wield the large hammer before they left and promised them more fun on the next day.

The group left the building and went their separate ways, Thibalt and Christill heading east towards their own home.

"That was terrific. I cannot wait until tomorrow's lesson," Thibalt said, skipping happily along the streets.

"I know. I want to see that bow again."

"Bow?" Thibalt replied, lowering his brow," What would you want to waste your time on that for?"

"When I get a chance, I will show you," said Christill with a smirk. "Maybe I can try it out on the Disciple?

Thibalt laughed. "I think I will join you."

"I might have to wait, I want to find out more about the land in which we were born first."

"Why learn about a land that we will most likely never see, Christill. I want to learn how to fight, so that I can teach Cathan a lesson," he replied, swinging an invisible axe through the air.

"You will never change," Christill replied. "You will always talk with your fists rather than your head."

Thibalt raised his hands, fists clenched tightly. "Maybe you need a good talking to then," he said, playfully hitting Christill in the chest. Christill chased Thibalt all the way home, laughing as they wrestled in the streets.

They reached home and were both greeted by Jin who tackled the boys to the ground. They eventually forced him off and walked inside to the large table in the main room where Kera had placed a stew of salted cod and parsnip bread. The two boys ate swiftly, telling Siri about their day in-between mouthfuls. Finally full, they then stumbled off to their room and dropped into their beds exhausted. Just before he drifted into slumber, Christill made a promise not be late the next morning.

CHAPTER TWO

### PROMISES

Thibalt sent the hammer down once more, slamming the glowing iron into the anvil. Each heavy strike was followed by several smaller taps that moulded the overheated metal into the right form. He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead and glanced over at Palen who was pumping the bellows in the forge next to him. Despite the strength that his body had gained over the past few years, a full day in the smiths always sapped the energy from him. The heat in the forge was stifling today, he would need to step outside for a break soon.

His chance came when he saw Christill enter the room. His brother had not changed much in the seven years since their training had begun. Even now he simply looked a taller, leaner boy. He did however note that Christill's blonde hair had turned straw white from their prolonged time out in the Miirvkin Desert. His own shaggy hair had retained its darkness and was, most days, covered in a fine layer of grease and ash.

"I brought you a gift," Christill called out, throwing an apron onto the bench beside Thibalt.

Thibalt picked it up and pressed it to his chest. "I am truly blessed to have a brother so talented in tailoring."

Palen smirked at the comment.

"Don't try to make jokes, Thibalt," Christill replied. "They are always so terrible."

"Are you done for the day then?"

"I am," said Christill, leaning against the side of one of the unused forges. "I was told we are in for a treat tonight."

"Do tell," motioned Thibalt.

"Then I assume Beanon has not told you?"

Both Thibalt and Palen put their tools down and turned to face Christill. "You know what he is like," Thibalt said. "Beanon stopped paying attention to us long ago. He spends all his time with the young ones."

"It looks like he is correct in his choice then," Christill commented, motioning to a pile of chain links that Thibalt had made. "You no longer seem to need his help."

Thibalt, pleased with the compliment replied, "You have not seen what I have been working on after our lessons." With a grin he moved over to a cabinet and pulled out a large axe head. The piece was nearing completion, but still required some final touches.

Christill took the blade and admired it. "Very nice work. I am impressed."

Thibalt's grin grew wider. "Much more impressive than that twig of yours."

Christill threw the blade back at his brother with a lowered brow. "The last time I checked, I was the one who caught the last two flint hares. I think you will find my bow to be more effective than your axe will ever be."

"Something I intend to put to the test soon," Thibalt returned confidently. "Now, are you going to tell us what we are in for?"

"Oh, it is nothing really," replied Christill, pretending to scratch his nails to make them wait.

"Hurry up or I'll throw you into the coals," said Palen with a stern look.

Christill returned Palen's look with a displeased stare. He had no qualms about the reserved youth, but they had never shared any bond beyond their connection to Thibalt. Yet he had to admit that out of all of the Miirvkin, Palen was the most amiable.

"Just get on with it," cried Thibalt.

"We are all invited to the Arcein Arena tonight."

"You are lying," spat Thibalt.

"I assure you I am not," replied Christill.

Palen, usually a pillar of calm, ripped his stained apron from his chest and threw it on the floor. "I need to prepare myself," he called out.

"For what?" Thibalt yelled, but Palen had already run out of the room.

"He seems excited," said Christill.

"Palen has been talking about the games since we first met him. His eagerness is no surprise," replied Thibalt. "So what has spurred this sudden reward? We still have a few months until our training is over."

"I have no idea," said Christill, leaving his seat. "But now that you know, I can go meet Siri."

"Again?" Thibalt asked. "If you keep spending all that time with a female you might turn into one."

"Your jokes are not getting any better," called Christill as he left the room.

He left the building and made his way east. The taunts from Thibalt did not bother him, but he knew that the other Miirvkin held him in low regard because of his closeness to Siri. As youths, the friendship had not been frowned upon, yet as they grew it became alarmingly clear to Christill that it was not proper Miirvkin behaviour. But then, he was not truly a Miirvkin anyway. Everyone in Hamal was always quick to point that out, so Christill had taught himself to stop caring what they thought.

A small clearing soon opened up before him and he looked around for his sister. He spotted Siri waiting for him near the remnants of a dried up well, its abandoned tiller crumbling with age.

"What took you so long," she called out happily.

"I had to tell Thibalt some news."

"Oh," she replied, her smile suddenly going. "What news?" she quickly added.

"We have all been summoned to the Arcein Arena tonight," he replied. "Apparently they are presenting games. Though I do not know the occasion."

Siri nodded, a strange look on her face, and replied. "Never mind."

Christill, confused by her unusual reaction, made to question her but she quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street. "I guess you will not have much time then. Let's see if we can catch them before you need to head back."

"Very well," said Christill, following her lead.

They half walked, half ran through the dwellings of the eastern part of the city, the land gradually climbing upwards, and soon came to a high point in Hamal. Here Siri led him to their usual meeting spot, a large boulder, carved flat on its peak to form a seat that overlooked the city. Their eyes however turned elsewhere, to the east, where a vast stretch of dry rolling grasslands lay.

"So are you excited?" Siri asked after a short silence.

"About?"

"The games," she replied, keeping her eyes out to the grasslands, and avoiding Christill's gaze.

Christill, still slightly confused, replied, "I would not say excited. Though I am curious to see the spectacle. From the way the older Miirvkin boys rant on about it, it must be impressive."

"I can only imagine."

Suddenly he understood. Siri would never be allowed to see the games. It must not be a topic that she wished to discuss. "Well, I will tell you all about it tomorrow," Christill promised.

Siri turned and placed her hand on his. "That would be nice," she said, her voice somewhat distant.

Christill knew his sister well enough to know that something else was bothering her. "What is it? You seem concerned."

Siri waited a moment and turned her gaze once again to the east. "You need to start spending more time with Thibalt and the other boys, Christill."

Christill let out a snort. "We know how that usually turns out."

"Then maybe you need to make more of an effort," she unexpectedly snapped. "Thibalt managed to befriend some of them."

Christill snatched his hand back in shock. "It was easy for Thibalt. He is bigger and stronger than I am. He was always able to keep up with the others. I was always left behind. A floater, to mock and look down upon."

"He received the very same scorn when you were young. He found the strength to work past it."

Siri's words angered Christill. "Where is this coming from?" he asked.

"You need to start thinking about what you are going to do Christill. In a few weeks you will finish your training. Thibalt has already found his place with Beanon in the smiths. But you move from one berth to the next, doing only what is asked of you, and avoiding as much contact as you can with our people."

"I don't think they were ever our people, Siri," he replied bitterly.

"Your brother seems to think differently," she said.

Christill stood up from the seat in frustration. "I think I have heard enough about how well Thibalt has done. Do you think that I am unaware of what he has? I watch every day as he talks and laughs with his friends, whilst I am lucky to receive even a greeting. He has a body that, but for his height, resembles a Miirvkin, whereas I am gifted with a frame that so generously illustrates my heritage. He receives praise from Beanon, whilst I am forced to find employment amongst those who take pity on me. Oh, believe me, I am painfully aware."

Siri cast her eyes down. "I am sorry, Christill. I did not mean it in that way. It is just..." she paused. "I am worried."

"About what?" he implored.

"About what will happen to you."

"I am not going anywhere, Siri," Christill replied, his irate voice easing. "I have lived my whole life as an outcast. Nothing is going to change any time soon."

"I know," she said, urging him to sit down once more. "I am just feeling a little strange today. Do not worry yourself."

Christill sat back down and placed his arm around her. "I have managed thus far, haven't I?

Siri nodded with a smile.

"Look. We are in luck," Christill motioned out to the grasslands.

In the distance a small group of beasts were running over the grasslands, heading north to find shelter for the evening. The four legged creatures, Heilen deer by name, were lean and swift footed and common in Miirvk. However they were unluckily hunted by many predators, amongst them the Miirvkin.

"This is where I am happiest," Siri said, resting her head against Christill's shoulder. "When we come here and forget the rest of the world."

Christill understood more than she could ever know. He could no longer count the times that he had escaped here to be alone. Early on he had found comfort with Thibalt, but that had diminished as their training had progressed. After their first year, Thibalt had been quick to take up more time with Beanon, whilst Christill had endured more teachings from the Disciple. Despite the Disciple's abhorrent nature, Christill had preferred those teachings to the rough labour of the craftsmen.

"I guess you should be heading back," Siri said.

"I think we can spare a few more moments."

"It is a pity we cannot share longer," Siri added.

Christill was unsure what to make of the comment, but Siri had been acting strangely the whole evening. He decided to let it pass and enjoy the last moments before he would have to return to the city.

He found Thibalt waiting for him eagerly at home. He quickly changed out of his dirty clothes, choosing a tight black vest and hide leggings from his meagre belongings.

"Get on with it. Palen is waiting for us," cried Thibalt. "If we keep him waiting much longer his heart might stop."

"What a tragedy that would be," Christill muttered to himself.

He grabbed a chunk of hard dark bread, which was lying on the main table and followed his brother outside. They hurried down towards the waterside, Thibalt moving them at a frantic pace. Palen stood outside a craftsman's store waiting for them, a look of frustration on his square face.

"If you had taken any longer I would have left without you," he announced, unceremoniously.

"And you would have had an awful time without us," replied Thibalt. "Now let's go."

The three of them travelled south through the city until the Arcein Arena came into view. Its high walls were surrounded by throngs of men eagerly waiting to gain entrance. They found the end of the long line and took their place.

Some of the Miirvkin waiting with them threw disgruntled looks their way, but the brothers had learnt from a young age to ignore them. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the entryway and moved in through the massive double doors into the arena.

"Great Beon!" cried Palen as they caught their first glimpse.

The entry opened up into a wide stadium, the huge stage sunken twenty feet into the ground below them. Row upon row of raised seating lined the four walls of the arena. At this time it was already packed with hundreds of rowdy Miirvkin, smoking and waving tankards of strong wine through the air. They quickly rushed up the stairs to find some seats and were handed big cups of spiced wine, the pungent aroma wafting through the air around them. They looked at each other in glee and gulped them down happily. After two more cups they moved to their seats and took a moment to admire their surroundings.

"There must be hundreds of men here," reasoned Christill.

"Over nine hundred," answered Palen. "My father's father helped build this arena."

"Impressive," responded Thibalt.

Below them the floor of the arena was covered in fine sand. There were several doors that surrounded the arena floor and travelled into chambers beneath the seating. Rooms where the combatants of the games would be preparing themselves for the night's events. The brothers grew more anxious with each passing moment.

The noise grew as more and more Miirvkin entered the arena. Thibalt spotted some of the other boys of their age sitting across the arena rubbing their hands in anticipation. And then the doors to the Arena shut with a loud bang and the noise began to subside. The crowd suddenly turned silent and a large grinding noise sounded from the roof.

Thibalt and Christill quickly looked upwards with the rest of the crowd to see a large structure being lowered from the roof into the arena. Its progress was slow, but as it drew nearer to the ground they could see that it was a series of walls for the arena floor, made of rough brambles and wires. Finally, as the structure hit the ground, they made out the tangled shape of a maze.

Two of the doors, at opposite ends of the arena floor then opened. From the first came a Heilen deer, held around the neck by a thick rope and being led by a heavy set Miirvkin with a black mask covering his face. The man led it towards the maze where an entrance lay and waited patiently, whilst the deer shook nervously and darted its head around.

Then, from a second door, came a gut wrenching snarl and with a lightning fast leap an Irian sprang from the doorway. The savage looking cat had a face full of scars and jagged grey stripes along its back. It snapped at the chain around its neck a few times and then looked up at the crowd seated high above it. It snarled once more, bearing its razor teeth, and raked the ground with its claws. A second masked Miirvkin followed the Irian out of the doorway and led it towards a similar entrance to the maze on the opposite side of the floor.

A booming voice then sounded from the northern stands. "We are gathered today to give thanks to Beon for all that he has given to our people."

The boys surveyed the crowd and saw that it was Bearn that was speaking from the midst of a large group of Miirvkin men. The Lord of Hamal had the fur of an Irian draped over his shoulder and a thick wooden staff in his right hand. An imposing figure even in the midst of his large Miirvkin peers.

"Yet we are also gathered here for another reason. One which we will announce at the conclusion of these games," he continued. "For now, let us sit back, drink, eat, cheer and enjoy ourselves."

The gathered men let out a raucous cheer and the two masked men unleashed their reins. The deer and Irian both bolted into the maze, whilst the trainers closed the entryways behind them with steel gates.

The crowd leapt from their seats, waving their arms in the air and screaming taunts and jeers down at the arena. Christill struggled to see past the tall Miirvkin in front of him and was forced to climb onto his seat.

The deer had begun to bolt through the maze at a frantic pace. It rounded each corner with amazing agility and sprinted down the longer passages. The Irian was also moving through the maze, but took its time. The cunning beast stopped several times to sniff the air and find the scent of its prey.

"The deer are trained to know the maze. If the deer makes it to the centre it wins," cried out Palen, over the noise of the crowd.

"What does it win?" asked Thibalt.

"Its life," replied Palen with a grin.

"And what does the Irian win?" asked Christill.

"Dinner."

Thibalt let out a laugh, but Christill did not find the situation all that humorous. The odds seemed terribly in the Irian's favour. The two animals continued to move through the maze, seeking a way to the centre. The Irian, picking up the scent of the deer, now quickened its pace to the pleasure of the crowd. The deer sensing the Irian's closeness tried to quicken its own movement, but was hindered by the sharp turns of the maze.

A few times the Irian caught sight of the deer and almost closed in on it. However the fear of death drew the deer onwards. The tension in the arena built and the noise from the crowd grew deafening. The boys could now see why the arena was so popular.

The deer rounded a corner and finally came upon a long passage that lead to the open space in the centre of the maze. However, the Irian had made up some ground and rounded the corner a mere moment later. Seeing its death drawing closer, the deer made a final bolt towards the centre.

The Irian, knowing that this was its final chance, sprang through the air, the strong muscles in its hind legs propelling it forward at an immense speed. Paws outstretched, the cat latched onto the back of the deer and dug its claws into its back. The back legs of the deer crumpled under the weight of its attacker, but it did not give in. With a final burst of energy the deer struck out behind itself with its legs and struck the Irian in the face. The cat flinched from the strong impact, which was enough for the deer to break free. It dashed forward with all its might, tearing itself free from the Irian's grasp and bolting for the centre.

The Irian regained its composure and sprang after it. But it was too late. As the deer reached the centre of the maze a wall sprang down from the roof to block off the Irian's path and the cat howled angrily at the loss of its dinner.

"Victory to the prey," Bearn's voice boomed over the crowd. "We shall eat stockfish."

The crowd roared its displeasure.

"Stockfish?" Thibalt queried.

"Had the Irian won we would have shared in its feast and been given deer," explained Palen. "As this is not the case we will start the night with stockfish."

Not too long later large barrels were brought into the arena and skewers of roasted stockfish were handed around. Thibalt and Christill ate every bit of theirs, even enjoying the crunchy flame grilled bones. More spiced wine was then passed through the seats for them to wash their fish down with and the games continued.

Several more maze hunts were presented, with various animals from the Miirvkin continent pitted against each other. The boys watched keenly as a flint hare outran a brutish hound and were amazed to see a Gorinian Devil, a fierce desert lizard the size of a boar, chase down a Heilen Deer. Following each bout a new dish was served to the crowd. They feasted on roasted turnips and peppered mud crabs. Crusty pies filled with fish and eel were handed out and accompanying each meal came more wine. Soon the boys were feeling the effect of the drink and joined in with the surrounding Miirvkin in songs and loud chants.

Then the maze was removed and the true games began. Warriors clad in all manner of Miirvkin armour stepped onto the arena sand and fought each other in teams. The warriors were everyday Miirvkin. Men who had volunteered to put on a display for the chance to show their skills.

The drunken crowd cried out for their favourite fighters as each battle came to a close and though they fought with blunted weapons, many of the men left the field with terrible injuries.

Eventually it came time for the final bout. A one on one fight between Murloch, the champion of the last games that had been held and a fighter from the Miirvkin city of Numukh. Murloch was a lean man with a shaven head and a notched hammer at his side. The champion from Numukh was twice his size, with a shaggy beard that covered half his face and two thick daggers in each hand. Lord Bearn called out for silence and introduced the combatants. He then announced the start of the fight and the crowd burst into life.

Despite their heritage, Thibalt and Christill could not help but join in with the rest of the men in cheering on Murloch. The atmosphere drew them in and held them tight as they watched the two fighters dance around the arena, testing each other's mettle with quick jabs and thrusts. The rivalry between Miirvkin cities was so strongly ingrained in their culture that it was essentially celebrated. It stemmed back to the start of Miirvkin civilisation when men had either left Hamal or been exiled because of their unwillingness to follow the city's rulers. In keeping with this each city would send out invitations to their sister cities for champions to come to their games, and despite the taunts and curses of the crowd, these champions were held in great respect amongst all Miirvkin.

"Why are they taking so long?" complained Christill from the edge of his seat.

Thibalt rolled his eyes. "You know nothing. One does not simply launch himself at an opponent. You must gain a measure of him first. Find his strengths and weaknesses."

"What of the element of surprise?"

"In a fight like this there is no such thing. You opponent knows that you are there to attack him."

"But if it is the norm to take it slow to begin with, would you not gain an advantage by pressing hard straight away?" suggested Christill.

"You may, but you take a great risk. If he is ready for you then you leave much of the fight to chance and are relying completely on your reactions. You will have no knowledge of the way your opponent moves and no way to anticipate a certain strike."

"This is why I prefer the bow," replied Christill. "You take the hassle out of it by stopping them before they get close enough."

Thibalt shook his head. "You should spend more time in actual combat training and less time reading the Disciple's mouldy scrolls. Then you would understand better."

"But then I would be as thick headed as you," Christill returned with a smirk.

Thibalt waved his brother's comment away and turned his attention back to the fight. Murloch was sidestepping around the larger challenger in a clockwise direction. He struck out a few times with quick swings of his hammer, but the Numukhian was no fool and simply stepped back to avoid the swipes. Finally the larger man pushed forward, bringing his two daggers out in front of him in a flashing swirl. This time Murloch was forced to step back and avoid the flurry of slashes. He waited for a break in the challenger's attack and leapt forwards with an overhand swing. The Numukhian dodged to the side and swiftly brought his right hand up and around to cut Murloch on the arm.

The crowd hooted their dissatisfaction and called out more words of encouragement to their fighter. Palen standing next to Thibalt was screaming at the top of his lungs. Thibalt, having never seen the usually quiet boy this verbal, laughed.

Murloch snarled at his opponent and stepped up to send his fist at him. The challenger raised his own hand to block the fist and was forced to duck as Murloch brought his hammer in the following strike. He pressed his advantage sending repeated blows at the Numukhian and was wearing him down. Despite his size advantage, the Numukhian was struggling to take the repeated force of the hammer blows. He sent his daggers out when the opportunity allowed, gaining hits on Murloch's outstretched arms. Yet Murloch was gaining the upper hand. Spurred on by the crowd he increased the intensity of his attacks and with a final blow sent the challenger to the ground.

The Numukhian raised his hands from the floor in surrender and the crowd burst into one long cheer. Lord Bearn moved down to the arena and clasped Murloch's arm with his own. "Once again our proud champion has shown his worth," he called out, causing another cheer. "We thank Beon for giving him the strength to overcome this worthy opponent."

The Numukhian had risen from the sand and nodded his head in acknowledgement. He raised his hands to the crowd and the Miirvkin of Hamal clapped their hands in respect to the proud warrior.

"Tonight, Murloch will feast as a lord feasts. Tonight, Murloch stands tallest in Hamal!" Bearn continued, raising Murloch's hand to the sky.

The Miirvkin continued to cheer for their champion as honey wine was served. Then whilst the crowd was busy with their drinks Bearn called for silence one final time.

"As was mentioned at the beginning of this night there is another reason that we have called these games," Bearn cried out. "We have cause to celebrate tonight. A week from now two of the oldest families in Hamal will be joined as one."

Christill looked at his brother who shrugged his shoulders.

"My son Cathan is months away from becoming a man. And before he finishes his training I have arranged a gift for him. A gift I am sure he will be pleased with," continued Bearn. He paused for a moment, a large smile on his face. "He will take the hand of the daughter of Reinar of the Jarnane family."

Horrified, Thibalt turned to his brother who was white and speechless, eyes fixed on Lord Bearn.

"Cathan and Siri's marriage will bring two of the founding families together in a tie that will bring honour to all future generations," said Bearn. "I am pleased to say that tonight's entertainment will seem threadbare in comparison to the celebration we have planned for their wedding night. I will see every one of you in the Mul'Pha square next week to join in the jubilation."

Christill could not believe the words coming from Bearn's lips. He refused to believe it. Reinar would never allow Siri to be forced into marriage with Cathan. No woman deserved to be subjected to that brute's temper.

"Why did she not tell us?" asked Thibalt.

Christill then recalled her strange mood earlier that afternoon and felt ashamed. "I should have known something was amiss," he muttered.

"Did she say something?"

"No," replied Christill. "She was acting very distant before. But I assumed that it was fine. I am a fool."

Thibalt paused and let out a frustrated breath. "There is nothing we can do anyway."

Christill looked up at his brother and showed his anger. "You of all people will understand why this cannot be allowed to happen."

"I fully understand how you are feeling, Brother," said Thibalt, desperately. "But there is nothing that we can do."

Christill did not want to hear that. "I need to get out of here," he choked, rising from his seat. He pushed past his brother and moved to leave the arena.

Thibalt called after him, but Christill ignored his brother's cries. All that he could think of was the horrible future that Siri had ahead of her. To say that Cathan was arrogant, loathsome and cruel was painting too nice a picture of him in Christill's mind. And Reinar knew this. He could not understand how their father could have let this happen.

He dwelt on this as he left the arena and stormed away from the building. He did not notice the figures leave the building behind him. Christill continued through the city, determined to find Reinar and speak his mind. He would stand up for Siri, if no one else had the backbone to do it. His frustration was driving him forward, but also clouding his mind. He did not see the strong arms that grabbed him from the shadows until it was too late.

He cried out as he was pushed hard against the wall of the nearest building and lifted his arms to release his assailant's grip. Christill's own strength proved no match for his attacker and in the faint moonlight he could make out five figures crowded around him.

"I thought you would be happy, Christill," called one of the figures.

Christill did not need to see the figure's face to know who it was. "What do you want?" he called out loudly, hoping to gain the attention of anyone nearby.

Cathan laughed. "Yelling is not going to help you. There is no one around here but us." One of Cathan's followers struck out with his fist, punching Christill hard in the stomach. "I have to say that I am a little disappointed. I was expecting that inbred brother of yours to leave the arena after the announcement. But I guess I will have to settle for just you." Cathan stepped forward and sent his clenched fist straight into Christill's face. The impact sent Christill's head crunching against the wall.

Christill let out a moan and let his head fall, stunned by the hit. The group continued to pummel him with punches and kicks. He tried to struggle against arms holding him but could not move. Soon he lost the little strength that he had. The boy holding him eventually threw him to the ground where Christill lay in a heap, bloodied and bruised.

"Pathetic," said Cathan, kicking Christill one last time. "I would have thought that you would at least put up a fight." He bent down to Christill who had his hands protectively over his head, holding back tears. "I do hope your sister puts up more of a fight when I take her to my bed," he said in a vicious tone.

"Get away from him!" came a call from the direction of the arena and they turned to see Thibalt running up the road, Palen behind him.

Thibalt charged straight into the group, diving for Cathan and trying to get his hands around his throat. The followers however were ready for him. Thibalt fought back fiercely, spurred on by the sight of his brother, but horribly outnumbered, he was thrown to the ground next to Christill, his face a swollen mess and his body bruised and broken.

"Well it looks like I got my wish after all," commented Cathan. "Look at this scum, boys. My father was foolish to allow them to live amongst us. Once I take over I will make sure that we remedy that situation."

"What about him?" called one of Cathan's followers, pointing at Palen.

Cathan glanced over to Palen, who had stayed out of the fight. Palen took a step back and looked at Thibalt and Christill on the ground.

"Do you want to join your friends?" Cathan asked.

Palen shook his head quickly and then turned and ran from the street.

Thibalt watched his friend running away from them and felt a bitter lump in his throat. When it came down to it, they would always be outcasts.

"I have been waiting for a very long time to do this. I am glad that I was able to do it tonight. On the night that you found out that I will be enjoying your sister daily."

Thibalt looked up at Cathan, hatred burning in his eyes. "I will kill you," he spat.

"Good luck," replied Cathan. He moved up to Thibalt and sent a final kick towards him, striking him hard in the back as Thibalt turned to avoid the blow. "Come on, I have seen enough of these dogs for one day. And I don't want them dead yet. I want them to be around to see me claim their sister."

The group left the brothers in the alleyway, laughing as they disappeared into the darkness. For a while they remained on the ground, nursing their wounds. Thibalt had received a worse beating thanks to his efforts to fight back, however Christill's small frame meant that the attack had left a greater mark on his body. Eventually the sound of men leaving the arena drew closer and Thibalt forced Christill up off the ground. They stumbled back home together slowly and entered the house to find Reinar and Kera sitting in front of the hearth.

Kera gasped as she saw the boys and quickly rushed over to help them. "What happened?" she cried out.

"Nothing that you need to worry about," replied Thibalt quickly.

Reinar rose from his chair and moved over to the boys. "Who did this?"

"Your future son," replied Christill in a spiteful tone.

The comment did not produce the reaction that Christill had hoped for. Reinar simply sighed and said, "I thought as much."

"You must do something," Kera begged of her husband.

"Then you knew about the betrothal as well?" Christill asked Kera.

"There is nothing to do," cut in Reinar. "If they are unable to fend for themselves then they have failed in their training and are beyond my help."

"Don't be so harsh!" shot back Kera.

"Stop treating them like children!" Reinar returned. "If they want to live amongst us, then they need to learn to act like true Miirvkin. I have done more than enough for them."

Thibalt and Christill were both shocked by Reinar's words. Although he had always kept a certain emotional distance between himself and the boys, he had never openly spoken of them as outcasts. Their home was the one place where they were able to avoid the ostracism they endured from the rest of Hamal.

"How can you allow your own daughter to be subjected to a life with that monster?" asked Christill heatedly.

"Leave us," Reinar motioned to his wife. Kera hesitated for a moment, but then left the room after a harsh glare from Reinar. Jin, who had been laying quietly, felt the tension in the air and slunk away into Thibalt and Christill's room.

Once she had moved into the other room, Reinar stepped up to Christill, towering over his foster son and let out a deep breath to calm his own emotions. Thibalt remained to the side, hesitant to speak.

"It is not too late," said Christill. "You know, just as well as we do, what you are subjecting Siri to. He will hurt her. Make her life miserable."

"It is too late," replied Reinar, turning away from Christill. "There is nothing that we can do for Siri now."

"Why not?"

"That is none of your concern."

"She is our sister," reasoned Christill. "This concerns us greatly. How could you be so cruel?"

"Do not dare call me cruel!" boomed Reinar in a raised voice. "I have only ever sacrificed for my family."

"It is Siri that is making the sacrifice."

"Exactly!" cried Reinar. Thibalt took a step back. They had never seen Reinar this angry. "Siri is the one who is suffering. The one who will live the remainder of her life with that monster. Not you."

Christill was confused. "Then end the marriage. You have that power. Why are you making her do this?"

"Because of a foolish promise that I made for your sakes," said Reinar, turning his face away from them once more.

"What do you mean?" asked Thibalt.

"You two have been able to live a life no different to the other Miirvkin boys. Do you really think that the people of Hamal have come to accept you?"

Christill glanced over to Thibalt with an unsettled look.

"For the life that you have been able to live I have suffered greatly. My whole family has suffered. And now your sister will suffer more than any of us have. All for the two of you."

"I don't understand," said Christill.

"You are Feldonians. By all rights you should be slaves, working in the mines, yet in sympathy I gave an oath to protect you and raise you as part of my family. A blood oath."

"Which we have always appreciated," said Thibalt.

"But you do not know what I gave up to give you what you have."

"We have not exactly had a sheltered existence. Look at us!" said Christill, pointing to Thibalt's swollen face.

"Had I not made sacrifices then this would have been a daily occurrence for you. To most of the people out there you are nothing but feral dogs to be kicked and cast away with stones."

"What sacrifices?" asked Thibalt, his voice showing concern.

Reinar hesitated and the boys sensed a reluctance in his manner. He finally replied, "When I took you into this family I dishonoured my forefathers. Kera and I were cast out from the rest of our society. Ridiculed by our own people for the sympathy we showed you. To them it was weakness, not compassion. Yet we put up with it, for your sakes. You were sheltered from most of this. This is why we kept you here until you were grown. I had no doubts in my mind that harm would come to you, were you to get out into the city on your own. Yet eventually you reached the age at which Miirvkin boys begin their training. I knew that there was no way that you would be allowed to train with the other Miirvkin boys, but Kera begged me to do something to make it happen. Without training you would never be Miirvkin and would be useless when you came of age. So I foolishly listened to her and went to Bearn.

"In Bearn's eyes I had lost all my honour when I had committed to my oath. Yet when I begged him to allow you to train, he granted me my wish. But on one condition." Reinar rubbed his eyes. "The Jarnane family is one of the founding families of Hamal. One of the oldest and proudest lines in Miirvk. Bearn knew the power he would gain by taking my only daughter as his own. And so, to give both of you a chance for a future in Miirvk, I was forced to sacrifice my daughter's destiny to Bearn's only son."

"This cannot be true," said Thibalt softly.

Christill suddenly felt dizzy and moved to sit down. "There must have been another way."

"There was none," said Reinar, his voice laced with resent. "Lord Bearn was the only one who could command the people of Hamal to allow you to train. He ordered the Disciple and Beanon to teach you. Sent word out to the entire city that you were not to be harmed. Without his approval you would have been nothing. Forced to live on the fringes of our society until we were no longer able to protect you from the hatred of the Feldonians. You are protected only because of the promise that I made. And now Siri will suffer for it."

"There must be something you can do to change his mind," pleaded Christill.

"By taking my only child into his family Bearn will remove the threat the Jarnane line has to his power over this city. He will never allow this marriage to stop."

Christill felt worse than he had ever felt. He placed his head in his hands dejectedly. To find out that they were the cause of the pain that Siri would be subjected to was too much for him to bear.

"There must have been a better way," said Thibalt, though in his heart he knew that it was useless. There was no stopping the marriage now.

Reinar opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and walked toward his room, stopping in the doorway. He turned his head slightly, keeping his back to them and said, "There is not a single day that has gone by where I do not regret my decision." He then left the room, closing the door behind him.

The brothers could find no words for each other. Nothing to say to ease the pain and anger. Thibalt turned and stumbled off to his room. Christill remained seated, head hung low, thinking of Siri and the concern she had shown earlier that evening. How could he ever face her again, knowing that he was the cause of the anguish that she was feeling? He did not know how long he waited in that chair, but eventually he carried his battered body to his room and fell onto his bed. His exhaustion soon overcame him and he drifted off into a deep slumber.

Jin, who could sense the sadness in the room, moved over to Christill's bed and lay down next to him, placing his paws across Christill's chest. The cat let out a long breath and closed its eyes.

All around him he could see a carpet of lush green grass, covered in fine droplets of rain. The air around him was damp with a fine mist and in the distance he could see a lone figure slowly walking away from him along a beaten path.

Christill had no knowledge of this place. He had never seen anything like it. The bright green of the grass beneath his feet. The rolling hills spread out in the distance, dotted with thick trees that he had never laid eyes on. He also had no recollection of how he had come to be here. Yet he felt a strange recognition inside himself. As though he had always known this place.

The strange figure was moving further away and Christill found himself compelled to follow. He started to walk in the same direction, following the unknown man.

Then a strange whisper pierced the air. "Valerious."

Christill stopped for a moment and looked around. Had he imagined that? He shrugged and continued in pursuit of the man. Each footstep he took drew him closer yet felt oddly heavier, as though the ground was pulling him down.

Soon he could make out more of the man. He had blonde hair similar in colour to his own, yet much longer. A dark cloak wrapped his body, hiding most of his frame.

"Wait," he called out, but the figure did not seem to hear him.

Christill called out again, picking up pace, though each step became more difficult and he began to struggle against the pull of the ground.

Growing frustrated he screamed out, "Stop, I just want to talk."

Once again the figure did not respond, however Christill noticed the man's hands leave his sides and spread out wide at the side of his body. He continued to pursue the man, fighting against the unknown force holding him back. Then he watched as a stream of mist flowed out of the man's hands and onto the ground besides him. Where the mist struck the ground it sprang to life and formed colourful flowers that burst from the grass in an instant.

The man continued to move and in his wake leave two trails of flowers that continued to spring from the mist leaving his fingers.

"Please wait," yelled Christill, the force stopping him from catching the man growing unbearably strong. "I need your help. Where am I? Please..."

"Valerious," came the voice again.

The whisper had not come from the figure in front of him. He turned, but saw no one else with them.

"Who said that?"

The man suddenly stopped and turned his head slightly. Christill caught a glimpse of his face from the side and halted his movement. Then the figure clapped his hands together and a loud blast filled the air.

Christill screamed and found himself in his room, his blanket thrown from his bed and Jin standing in shock next to him.

He could not recall ever having had such a vivid dream. The smell of the damp grass was still in his nose. And that face. He would never forget it. It was as though he had peered into a mirror. Yet the face that had looked back at him was older and lined with worry.

Outside the window the city was pitch black so Christill lay back down on his bed. He did not retrieve the blanket. His body was damp with sweat from the dream. He tried to return to sleep, but the face that he had seen in his dream kept entering his thoughts. Soon his mind turned once more to Siri and his exhaustion overcame him once more.

It became difficult for Christill to talk with the rest of his family as the night of the wedding drew nearer. Reinar seemed to be avoiding the brothers since the night of the games and Christill had not been able to bring himself to talk to Siri. The guilt he felt was gnawing away at his insides. No matter how hard Thibalt tried to convince him that it was not directly their fault, Christill felt responsible. Thibalt soon gave up trying and left Christill to himself.

More than ever Christill was feeling the burden of his Feldonian heritage. Each lesson that he attended reminded him of the promise that Reinar had made. He watched Thibalt closely at times, noticing that he had been able to return to his work in the forges with greater ease. He had even managed to forgive Palen for abandoning them that night. Christill was not so quick to forgive.

They had managed to avoid Cathan and his followers since the assault, yet Christill could tell that the hatred had only grown in Thibalt, and that his brother was struggling to keep it contained.

Finally the day of the wedding arrived. Christill rose from his bed early and left the house. He had no intention of being in the city today. He headed to the outskirts of Hamal and made his way into the outer farmlands. He did not stop when he passed them and continued out into the Miirvkin Desert. It was long into the night by the time Christill returned to Hamal.

As he walked back towards his home, the sounds of the celebrations carried over from the Mul'Pha Square. He found himself thinking about the lands across the Sea of Turmoil. A whole new world lay out there. Feldom; his true homeland. And the mysterious Misty Forest, said to be guarded rigorously by the goddess Nyrune. He suddenly craved to see them, to get away from this callous land. But as the door to his home appeared he realised that it was only a dream.

Entering the house, Christill was startled by deep voice. "I did not think that you would go."

He looked up to the table where he found Thibalt, sitting with a large double edged axe in his lap. He sat there staring at Christill, all the while rubbing a layer of fat onto the blade.

"Then you know me too well," Christill replied. "I see that you finally finished it," he continued, motioning to the axe.

Thibalt nodded his head and looked into Christill's eyes. There was a brief silence and then he asked, "Christill you need to try and adapt."

"Thibalt I am not like you. I am not accepted as you are."

"Then stand up for yourself. Show them that you are strong. I have to fight every day."

Christill thought about the last years and on how many occasions he had wanted to show the other Miirvkin that he was not a weakling. He glanced at the heavy axe in Thibalt's hands. How could he ever wield something like that? The one thing Thibalt had that Christill lacked was raw strength. His mind suddenly recalled their conversation in the forge on the night of the games and he managed a smile.

"Very soon I will join you on one of your hunts," he said.

Thibalt raised his brow suspiciously, "You think that you can match me in the hunt do you?"

"Not match you, best you."

"I await that day then," Thibalt replied with a smirk.

CHAPTER THREE

### THE GREAT DESERT

"Jin, don't you dare," whispered Christill. The cat, who had dived low to the ground in a hunting stance, looked up at him to show its displeasure.

He watched as the flint hare moved slowly from its burrow and cautiously surveyed the area. Christill stayed as still as he could, arrow fully drawn in his right hand, his left hand struggling to hold his new bow completely steady. He had never attempted to make a kill from this distance, but this bow was much larger than the one he was used to. The smiths had fashioned him a composite bow out of horn and wood and he was pleased with the result. Although tougher to draw, the bow had proved substantially more powerful and could cover a larger distance than the old one.

He watched patiently, waiting for the right moment and then let the arrow loose. It soared with a faint whistle, cutting the air in a sharp line. Christill rose from his crouch and watched the arrow dart past the hare and hit the ground several feet behind it. The hare leapt from its spot in fear and hurried back into its lair.

Christill cried out in frustration and Jin let out a low growl to show his own disappointment.

"Trust me, I feel much worse than you do," Christill replied, laying his hand on the large cat's back. He hooked his bow over his shoulder and led Jin back towards Hamal.

Since the night of the wedding he had spent what little free time that he had outside of the city. Siri and Cathan had moved into their own home straight after the wedding and since then Christill had not seen her. He had done everything in his power to keep her and Reinar from his mind. Now his promise to Thibalt to join him in one of his hunts was his new focus. And the opportunity had presented itself.

To mark the end of their training, the leaders of Hamal had announced a trial. They were to be pitted against one another in a hunting competition, with the first to return to Hamal with the yet to be announced quarry, to be marked as the champion of their year. Thibalt had told him to stand up for himself, to show his strength. Now he was determined to do so.

Thibalt spent his own time with Beanon, who continued to teach him the more complex methods of weapon smithing. He endured long nights in the forge watching Beanon pound metal together with fierce strikes. When he was able to get away, he joined Palen and some of the other Miirvkin boys in the training grounds, gaining a feel for his newly forged axe.

The final day of their training arrived and the two brothers joined their Miirvkin counterparts in what would be their last day as youths. The excitement was etched into their expressions, all knowing that they would be shaping their own path from hereon. From tomorrow they would be considered true Miirvkin men. More so, they were relieved to be finishing the arduous schooling that had taken up every waking moment of their last eight years.

For Thibalt it marked a day where he would finally be free to join the smiths permanently. Beanon had already found a spot for him in the forge and Thibalt did not think twice about accepting the position.

Christill also attended their final classes with a renewed vigour. Despite the uncertainty that his future held, he was excited. He was confident that he would be able to prove to everyone that he was not a weakling. That he was as much a man as all the others. Even if he had no profession waiting for him, he would emerge from the hunt victorious. He promised himself that much.

In the morning, the Disciple made a short appearance and announced that he was astonished by the fact that none of them had failed in their training. His eyes lingered on Thibalt and Christill for a moment and then he sent them to their final lesson with Reinar. Both brothers avoided their father, as they had since Siri's wedding, and were pleased once allowed to head back to Hamal and see Beanon for one last lesson.

As their final lesson with Beanon came to a close, they were gathered together for an announcement. Beanon being a favourite to many of the youths, the group felt a particular sadness at the end of their time with him.

"It has been an honour to teach you and I hope that you will all live admirable and adventurous lives," he began. "But before you take that final step towards becoming true Miirvkin there is a final task to be done. On the eve of the summer solstice you will all embark on a trial. You will leave in pairs heading deep into the vast Miirvkin Desert. The paths that you choose will be your own, as will be the tools that you use."

The noise increased dramatically as the boys chatted loudly, forming partnerships and already discussing tactics. Christill looked at Thibalt, who had a thick smile on his face, and could tell he was thinking the same thing.

"Well it looks like you will get a chance to prove yourself after all," said Thibalt.

"Don't worry, I will try not to embarrass you too badly."

"I am not finished yet," Beanon interrupted. "This will be no ordinary hunt for herd beasts and foragers. You will have five days in which you must hunt down a Gorinian Devil and return to Hamal with its corpse."

The excited chatting was quickly replaced by a chilling silence. The group was left speechless, some openly showing their horror. Thibalt and Christill, who a moment before wore confident smiles, now sat in silence, colour drained from their faces.

The Gorinian Devils, which at times grew to over five feet, were amongst the fiercest creatures on the continent. Untamed and savage, they were avoided by Miirvkin hunters. The boys recalled the small Devil they had seen chase down a deer in the Arcein Arena and felt their spirits sink further.

"You cannot expect this," Cathan said, staring open-eyed at Beanon.

Beanon chuckled loudly, pleased with the effect of this news. "I tell no lie, son of Bearn. On the eve of the solstice you will all gather in the Mul'Pha square. Practice well and make sure that you are adequately supplied. That is all I that have to say."

The room filled with the buzz of a hundred questions as every boy bombarded Beanon with further queries. Beanon raised his hand silently and the boys knew enough to realize that they were not going to receive any more help from him. The excitement that had been thick in the air was now replaced with anxiety. The youths slowly split into their pairs and began to eye each other with suspicion.

"Let's get out of here," Thibalt suggested.

Christill hurried after him, leaving the remaining boys to bicker amongst themselves. "I must have sand in my ears. It sounded as though he said Gorinian Devil?"

Thibalt shook his head. "It would appear that they don't want us to become real men after all. Surely we cannot be expected to survive an encounter with one of those beasts."

"We are going to have to practice a little more then. Especially given the solstice is but a week away."

"Then I suggest you spend every moment of it practicing with that stick of yours if you want any chance of beating me."

Christill raised his brow. "You will not be so smug when I enter Hamal triumphantly, with the carcass of the largest Gorinian Devil ever seen born upon my shoulders," he replied, tensing his arms to show his muscles. Christill then changed direction and began to walk to the northern part of the city.

"Where are you going, little brother?" Thibalt yelled.

"You told me to practice."

Thibalt waved goodbye and headed home. "The largest Devil ever seen," he laughed.

The two boys rose early on the morning before the solstice and hurried through a breakfast of dark bread and warm fish broth. They set out to practice one last time and went over their packs for the hunt. Finally, as the sun began its decent towards the distant horizon, the time to leave arrived.

"Well, this is it," Thibalt said, stretching out his muscles.

Christill nodded his head and moved to their room to gather his pack. Wolfing down some water, they said their goodbyes to Kera and headed outside. Just before they left, Christill ran back to their room and returned with a satchel holding eight new arrows.

"Where did you get them?" asked Thibalt.

"I may not be a master smith like you, but I still have some skills," replied Christill with a wink.

Thibalt chuckled, pleased to see his brother in good spirits, and the two boys hoisted their gear onto their backs and left the house. They had packed their heavy bags the night before, storing all of the supplies that they would need for their five day hunt. Thibalt carried a long spear and had his axe strapped to the back of his pack. Christill had his large composite bow around his shoulders and a short dagger hidden away on his belt. Both wore light hide clothing, designed for travelling through the hot desert, and thick sandals, tightly laced up to their shins.

They headed for the Mul'Pha square and found it overcrowded and noisy. It seemed that the entire city had come out to send them off. Upon a raised dais in the centre of the square stood Beanon with a wry smile on his face. Next to him, with a face that had never shown happiness, stood the Disciple.

Thibalt and Christill pushed their way through the crowd until they reached the dais and found the other pairs waiting eagerly. Each of them were laden with heavy packs and an assortment of weapons. They were greeted with scowls by a few of the pairs. Cathan, who was standing next to a muscular boy named Hiefal, sneered and turned his back to them.

Beanon raised his large hands, slowly silencing the crowd and gaining their attention. He then stepped back to allow the Disciple to take the stage.

"On this day, the eve of our summer solstice, we gather together to praise Beon," he announced. "We show our respect through a proud tradition. A trial for our fledgling Miirvkin. To not only allow them to show their worth, but also demonstrate to Beon that we have not veered from the path that he has set before us." The noise from the anxious crowd grew. "The rules governing such a hunt are well known and have a long and proud history in Miirvk. This generation will no doubt continue to bring honour to their families and to this city," the Disciple said, staring down at the boys with a meaningful gaze.

Christill felt as though that last statement was aimed directly at the two of them. He looked at Thibalt who was glaring at the Disciple and could tell that he was thinking the same thing.

"To ensure no misunderstandings," the Disciple continued. "Each pair will have five days in which to find their prey and return to this spot with its remains. The carcass must be intact and fresh. We do not care in what manner you slay the beasts, yet it must be clear that the death was inflicted by your own hands."

Thibalt glanced to the bow hanging off Christill's shoulder and gave out a hushed chuckle. Christill noticed but kept his eyes to the front.

"There are no boundaries, but the pairs are encouraged to stay clear of the outlying areas of Mulphus. The prize this year will be revealed at the setting of the sun, five days from now. It will be awarded to the first pair to return to Hamal successfully."

The assembled pairs all cast confident smiles at each other. Christill looked around, eager to get underway. "They all think that they are going to win," he whispered to Thibalt. Thibalt momentarily looked at the other pairs then rested his hand on Christill's back. "They have no chance."

"One final note," the Disciple boomed over the crowd. "After much discussion we have decided that the students of this year are of an exceptional standard. With progeny from the loins of our own leader-," he said pointing at Cathan, "-we feel it a pity to have them hunting ordinary beasts. Thus the prey of this hunt will no longer be the Gorinian Devil. This year the pairs will be hunting the great Irian."

The gathered crowd cried out its anger following the unprecedented announcement. Furious mothers screamed in displeasure. Some of the older Miirvkin cursed the Disciple, claiming it was an abomination to stray from tradition. The more experienced hunters gave out cheers of delight. The only group remaining silent were the pairs, whose destiny it was to go out and hunt these horrific beasts.

"Great gods!" muttered Christill.

"It is obvious, is it not?" said Thibalt. "They did not tell anyone because they knew it would cause this much trouble. There would have surely been a huge objection to this change. By announcing it now they have ensured that it is too late to change anything."

"Silence!" the Disciple yelled over the noise, but the crowd was already too worked up. "The hunt will now begin. All pairs are free to leave."

The Disciple stepped off the dais and pushed his way through the angered crowd. Beanon stared at the pairs who remained at the base of the dais. "Well off you go. You forge your own paths from here." He then also made his way through the crowd, leaving the boys alone.

It took a while for the first pair to leave the square. Slowly others followed, each pair travelling in a different direction. Thibalt and Christill soon ended up alone with only a few stragglers from the crowd wandering about in the square.

"I guess we should head off then," Christill finally said.

"Where do you suppose we should go?"

Christill stared out into the horizon. "We could probably head west and see what we find there. There are a few sheltered spots that we can reach before midnight."

Thibalt nodded and heaved his heavy pack onto his back. They would need to try to cover as much ground as possible during the next few hours. Out in the desert their movement would be severely hindered by the cycle of the day. In the main hours of the day they would be forced to seek shelter from the deadly fury of the sun. Whilst in the deep of night they would be left vulnerable to the predators of the desert, whose eyes were much sharper than their own in the moonlight. This left them with the very early hours of the morning and the late hours of the day as the sun set.

They moved north westerly out of Hamal and quickly left the city behind them. The land gradually turned dry and crunched underfoot as they travelled closer to the desert.

"This heat is stifling," Christill mumbled whilst wiping his sweaty forehead.

"It isn't going to get any better. Once the sun is gone we are going to freeze. I don't know how we are going to survive five days out here," Thibalt panted.

"You will not have too."

"Why is that?" Thibalt asked suspiciously.

"Because I intend to catch an Irian tonight," Christill replied confidently.

Thibalt rolled his eyes and continued the arduous trek along the dry, rocky edge of the desert. The Irian were nocturnal hunters and generally only left their lairs once the sun had set. The two brothers travelled in a straight line heading north west, stopping only occasionally to rest. The further away from the coastline that they travelled, the stronger the heat became and the harsher the landscape turned. By the time the sun had fully set, turning the sky into an array of oranges and reds, Thibalt and Christill had passed fully into the great Miirvkin Desert.

They continued on, relying on the moonlight to guide them. Reinar's lessons now came of use to them as they followed the tracks of the smaller desert animals. They reasoned that they would stand a greater chance of finding one of the Miirvkin cats near its own food source. Yet each trail that they followed was either lost in the faint light, or lead them to an abandoned burrow.

"It's no use, we have found nothing at all. We might as well stay here for a few hours," Thibalt said, stretching his shoulders.

"We should find some shelter first."

"We are in the middle of the desert. There is little shelter."

Christill looked around and spotted a small group of boulders in the distance. "Let's head over there. At least we can rest our backs for a while." Thibalt submitted and followed his brother.

They let their packs slide off their shoulders wearily. Thibalt unpacked two heavy blankets and tossed one over to Christill. He then opened up his pack and pulled out a large loaf of bread and a long strip of dried deer. The two boys ate their makeshift meal quickly and followed it down with a large mouthful of water.

"We should be careful with our water. We need to make sure that we have enough for five days if we must," Thibalt said, closing his water skin tightly. "We have no idea how many outposts we will come across."

Christill nodded briefly. The area between Hamal and its rival cities Mulphus and Jalla held regular outposts, where trade caravans could stop and refill their water supplies. However neither of them held any knowledge as to their locations.

They sat silently for a while chewing on the salted strips of meat. Christill held a thin strip in the air, waving it in front of his face. "I wonder if they eat dried deer in Feldom," he commented. He turned his thoughts to the lands across the Sea of Turmoil and closed his eyes to dream of foreign creatures and foods.

The thoughts running through Thibalt's head were of a more serious nature. "How are we going to kill, let alone find an Irian, Christill?" he asked. "You have seen what Jin is capable of."

Christill let out a long sigh and ate the last remnant of meat. "I guess we will have to work out how to kill it when we find it. For now we can try to get some sleep. You can have the first watch."

They both curled up tightly in their blankets. Christill tried to find the smoothest bit of ground to lie on and dozed off into a light slumber. Thibalt shifted uncomfortably and wondered what the other pairs were doing right now. The temperature dropped rapidly and Thibalt pulled more clothes from his pack before waking Christill for his watch.

The Miirvkin Desert was harsh and menacing during the day, but during the night it became eerie and unsettling, with a silence so profound that the only noise upon the air was one's own breathing. The moon cast a sinister light upon the land, creating menacing shadows out of the simplest of rocks.

Thus it was no surprise that Christill rose with a shock late into the night when he heard the sound of slow, padded footsteps. He quickly surveyed the area. Thibalt was still fast asleep and curled up in his blanket. He listened more intently, but the footsteps had stopped and all that he could see in the distance were a number of dark shadows. He rubbed his eyes and tried to make out some of the shapes, but it was too hard to distinguish between the rocks and shrubs.

Then suddenly one of the shadows in the distance moved swiftly across the horizon, stopping once again low to the floor. Christill reached slowly for his bow and arrows and nudged Thibalt with his foot. Thibalt awoke with a start and sent an unsettled look at Christill until he noticed that he was holding his bow.

Thinking quickly, Thibalt grabbed his spear and turned to look at the point in the distance that Christill was staring at. "What is it?" he whispered.

"I am not sure, but it moved fast and low to the ground."

Thibalt scanned the horizon. "Can you see it?"

"Yes, but I cannot make out what it is."

"Well then let's see what that stick of yours can do," Thibalt suggested, motioning to the bow in Christill's hands.

Christill gave Thibalt a surprised look and then notched one of his arrows into his bow. He moved himself slowly onto his knees and lifted the bow into position. He waited until he was sure he had the right shadow, then pulled back and let loose. The arrow soared through the air and struck the ground hard a foot next to the shadow.

The shadow sprang to life and ran across the desert, away from the boys. From what they could see it ran on four legs and was several feet long. The creature stopped and turned towards them and the two boys were mesmerized by the sight of two glowing yellow eyes staring right at them. In the moonlight they could faintly make out two long pointed ears and a furry visage. They were indeed staring at an Irian. The cat let out a loud growl that travelled across the quiet desert and then set off at a great speed.

Thibalt sprang up and tried to follow the cat with his eyes as it darted swiftly across the sand and rocks. Christill notched another arrow, but decided that the beast was too far away. "Do you think we should follow it?" he asked.

Thibalt shook his head and put his spear back down on the ground. "We know the direction that it is headed. There is no point in chasing it now. We will not be able to see a thing. Tomorrow we can try to pick up its trail."

"Very well," Christill replied. He then began walking away from the camp.

"Where are you going?" Thibalt yelled.

"To find my arrow!" Christill answered sourly.

Not surprisingly the brothers found little further sleep. They waited a few more hours until the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon and then set off. The excitement of the hunt was now fully upon them.

They moved in the direction that they had watched the beast flee hours before, and after a short trek through the arid wasteland they picked up its trail on the broken ground. With Thibalt in the lead they followed the trail for several hours. Yet the burden of the blistering heat once more began to sap their strength. To Christill the desert seemed to go on forever with little change. The rocky surfaces that covered the Miirvkin continent were covered in coarse sand and stones that stretched out along the horizon.

Thibalt called a halt to their march as the sun fully entered the sky and they were impelled to find shelter under a small outcropping of stone. Once again they forced themselves to get some sleep and fill up on water.

They eagerly left the outcrop in the afternoon, as the main heat of the day began to subside, and continued to follow the trail. However by midnight, they had still not caught up to the Irian. They ruefully set up a small camp.

"How can you be sure that we are still following the right trail? I have seen several other sets of tracks today. We may have crossed over onto an older trail," said Christill.

"It is the right trail. I have seen enough of Jin's footprints to know the mark of the Irian."

"But we have walked for miles. Why would it be travelling so far from its lair?"

"The little I saw of it makes me believe we are following a young male," replied Thibalt. "He would not have a mate yet. Which means that he would not have his own territory or lair."

"Well, I guess I feel a little better about killing him then," replied Christill.

Thibalt simply shook his head.

The next morning the boys were up and moving well before the sun had risen and at a quicker pace. There was a fire inside both of them, craving to finally find and confront the beast. They ran through the rocky desert as the sun moved slowly across the sky. Once again it seemed to go on endlessly without a hint of change and the brothers began to wonder if they were travelling in circles. Yet as they considered stopping to find shelter from the midday sun, they spotted a strange sight.

At first it appeared to them as an unusual spot on the horizon, but as they approached it they began to make out the shape of a giant stone jutting out of the earth. The stone was dark black in colour and pointed upwards at an angle as though it had fallen from the sky. The top of the stone was unusually smooth and made it seem like a walkway of sorts. They approached it and found a pool of crystal clear water at its base. Christill walked up to the water cautiously and bent down to investigate. It was filled with tall reeds and water flowers and was oddly cool to touch.

"Tell me this isn't slightly strange," Thibalt said, cooling his feet in the water.

"I have never heard of this place," Christill replied. "I know there are hidden pools in the desert, but not like this."

Thibalt nodded and walked over to the stone. He studied the large rock, running his hand over the coarse surface at its base. "Look at this."

"What?"

"The top point of this stone stops in the middle of this pool. It looks almost like a ramp from which to jump into the water," answered Thibalt.

"It may have been placed here by some of the miners from Mulphus or Numukh."

Thibalt shrugged his shoulders. "We might as well rest here until sunset." He heaved the pack off his back and let it fall to the ground. Christill slumped and yawned loudly. They both sat silently for some time, letting the water cool their feet. Christill, mesmerised by the ripples in the pool, almost dozed off when he noticed an odd reflection in the water.

He gazed up to see the menacing eyes of an Irian staring straight at him from the other side of the pool, and at that moment all that he could hear was the heavy beating of his own heart. The cat was hunched down flat on the ground, half in the water and hidden by the tall reeds at the water's edge. It was the same cat that they had been chasing, Christill recognized its piercing yellow eyes. The Irian, knowing it had been spotted, arched its shoulders, muscles tensed as if ready to pounce.

A hundred thoughts rushed through Christill's mind, but time was of the essence and he had to act quickly. Without further thought he dived for his bow and arrows and yelled out a warning to Thibalt.

The Irian sprang to life and began to run around the left side of the pool heading for Christill. Thibalt, who had just spotted the cat, rushed to his pack and retrieved his spear. By the time Christill had readied his weapons the cat was already upon him. It leapt into the air and struck him with an almighty force. He tumbled to the ground with the cat on top of him.

Christill lashed out to hit the cat repeatedly with his bow, but the pitiful strikes did little. The Irian savagely scratched and raked him with its razor-sharp claws, all the while trying to wrap its teeth around his throat. Thibalt panicked, terrified, and flew at the beast. With all of his might he kicked the cat's head causing it to fall off Christill.

"Come on, get up!" Thibalt yelled at Christill, as he lifted him off the ground.

The cat stood back up and shook its head, blood flowing from its nose. Then, quick as lightning it was at them again. Thibalt pushed Christill behind him protectively and raised his spear in front of him, but was too slow. The cat swiped its claws through the air, catching Thibalt's side and tearing open three long gashes. He let out a loud cry of pain and fell to the floor clutching at his side.

Christill watched his brother fall. Enraged, he notched an arrow to his bow and fired it at the cat at point blank range. The arrow struck the hind leg of the beast and made it howl loudly.

"Die you cursed fiend!" he yelled in defiance, trying to attract the attention of the beast.

The cat paced around staring viciously at Christill. It glanced at Thibalt, then back at him. He continued to scream taunts at it, trying to draw it away from Thibalt, who was lying overcome on the floor. The cat, confused by his screams and the pain in its leg, struggled to focus.

Christill took the chance to notch another arrow, but the cat recognised the danger and began to charge at him. Knowing that he did not have enough time to get off a shot, he turned and ran towards the large stone. The cat leapt after him, slowed by the arrow in its side.

Now that the Irian had left him, Thibalt had recovered and was wrapping his shirt around his waist to stem the bleeding. Christill was running as fast as he could, but had no idea what he was going to do. He reached the base of the stone and began to climb its smooth surface with his bow and arrow still in hand. The cat skidded to a stop and then ran up the stone after him.

Christill reached the edge of the makeshift ramp and with nowhere else to go leapt off. Falling down towards the pool, he turned to let loose the arrow that he had carried with him. As he turned it seemed as though the world around him slowed. A strange feeling entered his fingertips and he found himself easily notching the arrow and loosing it. It soared upwards, but before he could see what had happened, he hit the water with a thunderous splash.

He rose as quickly as he could, sputtering water. As soon as he had wiped his eyes he was showered by the spray from another splash next to him in the pool. He struggled frantically to clear his vision and when he did was shocked to find the Irian floating at the top of the pool with a stream of dark blood flowing steadily from of its neck.

Thibalt ran towards him with his spear ready. "Are you alright?"

"I am alive," Christill replied staring at the dead carcass of the Miirvkin cat. "What happened?"

"A miracle," Thibalt said, his eyes wide. "I had just gotten up and saw you leap off the stone and fire off an arrow in mid-air. The cat dived off after you and took the arrow right through the neck."

Christill looked at Thibalt in amazement and was speechless.

"I cannot believe what I just saw. The arrow went straight into its throat and then it hit the pool dead," continued Thibalt.

Christill did not know what to say. Moments ago he had only had one thought, that he was going to die. And now he had slain an Irian in an unbelievable feat of agility. He could also not drive that strange feeling from his thoughts. It had been almost as if time had momentarily stopped around him. He looked at Thibalt's shocked face and then remembered that he was wounded.

"Thibalt, your side!" he said in a worried tone.

"Don't worry. It's not as bad as it looks. Let's get this body out of the water," Thibalt returned.

The body proved harder to move than the two had thought. It was tremendously heavy and the boys struggled to drag it out of the water and onto dry land. The carcass was now soaking wet and still draining blood, so they left it out for the sun to dry. Whilst they waited, they took shelter under the rock and Thibalt tied a proper bandage around his side.

Christill, who was also covered in deep cuts and bruises, stripped off his clothes and waded into the cool water to clean his wounds. He immersed himself and closed his eyes, allowing his hands to stop shaking. He had finally done something which would show the Miirvkin that he was not feeble. For once in his life he was proud of himself. And also of Thibalt who had bravely thrown himself in the Irian's path to protect him.

Just as he was finding himself drifting off, Christill felt a sharp stabbing pain in his calf. He cried out loudly, stirring Thibalt.

"What is it?"

Christill looked down into the water and found a creature biting into his leg. He jumped up frantically and ran out of the water. The creature tightened its jaw and remained attached to his leg.

Thibalt grabbed his axe and ran towards Christill. Acting quickly he swung down at the creature and shattered its spine. The creature let out a shrill cry and released its clamp on Christill's leg.

It took a moment for Christill to calm his nerves once more. When he did he walked over to the dead creature. It was just short of a foot long and had four lanky legs. Its body looked almost reptilian but was covered in a layer of black fur. A round head held three perfectly round lidless eyes and was covered in a smoother brown fur. Stretching out behind it was an oddly long tail.

"What in Beon's name is that?" said Thibalt, peering over Christill's shoulder.

"I have never seen anything like this," said Christill. He checked his leg. "Luckily the bites were not too deep."

"We should probably take it with us. Someone might want to take a look at it," suggested Thibalt.

"Feel free, but you can carry it."

Thibalt sighed and picked up the body. He carried it towards his pack and shoved it into one of his blankets. Having had enough of the pool, they packed their gear and placed the Irian carcass into a large net from their pack. They then set off for Hamal, dragging their quarry behind them.

By the time the sun had set and the cold chill of the night had settled in, the brothers were in great pain. The burden of dragging the heavy corpse through the desert, combined with the injuries that they had sustained in the fight had taken a horrible toll on them. Thibalt's side had proven more severe than he had believed and had now taken a turn for the worse. It continued to open and bleed from their constant movement.

Christill's own injuries were sapping the strength from him step by step and the bite marks on his leg had now begun to burn intensely. They were still a full day's hike from Hamal and were beginning to wonder if they could make it with the heavy carcass. To compound matters the Irian was beginning to emit the foulest of odours as it rotted in the heat.

"Do you think that anyone else has already returned successfully?" Christill asked as they sat down to rest that night.

"I would be very surprised if anyone has. It is an almost impossible task and I am still finding it hard to believe that we survived our little adventure. I wonder if any of the others have even seen one. Who knows, some of them might be dead."

Christill shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well, why should we care?" he said spitefully.

After a moment Thibalt replied. "I understand why you hate them so much, Christill, but it does not do to dwell on it."

"They will continue to hate me and I will continue to hate them. Why should I stop? All they have ever done is hate me. I am never accepted into anything that they do, whereas you are accepted as one of their own."

"I am more tolerated because I try to be. Don't think it's easier for me to live amongst them than it is for you. I know that they do not truly accept me, but I make do with the lot that I have been given in life," Thibalt retorted. He realised that much of Christill's hatred still stemmed from the loss of Siri and wished that he could somehow console his brother.

"We have been given a poor lot indeed. I do not believe that we can simply sit by and accept it. There must be a better life out there for us. Every day I hope that I could be free of this place, Thibalt. I wish that I could see them all dead, decaying in this forsaken wasteland that they call home."

Thibalt was shaken. He had never heard Christill speak like this. Though Thibalt harboured his own negative feelings towards the Miirvkin, he had always tried to accept their situation and make the best of it.

Christill who was breathing heavily grabbed his water skin and guzzled down a long mouthful. This seemed to calm him and he relaxed his muscles. "I am sorry, brother. I did not mean what I just said. It's this heat."

"It's alright. I know what it's like. You just need some rest. Why don't you go and lie down and try to get some sleep," Thibalt replied.

Christill sighed and lay down on his blanket, his body in severe pain. Before he fell asleep he began to mumble to himself. "I will show them. They think me weak and inferior. Well who was it that killed the Irian? It was me, I am the strongest, and I have the power," he muttered.

Thibalt, hearing this, smiled and curled himself up in several blankets. "You show them, Christill," he whispered before succumbing to his exhaustion.

The bright light of the rising sun woke the two boys early in the day. They had slept longer than intended, but could do little about it now. After eating some hardened fruits and biscuits they packed their things and set off once again. The combination of the scorching sun, the rank smell of the rotting carcass and the now infected wounds that they both carried, was rapidly draining away their strength. However, determined to make it back to Hamal, they drove on, calling upon every ounce of strength that they had left.

They continued their march, stopping only briefly to drink and rest their legs. The choice however cost them dearly and by sunset Christill and Thibalt were walking corpses. The bites on Christill's leg now fully hindered his ability to walk as they filled with pus and dirt. Thibalt urged his brother on, even though his own side, which was showing no sign of healing, was causing him so much anguish that at times he had almost fainted.

With Christill's limp and the dead cat's weight aggravating Thibalt's wound, the brothers were not making good time. Thus as the last rays of the sun faded away they had not yet reached Hamal.

"I can go no further," Christill cried falling to the floor completely exhausted.

"If we continue on...," Thibalt replied, pausing to draw breath, "We can make the city by morning. If we stop, we may never rise again. This is your chance to show them all who you really are, brother."

Christill paused for a moment then forced himself back up. He walked over to Thibalt, placing his hand on his shoulder and said, "Then let us show them." He grabbed the net and together they once again headed towards the city.

They stumbled onwards, finally leaving the desert and entering the outskirts of Hamal. Christill and Thibalt found their minds drifting in and out, their feet carrying them slowly home. After several torturous hours they finally caught sight of the many lights burning brightly in the city.

"We are nearly there," Thibalt managed to mumble out as they continued to march.

The sight of the city ahead in the distance was the only thing that stopped them from giving up and dropping onto the ground to accept a silent death. Summoning every last ounce of strength, they slowly staggered into the city with the rising of the sun.

They were in terrible condition. Christill's leg had now turned a sickly shade of yellow and his dry, cracked lips were puffed up and bleeding. As the populous slowly began to wake, word spread that two boys had been spotted stumbling slowly towards the Mul'Pha square and the people of Hamal raced to the square to see the victors.

The brothers entered the square to gasps and shrieks as the Miirvkin saw the horrid state of their bodies. The crowd separated to make room for them, directing them to the dais in the centre of the square. The large doors of the school burst open loudly and the Disciple emerged from them in a rush. He stormed through the crowd and made his way up the stairs onto the dais.

"Where are they?" he asked loudly.

A thin, robed man standing next to the Disciple pointed out Thibalt and Christill standing at the base of the stage. The Disciple gave out a loud gasp and clasped his hand over his mouth. The look of horror on his face pleased Thibalt profoundly and for once in his life he was happy to see the Disciple.

For several moments the Disciple stood speechless, not able to find his words. The crowd began to mutter silently and the Disciple was shaken out of his stupor.

"Well, we appear to have our first...," the Disciple's speech was interrupted by a roar from the crowd.

The brothers turned around to face the crowd, but were surprised to see that the people were not looking at them. They were cheering in the opposite direction. Another path opened in the midst of the crowd and through it came Cathan, covered in cuts and bruises, bearing the carcass of an Irian on his shoulders. His partner was stumbling slowly behind him. Thibalt and Christill could not believe their eyes as they watched Cathan walk proudly through the square. He caught the hateful eye of Thibalt and smiled sadistically until he reached the stage. With great strength he lifted the cat off his shoulders and heaved it onto the ground before the dais.

"As I was saying, we have found our first pair to return with an Irian. Praise Beon, our champions are Cathan and his partner Hiefal," the Disciple boomed over the noisy crowd.

Thibalt and Christill felt as though they were in a nightmare. As the crowd grew wild with excitement, Cathan and Hiefal were lifted onto shoulders and carried throughout the square triumphantly. Christill turned to the Disciple who was smiling wickedly.

"We were here first, you liar!" he screamed.

"Cathan is the winner!" the Disciple screamed back. "You no doubt found some rotting carcass out in the desert and tried to fool us. I am not so ignorant."

"This is drivel. You would deny us glory just to please your own sadistic fantasies."

"How dare you!"

"I hope you die a horrible death!" Christill screamed back rebelliously.

Thibalt grabbed Christill by the shoulder and dragged him away from the dais, afraid that the Disciple might attack them. He pushed Christill out of the square and they headed home, walking away from the wild noise rising out of the square. They did not say a word to each other. There was nothing to say. They moved inside to find Kera and Reinar sitting at the table. Almost instantly Kera rushed over to the boys. She forced them to sit down and Kera ran off to get fresh water and salve to clean their wounds.

Reinar remained silent, his eyes turned away from the brothers.

The uncomfortable silence continued whilst Kera returned and saw to their wounds. Kera cleaned the dirt and crusted blood from their cuts and rubbed a soothing ointment made from seaweed over them in thick amounts. Finally she covered the wounds in salted strips of cloth that would drive out any infection and moved away to prepare them some food.

"You will be pleased to know that we were cheated of victory," Christill blurted out once Kera had left.

"What happened?" Reinar asked after a moment's pause.

"The Disciple stole our victory away from us unjustly and gave it to Cathan."

Reinar sighed and said, "The will of the Disciple is the will of Beon. There is little that can be done."

"What just happened out there has nothing to do with the will of Beon," Christill shouted.

"Christill! We shall speak no more of this," Reinar replied sternly. "You are not acting rationally."

Christill looked at his foster father in outrage. "I cannot believe this." He then stormed into his room slamming the door shut.

Thibalt awkwardly left his seat and moved towards the room, but was stopped by Reinar.

"Wait, I wish to speak with you. Sit down."

Although utterly exhausted, Thibalt took a seat once more.

"You must understand the pain both of us are feeling right now," said Thibalt.

Reinar brought his fingers to his eyes and began to rub them. "I am not a monster, Thibalt. I know that this is all unjust. But what do you expect?"

"I guess it was a foolish hope to believe that we would be treated equally. We are outcasts after all."

Reinar looked up at Thibalt. "You seem to understand better than your brother does. You always have." He began to tap his fingers on the table and let out a long breath. "Last night I spoke with Lord Bearn. Despite my hesitance, he has commanded me to take the Iron Stride to the shores of Feldom once more."

"A raid?"

"Yes," replied Reinar. "My initial instinct was to keep this from you two. But I have changed my mind."

Thibalt could sense a reluctance in Reinar. His voice betrayed the difficulty that he was having in telling him this news. "Whether you tell us or not, nothing will change."

"That is not true. It is my wish that you come with us."

Thibalt did not know what to say. "You want me to join you on a raid of the Feldonian coast?"

"I have thought long and hard on this. It may seem strange to you, but what better way to prove to them-," he motioned outside. "-that you are truly Miirvkin. This is your chance to show the people of Hamal that you have forsaken your Feldonian heritage and that you are one of us."

"I...I do not know if I can do this," stuttered Thibalt. How could Reinar expect him to fight and kill his own people?

"I gave up so much for you and your brother, Thibalt. I even lost my own daughter. Do this for me."

Thibalt saw a hidden sadness Reinar's eyes and suddenly felt abashed. "And what of Christill?" he asked.

"Christill is not ready," Reinar replied, trying to avoid Thibalt's eyes. "He is too rash. He holds too much hatred for my kin."

"He needs to prove himself more than I do. You must see that."

"I do not know what hope there is for him," said Reinar in a troubled voice. "He is so different from the rest of us. Yet in you I see some hope. You have a chance to find a life amongst us. To make the blood oath that I took mean something."

Thibalt suddenly understood. This was being driven by Reinar's own regret. He was trying to ensure that all of the sacrifices that he made for them were not fruitless.

"Christill need not know where we are going. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Thibalt replied reluctantly. "Though I still don't know if I can do what you ask of me."

"You will do it for me," Reinar replied. "Now get some rest, the ceremony of the hunt will begin at sunset. We can discuss this further tomorrow."

Thibalt rose and moved towards his room, unaware that Christill was listening from behind the door.

The brothers refused to attend the ceremony. They remained in their beds, allowing their bodies to recover.

"We should have known," Thibalt said in a defeated tone.

Christill who was lying on his bed, scratching Jin behind the ears looked up at Thibalt. "You know something, I just don't care anymore. I have tried to fit in, but they cast me out again and again." He paused, looking into Thibalt's eyes. "Even my own father does it."

Thibalt turned his head. "You overheard us before."

"Of course I did."

"And you are angry?" Thibalt asked.

"No, not angry," Christill spat out. "Disgusted! How can they justify pillaging and burning those innocent towns? Do the Feldonians ever come to Miirvk?"

Thibalt opened his mouth to retaliate but Christill cut him off.

"No! They cannot justify it. And do you know why?" Christill said getting up. "Because we live amongst a bunch of barbaric and brainless animals, who know nothing but violence and murder."

Thibalt sat silently. He had never seen his brother so full of anger and hatred.

"You need to calm down. There is not much that you can do."

"I am sick of hearing that!" Christill yelled, with a hint of madness in his voice. "I know what I can do. I will leave this cursed land. I do not care how, but I will no longer allow myself to live in this hell."

Christill walked up to Thibalt's pack and pulled out the blanket containing the dead beast that had attached itself to his leg. He stormed out of the room, leaving Thibalt on his bed, totally taken aback. As he entered the living area, Reinar and Kera entered the house, returning from the ceremony. He walked up to them and hurled the bundle at Reinar.

It hit him square in the chest and fell to the floor, opening up and revealing the dead beast. Kera and Reinar both gasped and stepped back at the sight of the hideous beast.

"A little prize from the hunt, Father," Christill said in a spiteful tone, and before Reinar could reply Christill had pushed past his foster parents and left the house.

Kera moved to follow him but Reinar stopped her. "Do not worry about him. I need you to get the Disciple."

"But he will still be celebrating," Kera replied.

"Tell him it is important," shouted Reinar, staring at the bloodied carcass lying on his floor. "He will understand."

Kera nodded and rushed out of the house. Reinar picked up the beast and lay it down onto the large table next to the fireplace. He studied it and then called out to Thibalt. Thibalt left his room and came to the table. He spotted the beast and guessed what had happened.

"You must not blame him for his actions. He is still upset about the Disciple's behaviour today," Thibalt said, almost pleading with Reinar.

Reinar raised his hand to silence Thibalt. "I am not angry with your brother. I can understand his rash behaviour. But this," he said pointing to the dead beast "Is something that worries me. I have never come across anything like it before."

Kera eventually returned with the Disciple. He entered the house furious at being interrupted and walked over to Reinar. "What is it? What do you want from me that could not wait until the morning?"

Reinar pointed at the table, showing the Disciple the dead beast.

"Great Beon!" shrieked the Disciple. "What is that?"

"We found it in the desert," Thibalt answered. "It attacked Christill."

The Disciple walked over to the table and examined it. "This is not native to Miirvk and it does not match anything that I have ever heard of," he said scratching his chin.

"What could it be?" Reinar asked.

"I cannot say, but something about this creature is not right," the Disciple mused. He then paused as if in deep thought. Finally he picked up the carcass and put it back into the blood drenched blanket. He heaved it over his shoulder and walked towards the door. Just before he left he turned around and stared at Thibalt. "No one else need know about this revolting little creature. Understood?"

"We will tell no one," replied Reinar as the Disciple left their home.

"That was strange," Thibalt said afterwards.

"We will not discuss this any further," Reinar replied quickly, overcome by this recent chain of events. "Just as the Disciple said, it is not our problem anymore."

Knowing that Reinar was in a foul mood, Thibalt went back to his room, pondering over the events of the last few days and wondering what trouble Christill was getting himself into.

CHAPTER FOUR

### AN UNFORSEEN FUTURE

"Get a move on!" roared Reinar from the deck of the Iron Stride. "I am setting sail at sunset and I swear by Beon, if every one of those barrels is not on-board this ship by then, I will personally send you to the Third Plane."

The men loading the supplies onto the ship picked up their pace without so much as a murmur. Reinar's mood had been horrific since Christill's disappearance, and the workers had no intention of antagonising him further.

Following the celebration of the hunt, no one had seen Christill. Thibalt had scoured the city for days, even taking Jin with him out into the desert to attempt to find some tracks. All of his searching had been in vain. Wherever he looked he found no sign of his brother.

Finally Reinar had forced Thibalt to call off his search and make his preparations for their departure. He had asked to be allowed to stay in Hamal, but Reinar had not been compassionate. The people of Hamal had seen Christill's flight as confirmation that Reinar had been a fool to take the brothers in and his pride had taken a further blow.

Despite Reinar's problems, the entire city had come together to prepare the ship for its voyage. Now on the morning of their departure, the people of Hamal had turned up to line the harbour and say goodbye to their raiders.

The chosen warriors boarded the Iron Stride as a fierce wind began to pick up from the west. They all lined the railing of the ship, waving goodbye to their loved ones. Sixty of Hamal's finest warriors, followed closely by the forty crewmen who would operate the ship. Many of the soldiers proudly carried with them the armour and weapons of their fathers and ancestors.

Thibalt had packed what he thought would be necessary in a large sack and entered the harbour in a bleak mood. It was Miirvkin custom for soldiers to board the ship presenting their weapons, and so Thibalt walked up the gangplank with the axe that he had tirelessly forged. As he boarded the ship he noticed the grumbling of the workers carrying barrels onto the ship.

"These seem to be getting heavier," called out one of the workers, a man with a long scar down his right cheek.

The second worker laughed and said, "I know what you mean. But best not say it too loudly."

"Hah, Lord Reinar may feed us to the sharks," replied the first man with a chuckle.

The two workers rushed up the ramp to the ship and Thibalt followed them glumly. The Miirvkin were losing their faith in Reinar.

Thibalt watched the last of the supplies being carried into the storerooms and heard the crowd give out a tremendous cheer. He peered over the railing and saw Cathan walking up the ramp. To the wonder of the crowd, he wore a stunning suit of Miirvkin armour. Bronze tinted plates, laced over one another covered his chest and upper thighs. Beneath the plates he wore a tough suit of hide, hardened by Beanon's armourers and decorated with silver lacing. The suit's finest aspect was its shoulder plates, made in the shape of a snarling Irian and plated in gold, they gleamed in the sunlight and truly displayed the impressive craftsmanship of the armour.

Thibalt felt nothing but disgust as he eyed Cathan's armour. The suit was a prize that rightfully should have gone to Christill. It had been the prize of the hunt, along with a Miirvkin warhammer that had been given to Cathan's partner Hiefal. With an arrogant smile he walked past Thibalt, pretending not to notice him. He then turned to face the harbour and raised his hands.

The crowd let out a roar and Thibalt spotted Lord Bearn waving fiercely back at his son. Besides him stood Siri and he knew that his sister was forcing the smile that she wore on her lovely face.

Siri caught Thibalt's eye and called out. "Be safe."

Thibalt nodded his head slightly but did not wave. Looking at her only reminded him of Christill.

"Remove the ramp and secure the lines," yelled Reinar. The ship's crew sprang to life, each with their own task to see to. "I want the sails trimmed for rough weather, Geron."

A stout man with a thick brown beard saluted Reinar and moved off towards the mast. Thibalt judged the man second in command, as he watched him running about, shouting orders to the crew.

When the ship was made ready and lines holding it to the wharf withdrawn, Reinar gave the order and the ship began to drift out of the harbour. It was pulled out by a group of smaller row boats, dragging thick ropes that were tied to the front of the vessel. The soldiers lined themselves up against the port railing and waved a final goodbye to the gathered crowd. Once they were out of the harbour, the ropes were cut and the smaller boats that had pulled the Iron Stride out of its berth returned to Hamal.

The Stride was the flagship of Hamal's fleet, made from the strong oak, harvested long ago along the borders of the Misty Forest. Twenty seven men had died in the construction of the massive sailor, and to this day no other Miirvkin vessel had matched its size or prowess. The large white sails bore upon them a silver hammer, the crest of Hamal's mighty fleet.

"Heading south by southeast, Lord Reinar," shouted the helmsman.

Thibalt watched Hamal slowly shrinking behind them. Where was Christill? Finally, as Hamal turned into a small line on the horizon he moved to the front of the ship, dodging around the workers and stacks of crates and barrels yet to be loaded below deck. To the east he saw thick rain clouds forming over the Sea of Turmoil. He understood why his father had ordered the sails trimmed for rough weather.

Thibalt found a corner that was as yet unoccupied and settled down. He did not want to be here, he knew that the other Miirvkin felt the same way. For the time being he was ignored, but in such close quarters it would only be a matter of time until he was confronted by them. Though he knew some of the younger men selected for the journey, none of them were on amicable terms with him.

To make matters worse, Christill would not be shaken from his mind. He kept picturing his brother sitting out in the Miirvkin wastes, huddled under shelter with no food or help. Yet now there was nothing that he could do for him. He pulled a cloak from his pack and wrapped it around his shoulders. For the time being no one was bothering him. He hoped it would last.

The first three days passed and the excitement of embarking on a new raid had worn off. The cold, dead chill of the Sea of Turmoil had sunk in. Most of the soldiers, who had nothing to do with their time, grew restless and overcome with boredom. To avoid trouble Thibalt had volunteered his time to Geron and had been put to work with the rest of the crew. He took whatever work was given to him, scrubbing the decks and learning to mend lines and was grateful for the distraction that it provided.

The other Miirvkin soldiers ridiculed and did what they could to hinder him, but he refused to let it bother him. To make up the long hours he followed the crewmen around, watching them go about their tasks. He picked up the basic skills that the sailors possessed swiftly and at night kept to himself below deck. Luckily the size of the Iron Stride enabled him to avoid the others when necessary, in particular Cathan who had taken to ordering the crewmen around to satisfy his own whims.

With each passing day Thibalt found himself avoiding the other Miirvkin more and more. Reinar spent little time above deck and had not said more than a few words to Thibalt since their departure. Thibalt suspected that Christill's disappearance had affected Reinar more than he cared to reveal. And the sight of Thibalt only served to reopen the fresh wounds in Reinar's mind.

At meal times Thibalt was forced to wait until all others had been served and sat by himself. He was now beginning to understand the isolation that Christill had felt for so long. In Hamal Thibalt had been able to avoid it to a certain extent. At Beanon's forges, the smiths had shown some acceptance of his skills and Palen and the other apprentices had even considered him a friend of sorts. However on the Iron Stride he was utterly alone.

Late into the evening, as the soldiers sat below deck eating their supper, Thibalt overheard the ship's cook and Reinar talking.

"It does'n make sense to me, Lord Reinar. Tha' much meat couldn'a been stolen or eaten by anyone in a day. An' then why would anyone throw it overboard," said the cook.

Reinar stroked his temples, heavy circles visible under his eyes and replied, "It does seem out of place. You say the whole barrel was empty."

"A few scraps left, but one thing was odd."

"What?" asked Reinar, looking up from his meal.

The cook looked around and lowered his voice. "The scraps had been chewed on, and in the bottom of the barrel there were a bunch of strips tha' had been flattened. As though somethin' heavy was placed on top of em."

"Keep your eye open and put a crew member on watch in the store room," Reinar replied. "It could be rats, but I find it hard to believe that they could consume that much food. Sounds like someone may have brought something that they shouldn't have on-board."

The cook nodded then walked off back toward the kitchen. Thibalt took note of this and returned to his supper. He knew enough to tell when Reinar was concerned.

The following day the weather turned increasingly savage. The Stride was halfway through its journey and in the middle of the Sea of Turmoil. Now it seemed as though the goddess Nyrune was throwing everything that she had at them.

Thibalt had never experienced a storm of such magnitude. The torrential winds blew a constant spray of painful water into his eyes and the ship itself was being torn apart. Reinar had predicted that the storm would last a few days, but the crew was unsure whether the ship would survive a few hours.

Every last man on the ship had been enlisted to help out as the storm tore sails and ropes apart. The foremast had snapped in half as they had entered the storm and torn through the deck as it landed. Thibalt was amongst the men repairing the damage it had dealt. His opinion on seafaring had now changed dramatically and he found himself wishing desperately to touch his feet on dry land once more.

They worked tirelessly to fix the ship as the winds and heavy rain caused further havoc for the crew. Massive waves struck the Iron Stride and washed those on deck from their feet. On the fourth day since hitting the rough waters, they lost two crew members to the dark sea. They had been mending the aft railing when a flash wave had carried them overboard. The entire crew was so busy that they had not been found missing until the next morning. After that, the thought of throwing Cathan over the side whilst no one was looking had entered Thibalt's mind.

Gradually as time wore on, the swell in the water calmed and the winds died down until on the ninth day they were free of the storm. Glad to be on calm seas again, Thibalt slid down against the railing to get some much needed rest.

He was stirred from his slumber only moments later as a commotion was building up near the entrance to the lower decks. He stood up and pushed his way through the gathered men to see what the fuss was about. When he finally caught a glimpse, he caught his breath.

Standing in the doorway to the lower decks was Christill, with Geron holding his arms tightly behind his back. His clothes were filthy and tattered and his cheeks were drawn and dark showing a lack of sleep and nourishment. One of the sailors called Reinar from his cabin and he stormed onto the deck in a furious mood.

"What is it?" he yelled, but before anyone could answer he saw Christill and stopped in his tracks.

Geron pushed Christill into the middle of the circle that had formed around them. "I found this one trying to get into the store room. He has been hiding out amongst the repair materials. We would have never found him if we hadn't needed so much timber during the storm."

Christill spotted his brother and quickly turned away. The brother that Thibalt had known was gone. Christill's gaze betrayed the hatred that he held for these soldiers. His face was covered in dirt and stubble and he stood hunched, shoulders sunk low.

Reinar composed himself. "You have broken the laws of our people, Christill. What have you to say for yourself?"

Christill spat on the floor. "The laws of your people. Not mine," he said bitterly. "I could not care less."

The raiders began to protest and made outright threats upon Christill's life. Reinar clenched his fists in anger. The betrayal and humiliation he now faced was too much. He took a deep breath and calmly raised his hand to silence them. "So this is how it ends then. What was your plan, to creep out at night and slit our throats as we sleep?"

"No! Unlike you and your race I am not a monster. I do not kill innocent people and then kidnap their children," Christill replied, placing emphasis on the last phrase.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing of!" Reinar roared furiously. "Had I not taken you cursed whelps into my home you would likely be lying dead in a dark alleyway by now."

Thibalt stared open mouthed at Reinar. For his whole life Thibalt had thought that he understood his foster father, but he could not stand back and let him talk to his brother like that. "Stop this!" he shouted.

Reinar glared at Thibalt and then back at Christill. "How did you get on-board?"

"Your thick headed crew carried me on."

Reinar now understood.

"You were not supposed to find me. I am leaving your people for good. I am returning to my real homeland."

"Lock him in one of the cells," Reinar yelled at Geron. "Very well, Christill. If you want to go back to Feldom, then we will show it to you. As we burn it to the ground."

Christill struggled as two soldiers dragged him back below deck. Reinar barked at the rest of the crew and they dispersed to return to their duties. Thibalt waited then ran off after Reinar.

"How can you talk to him like that?" Thibalt asked.

Reinar turned and looked Thibalt in the eyes. "You heard him. He is not my son. Why should I care about him?" He then turned his back to Thibalt and stormed away to his quarters.

Thibalt sat down, his head spinning. What was happening? In the last month so much had changed that he could no longer fathom any of it.

Inside the captain's quarters Reinar sat with his head in his hands. Great Beon, What have I done to deserve this?, he thought as he felt tears form in his eyes. He could no longer stand up for Christill without completely forsaking his family name. Kera deserved more than that. Christill would need to be punished for betraying the trust of the Miirvkin people.

The sailor slumped to the floor slowly, taken totally by surprise. Thibalt dragged the man's unconscious body into one of the storage rooms in the corridor. He then picked up the tray of food that the soldier had been carrying to the cells. There were no other soldiers down in this part of the ship, especially at this time of night. Most of the crew slept deeply in their quarters, unaware of Thibalt's actions.

He crept slowly down the dimly lit corridor, wary of any sudden noises. If he were found trespassing in this area the consequences would be grim. The corridor was leading him to the ship's brig which contained four large cells made of sturdy iron. As Thibalt entered the prison he noticed a guard slumped half over a stool, snoring through his own drool. A bottle of spirits lay on the floor next to the man and Thibalt felt confident that he was not going to wake up easily. Creeping quietly past the guard, he made his way to the farthest cell and found his brother huddled on a straw bed.

"Christill, wake up," Thibalt whispered.

Christill turned on his bed and stared at his visitor. Seeing who it was, he sprang up and hurried over to the door. "Brother, have you come to free me?" he blurted out.

"Quiet!" Thibalt motioned to the inebriated guard. "I have come to talk. You know I can't free you. What good would it do anyway? We are in the middle of the Sea of Turmoil."

Christill sighed and took the food that Thibalt had brought with him. "So talk then," he said in a hushed voice.

"Did you really plan to stay in Feldom and leave us forever?" Thibalt said softly.

"Yes," Christill replied in a sorrowful tone. "It has nothing to do with you. You know that I will always care for you. We have a bond that no living creature can sever. But I cannot live in Miirvk any longer. I must escape into Feldom. If I cannot, then I no longer wish to go on living."

Thibalt was at a loss for words. He did not want his brother to leave, but he understood why he wished to. "I don't want this to happen, but it is your choice Christill. If you choose to go, know that I will always remember you," he said reluctantly.

"I know that," Christill smiled. "I may require your help when the time comes for my escape. Can I count on it?"

Thibalt reached into the cell and clasped Christill's arm tightly. Both held tight and felt great grief at the thought of a life apart from each other. "I would follow you into Teefarrnur itself, Brother. To battle the very gods. You know that."

"As would I, Thibalt," Christill replied.

Without another word Thibalt left the brig taking with him the bottle of spirits. Reaching the unconscious sailor that he had taken the food from, he poured some of the liquid over the man's tunic and placed the bottle in his hand. Thibalt then left the corridor and headed towards the sleeping quarters with a troubled mind.

Thibalt did not risk another visit to his brother thereafter. The ship made the remainder of its journey without any further delays. For the time being they had been able to avoid any further confrontations with Nyrune's savage power.

A warm southerly wind soon filled the air carrying with it fresh scents that Thibalt had never smelled. He stuck his head out over the side of the ship taking in the new air. It was however glaringly obvious that the Miirvkin did not share his enthusiasm. The soldiers that watched him spat onto the deck and shook their heads in disgust. Reinar had been wrong. Regardless of what he did during this raid, he would never be accepted by the people of Hamal.

Then came the cry from the lookout, sounding the call from the crows nest that land had been sighted on the horizon. They had sailed almost directly south east from Hamal and had arrived close to a hundred miles south of the massive Feldonian city of Andron. The crew rushed up from below and gathered on the deck to catch the first glimpse of Feldom. It had been eighteen years since the last raid and for many of the soldiers on-board this was their first sighting of the mainland.

The coastline drew closer and Reinar ordered the longboats strapped to the side of the Iron Stride lowered. The raiders streamed over the railing to land in the sturdy transports. They cast off swiftly, knowing the importance of surprise, and made their way to the pale sandy beach.

"Beautiful!" was the only thing that Thibalt could mumble as he stepped off the longboat and onto the beach. The warm, soft sand trickled in between his toes and into his sandals and he felt a strange sense of peace come over him. From here he could see past the short shoreline where lush green fields lay, dotted with carpets of golden flowers and copses of tall trees that reached high to the sky. He had heard of the beauty and fertility of Feldom, but he had never imagined it to be so breathtaking. The contrast of this lush, verdant land with Miirvk was startling.

A second longboat crashed onto the beach, and out of it came Reinar followed closely by the remaining soldiers. Amongst them Thibalt spotted Cathan in his prize armour, dragging Christill behind him. Christill's hands were shackled and a coarse rope was tied tightly around his neck. Cathan pulled Christill along the beach roughly, taking great pleasure in the humiliation. Thibalt saw the pain in Christill's expression and was forced to control his own temper.

"The village is a mile north of here, over that hill," Reinar said, pointing to a rocky hilltop. "We will move together as one. We will strike as one, and at my command we shall leave as one." He stared deep into the eyes of the heavily armed soldiers standing before him. "We are honourable men. No women or children will be harmed or taken advantage of, on penalty of death. We are here to claim prizes for our families. Take what you wish, and pray to Beon for the strength to return home."

The soldiers all nodded in agreement and began moving up the beach towards the hill with eager steps. The excitement was thick amongst the raiders after having being confined on the Iron Stride. Thibalt stayed as close to Christill as he could without drawing unwanted attention. He could see that each step caused Christill pain. His tunic and trousers were filthy and his body still bore the marks of the wounds inflicted by the Irian that had not fully healed. He was now being herded along by a gruff raider who carried a large maul in his other hand. Cathan had moved to the head of the group, insisting that he be amongst the first to spill blood.

As the raiders crested the top of the hill, they stopped and stared out into the distance. Reinar reached the top and checked to see why they had stopped and found his arms falling dejectedly to his sides. Past the rolling fields lay a small village of no more than fifty houses, but not as it had always been. The entire town and surrounding farmlands lay in ruin, burnt down to the ground. No sign of life remained, only a shell of blackened desolation.

The soldiers stood on the top of the hill, glaring at the charred remains of the town which was to be their target. Thibalt was standing next to Reinar and overheard his foster father mumble, "Unbelievable!" under his breath.

"Listen to me," Reinar then yelled at the soldiers. "We will find a new target. I will take a few men with me down to the village. The rest will follow Cathan back to the longboats. Await our return."

Although reluctant, the raiders acknowledged his commands and began to tread back down to the beach. Reinar picked out ten soldiers and motioned for Thibalt and Christill to stay. The group then began a slow jog down the hill towards the ruined town to investigate the scene of destruction.

Moving cautiously they reached the burnt out remains of the town. They passed through the blackened streets silently. So strong a fire had roared through the village that nothing had escaped. Much of the rubble still glowed with heat, sending thin tendrils of smoke into the air. The streets they moved through were strewn with charred corpses and broken furniture that had flown from the houses during the destruction. The sight was overwhelming and Thibalt could not help but retch as he paused to see the charred bodies.

"Who would commit such a horrendous act of violence?" asked Reinar as he scanned the town.

Christill let out a bitter laugh. "You came here to do the very same."

Reinar ignored the taunt. "I have not heard of such an atrocity since the wars of old. When the Dargonian armies sailed down the Sea of Turmoil and laid siege to the western coast. But that was long ago. Dargon no longer holds such power."

They found no explanation amongst the ruins. Everything was too burnt or crumbled to leave any signs. It was as if the culprits had not even set foot in the town. Many of the corpses still lay amongst the ashes of their beds, the fire having swept through their houses too swiftly.

Reinar turned and grabbed Thibalt by the shoulder. He then walked over to Christill and took the rope that was attached to his neck. "Follow me," he ordered and then led them through the town to the blackened frame of a small building.

Once out of earshot he gripped the boys by their shoulders and said, "I have kept the truth from you until now. This is the town in which you two were found."

The brothers were so utterly shocked that they could not reply. Neither wanted to believe Reinar's words, least of all Christill.

Christill and Thibalt both stepped away from Reinar.

"You are lying," Christill said angrily. "You just want to hurt and punish me."

"No! This is the town that you were taken from." Reinar replied, pointing to the ruins in front of them. "I thought to make Thibalt prove himself a Miirvkin by fully forsaking his heritage. Where better to achieve this than your birthplace?"

Christill gasped, "You are deranged!"

"You are no better than the savages that caused this carnage," added in Thibalt.

Reinar turned from the brothers, his face betraying his unease.

Thibalt felt his anger towards Reinar soar. He turned to Christill who stood, hands shackled, filthy and fatigued. A prisoner of his own father. He understood the emotions that his brother had expressed over the last few weeks. At first he had been shocked by his brother's sudden loathing of the Miirvkin, but now he shared it. They did not belong on Miirvk. They had been living a false life on that wasteland that they had tried to call home. An entire life struggling to be accepted, only to be cast out.

This was where they truly belonged. He shifted his gaze towards the horizon and saw the fertile valleys that made up this part of the western coast of Feldom. Colourful trees lay clumped along the countryside displaying their luscious foliage. Simply staring at it once more brought a sense of peace to Thibalt's troubled mind. Yes, this was where he would be truly at home.

Christill looked over at Thibalt and saw the glint in his eye. He knew that Thibalt finally understood. He walked over to his brother, Reinar allowing them a moment, and placed his shackled hands on his shoulders. "Will you help me?" he whispered.

Thibalt looked deep into Christill's eyes and once again saw the brother that he had always known. "Yes," he replied quietly, gripping Christill's hand firmly. "Let's go battle the gods." He glanced over at Reinar, whose eyes were inspecting the burnt wreckage around them. Acting as swiftly as possible, he unsheathed his knife and sliced through the rope around Christill's neck in one quick swipe. Instantly the two were off, running hard through the town.

Reinar, taken by surprise, had barely enough time to call for the rest of his soldiers before he was forced to take off after the boys.

They ran swiftly through the scene of destruction, however Christill found it difficult to keep up with the shackles around his wrists. They reached the edge of the village and began to climb a small rise that lay at the eastern border of the town. Just before they reached the top they turned to see how far their pursuers were, but were surprised to see no one following them. Without a second thought they continued up the slope.

Reaching the top first, Thibalt gave out a loud cry and toppled backwards into Christill. The brothers rolled back halfway down the rise before they regained their balance.

"What in the planes are you doing?" cried Christill, rubbing his sore chin. He looked at Thibalt who was staring wide eyed up the rise. Turning in the same direction, Christill nearly lost his footing once more.

On the top of the rise stood a group of soldiers mounted on tall brown stallions. He counted nine of them, adorned in worn silver chain shirts, their coloured capes flapping behind them with the wind. They wore leather caps from which their neat blonde and brown hair flowed freely. Christill at the same time feared and admired the soldiers. Yet, most of all, they gaped at the sight of the horses, of which they had only ever heard. The strong, battle trained mounts neighed and flared their nostrils at Thibalt and Christill. In unison the soldiers drew long, single handed swords from sheaths on their mounts.

"Don't make any sudden movements," pleaded Thibalt to Christill. He removed the axe from his back, placed it on the ground and backed away from it. Christill followed his brother's example and raised his hands.

The mounted soldiers began to trot slowly down the rise until they reached the brothers. Two of the soldiers moved behind Thibalt and Christill and placed swords at their necks. A brown haired soldier with a thin moustache and a dark blue cape moved forward, separating himself from the rest of the soldiers. His face showed the marks of several old wounds and stared down at them with mistrust. Raising his gloved hand he made a three fingered signal and instantly five of the soldiers broke off from the group and galloped towards the city.

"Speak only when I ask, and make your answers quick," the soldier commanded, in a strong foreign accent. "Understood?"

Thibalt and Christill nodded.

"Where are you from? And how many more of you are there?"

Thibalt looked at Christill and motioned for him to answer. "We come from Miirvk. We were a group of many, but we are currently fleeing from them."

"Why do you flee?"

"We are born of this land, my lord. Thus we seek refuge from our captors," Christill said quickly. Thibalt simply nodded his agreement.

The man began to stroke his moustache with his gloved fingers and lowered his brow as he considered the information. He studied both of them and focused for a long while on the shackles around Christill's hands. "You will address me as Captain, not lord, and we shall soon see if your story is true." He turned to the soldier on his left and said, "Bind them."

The soldier slid from his mount and began tying Thibalt's hands together. He then walked over to Christill and began laughing. "Looks like someone already got to this one," he said lifting up Christill's hands to show the other soldiers the shackles. The other men joined in the laughter. All except for the Captain, whose face betrayed no sign of mirth.

The sounds of combat rang clearly over the landscape and they all turned towards the village. They had been waiting for the five soldiers to return and the sudden clamour worried the Captain. "How many of your men are there?" he demanded.

"There were ten of us," replied Thibalt, not mentioning those who had returned to the boats.

The Captain cast a concerned look at his second in command, the long haired man who had tied the boys up. The man returned a similar look and was about to ride down to the town to investigate when four of the soldiers appeared. They rode out of the village, dragging behind them three captives. Thibalt then noticed that Reinar was one of the bound prisoners.

The riders reached the top of the rise and pushed the three captives next to Christill. Reinar gave both brothers a scornful look and then faced the Captain.

"Report!" the Captain yelled at one of the soldiers.

"We found five of them in the town centre. They came at us whilst others ran to the shore. Two were slain and Junheim fell in battle."

The Captain's head lowered and he let out a long sigh. "For fifteen long years I have fought against people like you," he said scowling at Reinar. "And for what? I have seen nought but hapless bloodshed and the loss of innocent lives. The Alliance lies in a constant struggle with Dargon, and as our men sacrifice their lives to protect the West, you trespass on our land and commit the vilest of acts," he spat at Reinar. "This scene of devastation is unforgivable. You will all pay for the massacre that you caused here. Miirvk will answer for its crimes!"

Reinar's face betrayed no emotion as he stared back into the Captain's eyes, matching his glare. "We did not do this," he simply stated.

"Silence!" the Captain shouted, striking Reinar with the flat of his sword. "For crimes against Feldom, I arrest you in the name of his highness, King Dieter Castaneda. You are now prisoners of the crown under Feldonian law and shall be justly punished." The Captain turned his horse and signalled for his men to depart. "Let us leave before they have a chance to regroup."

The soldiers spurred their horses and began heading north, dragging the captives behind them.

"What is happening?" Thibalt whispered to Christill as they were forced to march.

The blank look on Christill's face said more than any words could have.

* * *

The Feldonian soldiers showed their captives little sympathy or respite during the five day hike that led them to the city of Andron. They approached the wide spread coastal city at midday and the Captain led them through a large southern gate.

Christill and Thibalt stared around in wonder, whilst they pushed past the throngs of people moving in and out of the city. The massive stone walls, lined with walkways and battlements blocked off most of the city from sight. But once they passed under the raised portcullis, the city revealed itself. Countless buildings spread out before them, with paved streets snaking in between the multi-level structures.

"I could never have imagined such a place," said Christill as they were pulled past wagons laden to the brim with goods. The sidewalks were lined with colourful stalls selling all manner of wares. Some of the merchants, calling out to the patrons walking past, stopped momentarily to eye them, but then continued to hound their customers.

"So many things," muttered Thibalt, turning his head from left to right.

Christill noticed that the soldiers leading them were similarly distracted and took the chance to shuffle closer to his brother. "What are we going to do?"

Thibalt made sure that they were not being overheard and replied, "We have to try and convince them of our innocence. They must be able to see that we are not Miirvkin."

"We have no idea what they are going to think."

"Then let us pray to the gods that they are a compassionate people."

"They cannot be worse than those we have already endured," commented Christill, with a quick glance over his shoulder towards Reinar. Reinar's face betrayed no emotion. He walked along without a struggle and kept his chest out, refusing to show any hint of defeat.

"I wonder what will happen to them?" asked Thibalt.

"Let's just worry about ourselves," said Christill.

The Captain was leading them to a second wall that lay in the centre of Andron. To the west they saw a huge village that joined up to the main city and spread out far along the coast. Beyond that they spotted a harbour so enormous that they were forced to rub their eyes. The harbour was considered the busiest in the known world, with ships arriving and departing at almost every hour of the day.

It was easy to see that Andron's wealth came from their shipping trade. But as with all large ports, as the city had grown, so had crime and pollution. The brothers could not help but notice the vast number of soldiers patrolling the streets.

They reached a stout wooden gate at which stood six armed guards. They were dressed in the same fashion as the Captain's men and were checking those attempting to enter the inner city. The Captain walked up to one of the guards with a feathered cap on his head and began talking to him.

Moments later they were moving through the busy streets of Andron once more. The difference between the Miirvkin and Feldonians was even starker here. Reinar and the other captives literally towered over the Feldonians that they pushed past. The clothing the Feldonians wore was bright and colourful, many of them covered in bejewelled accessories and vibrant headwear. Yet the clothing of the Miirvkin was always practical and never akin to the costumes that they now saw.

Exotic buildings surrounding them. Houses of dark grey and red bricks stood amongst towering buildings made of pale limestone. No two structures looked alike, the Feldonians being much more advanced in construction than the now seemingly primitive Miirvkin.

"To think we considered Hamal to be a grand city," commented Thibalt.

"I had no idea a place could have such scale," said Christill. "The harbour that we saw seems larger than the entirety of Hamal."

Many of the citizens stopped and stared or jeered at the prisoners as they walked by. Thibalt was also surprised to see many people crowding around the soldiers, offering to sell goods, or certain services in the case of a group of scarcely attired women. Andron was full of noise and such a variety of people that the brothers did not know where to look. One man who walked past them had bronzed skin, similar to the Miirvkin, yet wore only a short pant and thick leather belt. By his side walked a stocky man with shockingly pale skin, who was wearing a thick robe trimmed with foreign fur. The streets seemed to hold every manner of people from the vast Feldonian kingdom.

Finally after a long march through the streets they reached the centre of the city. Here stood a large building carved of white marble and pale grey stone. The brothers had never set their eyes on its equal. The building stood raised off the ground on a vast stone slab with a wide set of stairs that led up to the entrance. Long columns flanked the side of the structure and held up a pointed roof, covered with latticed tiles.

The soldiers dismounted and pushed them up the stairs. The entrance held no visible doors but had two stone pillars on either side with a symbol carved into them. As they stepped closer, they could make out the symbol. It portrayed a naked woman with feathered wings spreading out behind her back. Her arms reached out to the sky, with a sword in her left hand and what appeared to be a human heart in her right. Christill recalled the image as the symbol of the Feldonian goddess Skiye from his readings.

They were guided inside and found that the entrance led to a wide open room with seats lining the walls and a large gilded throne sitting opposite the entrance. Behind the throne lay the only door in the room which led away further into the building. The room was given an unpleasantly dark appearance by heavy green drapes that hung from the walls and limited the light within.

Sitting on the throne was an elderly man in an impressive green robe that was decorated with gold trimmings. "Come in Captain Falneren," the man motioned.

The Captain walked to the centre of the room and dropped to one knee. "Many greetings Duke Poleus," he said. "Unfortunately I bring ill news. The village was burnt to the ground as was rumoured. I have never seen such carnage. Everything was laid to waste, charred bodies everywhere. We do not think that there were any survivors." He paused, turning. "We found these Miirvkin pillaging the wreckage and managed to capture a few of them before we were forced to return."

The Duke rubbed his chin, stroking his thin grey beard. "This is grave news that you bring me Captain. But I thank you for your services to the King. I have some unfortunate news myself," he said. "Whilst you were away a messenger arrived notifying me of Guard Captain Kale's death in Precedin." A look of shock came over Captain Falneren. "This makes you Guard Captain of the armies of Andron. I know you will serve your King well, Edagar. Congratulations."

Edagar Falneren bowed once more, but his features showed sadness. "I hope that I can honour Guard Captain Kale's sacrifice. May I ask how he fell?"

"His men were ambushed whilst following Dargonian trails in the Beon Ranges. He was struck down by a quarrel."

Falneren nodded and lowered his head. The Duke motioned for him to approach and they spoke silently for a time. The Guard Captain spoke heatedly, at several times pointing at Thibalt and Christill, and the Duke simply listened, his chin resting on his palm.

"Bring forth the accused," called the Duke, once Falneren had finished.

The five prisoners were forced into the centre of the room. A hushed murmuring from sides of the hall caused them to turn and they saw that the seats around them were filled with individuals in dark robes. Christill moved closer to Thibalt, suddenly frightened in this unfamiliar environment.

"I, Duke Poleus of the second order of Skiye, loyal servant and representative of his highness, now call this trial into session," the Duke announced.

At first sight the Duke had appeared dispassionate and somewhat arrogant to the brothers. But now, as he leaned forward on his throne, he gave forth an aura of authority and command.

The door behind the throne opened and a thin man with wavy hair came forth, bearing a large tome and a quill. The man took a seat near the throne and motioned for the Duke to proceed.

The Duke cleared his voice and began the procession. "You are accused of the massacre of hundreds of Feldonian citizens and the utter ravaging of Feldonian land. In my long years in Andron I have not heard of such an atrocious crime. So many innocent lives lost.

"The laws of our land state that each man brought forth to the justice of his highness will be allowed to present a statement of defence. Though it pains me to do so, I will allow one of you that right. Let the speaker step three paces forth and give his account."

Christill turned to Thibalt with sheer confusion in his eyes and could see a similar blank look on his face. Such a thing would never have been allowed in Miirvk. In Hamal, Lord Bearn ruled supreme and made all judgments without debate or opposition.

Reinar took three steps forward, holding his head high. "I will speak for my people."

"Then do go on," motioned the Duke.

"The violence that you speak of was not of our doing," began Reinar, which drew several snorts and scoffs from the seated men. "Despite what you may believe we would never bring such unrestrained harm to women and children. Though we came to your shores with what you would judge ill intent, the destruction of that village was as much a shock to my men as your own."

The Duke sat calmly on his throne, once again stroking his beard. The dark figures gathered around them chatted softly, whilst the thin man took notes in his bulky tome beside the Duke.

"Why should we believe you?" Duke Poleus asked. "You came to our land to plunder and kill, yet you expect us to believe that you had no part to play in the fate of that village?"

"We are a people of honour and follow the will of Beon. Believe what you will, but I tell the truth," Reinar replied confidently.

"Very well," replied the Duke. He then looked at Thibalt and Christill, lingering on Thibalt for a long while. "You two, come forth," he ordered. They quickly obeyed and moved towards the throne. "You are unlike any Miirvkin I have ever set eyes upon, and the Guard Captain tells me you claim to be captives of the Miirvkin. What is your part in this?"

"We are not Miirvkin, my lord." Christill spoke. "We are born of this land, kidnapped at birth by your captives. Taken from the very town in which you captured us, eighteen years ago." He motioned towards Reinar. "We were running from them, attempting an escape, when your soldiers found us."

"An interesting tale," replied the Duke. He looked at Thibalt and kept his eyes fixed on him for a long time. "How strange," he mused. "Tell me boy, what is your name?"

"Thibalt, my lord."

"Hmm," mumbled the Duke. "Not familiar. And your father's name?" he continued.

Thibalt shrugged his shoulders but moments later Reinar called out, "It is Steelfist."

There were a few murmurs from the crowd and many of the seated figures began conversing loudly. Thibalt was shocked to find that Reinar had hidden his own name from him, but was not given time to linger on it.

"I had some suspicion," said the Duke. "I could not place it at first, but you do bear a striking resemblance." He summoned a young man to his throne and whispered into his ear. The man hurried out of the room and into the streets. "Tell me something," he continued. "How have you survived so long as captives of our enemies?"

"We were raised alongside..." began Thibalt, but he was cut off by Christill.

"My brother means to say forced to grow up alongside the Miirvkin. We had no choice in the matter."

The Duke raised his brow. "Interesting," he commented. "If your story is true then there is still one aspect that I am struggling to comprehend. Why is it that you were brought back to Feldom?"

"We hid on the ship before they left Hamal," answered Christill quickly. He felt it best to avoid mentioning that Thibalt had been part of the raid.

With narrowed eyes, the Duke pursed his lips in contemplation.

"Please believe that we are innocent. There is nothing that we wish for more than to return to our homeland," Christill added.

Several anxious minutes passed and the Duke sat in silence tapping his fingers together in thought. Thibalt and Christill remained in the centre of the large chamber, under the watchful eye of the assembled men and women.

Then in a rush the young man that the Duke had sent out returned, followed by a broad shouldered man in a dirty leather apron.

"Ah, Master Steelfist. I thank you for your haste in coming to this council," said the Duke.

The man walked closer to the throne eyeing Reinar and the other Miirvkin. He had dark brown hair, that was matted to his already dirty face and a bushy moustache that covered most of his upper lip. His facial features were chiselled in underneath the layer of grime. "It is of no matter, Andre. Just try not to keep me too long," the man replied in a deep voice.

The brothers caught a better look at the man named Oswald as he stepped closer to the throne and both caught their breath.

"I wish to present to you a young man that was captured with these Miirvkin raiders in the ruins of your old home, Carlor." The Duke motioned at Thibalt and as Oswald turned to catch his first glimpse of him, he stepped back in shock.

"I expect that you can see the resemblance," said the Duke.

Thibalt could not take his eyes from the man before him. Beneath the layer of dirt were a set of features that unmistakeably mirrored his own.

"What magic is this?" mumbled Oswald.

"He claims to bear your name," pointed out the Duke. "Claims to have been taken from Carlor eighteen year ago."

"It cannot be," said Oswald, stepping up to Thibalt slowly. "You survived!"

"Do you know this boy?"

"No," replied Oswald. "But I fathered a son in Carlor before I left the village. He was said to have died along with his mother."

Thibalt did not know how to react. He could not believe that there was a chance that this man was his father. He had not known what to expect from his true family, but this man was not what he had pictured. "My mother is dead?" he asked.

"Aye lad," replied Oswald. "She was murdered by the Miirvkin that attacked Carlor that night, so many years ago."

Thibalt had never met his mother but felt furious. Reinar's words, about the pride of the Miirvkin and their reluctance to hurt women and children now seemed so hollow.

Christill watched Oswald and Thibalt and suddenly found a sinking feeling in his stomach. He held no resemblance to this man. He turned to Reinar and asked, "My name is not Steelfist, is it?" Reinar waited a moment before shaking his head. "The name found on your clothing was Greyspell."

"Greyspell! called out Oswald. He moved over to Christill and grabbed his chin, examining Christill's face. He let Christill go and stepped back, raising his hands to his head. "The gods are punishing me."

"You know this name?" asked the Duke.

"The very cause of my departure from Carlor was a betrayal from which I fathered a son out of wedlock."

Christill was dumbstruck.

"I bedded a young serving maid named Lissi and could not face Iara once she learned the truth. Yet Lissi died in birth. The child was said to have been lost as well." He let out deep breath. "Perhaps Skiye has seen fit to chastise me for my infidelity."

"Well this is indeed interesting," said the Duke. He then rose from his throne. "I will hold a private council," he announced, summoning a few of the robed figures, along with the scribe, into the room behind the throne. Oswald was asked to join them and they were left to wait inside the council room, under the watchful eye of Guard Captain Falneren.

Time passed slowly as the brothers struggled to come to terms with the recent revelations. Both had learned that their mothers were no longer alive, and were now faced with their supposed father.

The Duke and his retinue then returned to the council room. "I have come to a decision," he announced. "As the Miirvkin came to our shores with the intent to pillage and kill, we have but one choice. The Miirvkin will be executed at midday tomorrow."

Thibalt and Christill gasped. They looked over at Reinar and the other two raiders who all stood tall and proud, not showing any weakness to their enemies.

"However there still remains a great mystery surrounding the destruction of Carlor. To find you in the burnt out ruins of the village remains aberrant. Had you been the cause of the horror inflicted on those people, you would have held no reason to remain there following the attack. In light of this one of you will be sent back to your homeland. You will carry a warning to your lords. Your raids will cease for good from this day forth. If you fail to heed that warning, the might of the Feldonian army will be brought to your shores. And may Beon protect you if that day comes.

"Furthermore, regarding Thibalt Steelfist and Christill Greyspell, on the word of Oswald Steelfist, it is my belief that they may indeed be innocent. Their appearance by all accounts marks their Feldonian heritage, and though their tale seems far-fetched, we will not punish them without evidence to the contrary.

"Under Skiye's law we are all made to pay for our indiscretions. Oswald Steelfist is no exception to this. Thus to correct the wrongs of the past, Oswald will be appointed as caretaker for the two brothers. They will be placed under his guardianship for two seasons, where they will be forced to prove that their intentions are just."

The Duke rose from his throne, "Which of you will return to your homeland?" he asked.

The other Miirvkin raiders pushed Reinar forward, he turned in anger and ordered them to take his place, but in the end they convinced him that he would best be able to relate the events to Lord Bearn. Reinar finally gave in. "I will return," he replied solemnly.

"Very well. The execution will happen in the town square at midday tomorrow. All praise Skiye," finished the Duke.

Guard Captain Falneren walked up to Thibalt and Christill and removed their bindings. "The gods must have been watching you today," he said and he pushed them towards Oswald. He then motioned for his men to take the Miirvkin away and left the room.

In their final moment together, before he was taken from the hall, Reinar turned to the boys and said, "My blood oath to you is paid."

CHAPTER FIVE

### THE CALL OF THE KING

Directly behind the marble council hall, there stood a wooden stage. It was a simple stage by standards, but unlike all others in the bustling city. This theatre was avoided by most of the townsfolk of Andron, for this particular stage held the stench and stain of death upon it. Yet on certain days people would gather around it, and this was such a day.

Thibalt and Christill stood at the base of the stage with Oswald directly behind them. An assortment of curious onlookers had gathered with them to catch a glimpse of the execution. Many came for enjoyment, to gain a glimpse of the excitement that was absent in their normal lives. Others felt it was their duty to watch the punishment of those who had strayed from Skiye's teachings. The brothers could not fathom how anyone would wish to witness such a thing.

A shrill horn announced the start of the processions and the crowd began to jeer and shout excitedly. The executioner, dressed in dark crimson clothes, stepped up onto the stage to the delight of the crowd. Christill wondered if his garb had been that colour to begin with, or had gained it during his deeds.

Following the executioner onto the stage were the two Miirvkin soldiers, pushed along by a pair of Andronian guards. They had been stripped of their clothes and now wore only their leather breeches. Though walking to their doom, they still held their heads high and stepped proudly up to the executioner's cutting block.

The block of wood itself was stained black with the congealed blood of the countless victims who had been forced under the executioner's axe. A basket lay at its base, also stained a deep red. The first Miirvkin warrior walked up and placed his head onto the chopping block without a struggle. These were honourable Miirvkin warriors; they would not show weakness to these commoners. The executioner then brought forth his axe, a ghastly double bladed weapon with a pointed spike at its peak.

Raising the axe high, and waiting a moment for greater effect, the executioner brought it down hard. Christill closed his eyes, unable to watch the horrific display. He heard the crunch of the axe as it passed through bone and the thud of it sinking into the block. The crowd cheered wildly as he heard something fall heavily into the basket.

Christill opened his eyes to see the guards dragging the headless corpse away from the block. A sinking feeling rose in his stomach and he was forced to fight against the sickness rising up his throat. Without further delay, the next Miirvkin placed his head upon the block. As he bent down, Christill saw the prisoner glance at him with a burning hatred in his eyes. The look sent a shiver down his spine.

The executioner raised his axe once more and brought it down with a crunch. Christill had closed his eyes again, unable to watch. He once again heard the bone splitting crunch, but noticed the heavy plonk into the basket was missing. A slight thud at his feet caused him to open his eyes and he looked down to see the severed head of the Miirvkin soldier lying face up in the dirt.

Christill swayed on his feet and could no longer hear anything. He later recalled seeing Oswald's face before he fell to the ground unconscious.

Christill came to with a fright. He looked out of the window again and saw the sun was now well risen. How long had he been dreaming for? He turned and walked over to Thibalt who was still huddled in the corner fast asleep.

"Get up!" he yelled, kicking Thibalt in the behind.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"You sleep too long, you know that. We need to be up. Oswald wants to see us, remember?"

"Yes, yes," replied Thibalt, standing up and stretching his back. "I guess we should go. Don't want to be late."

Christill rolled his eyes and climbed down the ladder to the ground floor of the stable.

Outside they saw several of Oswald's workers bringing the morning feed to the pens that made up Steelfist Ranch. The Ranch was nestled on the eastern border of the city and was large by Feldonian standards. Holding up to eighty horses at any one time, it was littered with stables and pens for the animals; one of which the brothers had been temporary allowed to room in. It was the best that Oswald could offer, yet consisted of nothing more than two makeshift beds in the hayloft. The brothers had chosen the cleanest straw they could find and had thrown an old blanket and feather pillow into the corner.

They found Oswald tending to a new pair of horses that had just arrived from the city of Auldney. Unlike the rest of Oswald's stock, these were pure white in colour and sported a thick coat of long hair that kept them warm in the frozen north. The elegant mares snorted in the chilly morning air as the brothers approached.

Oswald shifted uncomfortably upon seeing them and cleared his throat. "I expect you slept well."

"As well as one could given the circumstance," answered Christill.

"Yes...Well that is to be expected." said Oswald. They were left in an uncomfortable silence as Oswald ran his hands along the neck of one of the mares.

Christill turned to Thibalt who motioned for him to say something, and raised his hands silently in protest. He had no idea what to say.

"A rare breed," said Oswald after some time. The brothers glanced at each other in confusion until Oswald continued. "It is said that they can endure entire nights out in the wilds around Auldney. Most men would not last more than a few hours without shelter."

"And what do you do with them?" asked Thibalt, trying to continue the conversation.

"Do with them?" asked Oswald in wonder. "Why sell them. What did you think?"

Thibalt shrugged his shoulders. "There are no horses in Miirvk."

"Of course," said Oswald, with a look of understanding. "Well within the month you will know everything there is to know about them."

"Then what is to become of us?" asked Christill.

Oswald struggled to find an answer. "For the time being you will stay here with me. And not for free neither. I will put you to use if I am to see you cared for." He turned away from them, running his hands along the back of the mare. "Duke Poleus has burdened me with your wellbeing until such a time as you have proven yourselves."

"And then?"

"And then you will be able to leave," said Oswald. "I do not have the means to keep you here forever. I have barely enough to pay the workers as it is, let alone feed two growing boys."

"You own all of this," said Thibalt, waving his hand out over the Ranch.

"Exactly, and every coin I earn goes back into keeping it in operation," said Oswald. "Life is by no means easy, believe you me. And with the tributes demanded of me by the Honour Guard I am left out of pocket more and more each year."

"The Honour Guard?" queried Christill.

"Great Skiye!" mumbled Oswald. "You have so much to learn. The Honour Guard are the Maloreichar. The leaders of the Feldonian army and heads of state. But for the King, no men hold greater power in Feldom."

"And they force you to give tribute?" asked Christill. "That seems unjust."

"It is an honour," replied Oswald quickly. "I am proud to know that I have given my part in the everlasting struggle. Each and every Feldonian aids in the fight against Dargon in some way, be it through taxes or in giving their very lives to the cause. I have the means to provide the army with mounts and I am determined to do so whilst I still can."

"Then we are still at war with Dargon?" asked Thibalt. Their lessons with the Disciple had covered the long lasting conflict between the Feldonian and Karmanian alliance and the Dargonian Kingdom, however their information had been taken from accounts long past, when the Miirvkin had held greater contact with the mainland.

"Still," laughed Oswald. "The war has never truly ended. I recall a time many years ago, close to when you were born, when we foolishly believed that we had finally come to an era of peace. The Dargonian King had removed his forces from the Beon Ranges and opened peace talks with our ambassadors. Yet before they even began the tyrant King Zephra usurped the throne and renewed the war with an even greater ferocity. Thousands of men lost their lives in the first years of his reign."

"And was he ever stopped?" pressed Thibalt.

"Stopped...No. Though after some years the attempts to pass through the Beon Ranges lessened. It is rumoured that Zephra turned away from his armies, furious at their failure, and vowed to find another way into Feldom."

"Why are they so keen to sacrifice their lives to cross into Feldom?"

"Because their own homeland is a frozen wasteland." replied Oswald. "Dargon has been forsaken by the gods. Their country is wild and unforgiving. They have no rich soil to grow crops, no warmth to heat their bodies. To be forced to endure such a place, it is no wonder they are such a hateful people."

"And who are these for then?" asked Christill, motioning at the horses.

"These are headed to Precedin. They are my tribute for this season. These young mares are fated to bear our bravest scouts into the cold borderlands of Dargon."

"That seems an ill fate," commented Christill.

"We are not all given a choice in what path the gods place before us," said Oswald. "You should know this better than most."

The brothers could understand his reasoning.

"Now, you have kept me from my work long enough," said Oswald suddenly, his tone showing some discomfort. "I will put you to work with my handlers. They can show you where you can make yourselves useful." He raised his hand to nervously scratch his chin. "But don't get too comfortable," he added in a surly tone. "Once the Duke is satisfied that you have proven yourselves, you will be out of here, and I'll be able to get on with my life."

The brothers did not complain. They knew that their presence was enough to cause Oswald discomfort. From the little that they had gleaned, had they been raised in Feldom they would likely have had no contact with their father. He had abandoned them with their mothers and left Carlor. Now he was being forced to make amends for this by providing for their needs.

Whilst he led them to the handlers they overheard Oswald mumble gruffly, "Don't get too comfortable." The brothers could not help but smile.

* * *

Christill and Thibalt found Andron to be a welcome change. They continued to work on Steelfist Ranch, tending to the ever growing stock of horses. In Feldom they had finally found a place where they no longer felt like outcasts. The city was so alive and ever changing that they never attracted a second glance.

Oswald soon allowed them to move into his small home, where they were given a room of their own. Despite his constant reminder to them that they would be forced to leave as soon as the Duke allowed it, Oswald had gradually warmed to the brothers.

A few weeks after their arrival, they joined Oswald as he journeyed down to the ruins of Carlor. The builders guild of Andron had been enlisted to begin the arduous rebuilding of the shattered village and Oswald had willingly provided the guild with horses for the journey. The brothers helped to raise a monument in honour of the men and women that had fallen in its destruction, yet the true cause of the disaster remained a mystery.

Although he made no mention of it, they suspected that their arrival in Feldom had brought out a guilt within Oswald that had lain dormant for many years. A deep regret of his abandonment of Iara and Christill's mother Lissi. In the ruins of Carlor Oswald showed a more sensitive side as he told to them of his past and described their birthplace. Still unsure what to make of their father, the brothers simply continued to listen and learn.

They eventually learned to keep time by the Feldonian calendar. Oswald described to them the fourteen months of the Feldonian year; this being the three hundred and fifty first year, of the sixth era of mankind. Though it took some time to adapt to, they eventually found themselves tracking the days in Feldonian fashion.

Waking at the crack of dawn, they ate with the rest of the farmhands and then began their activities. They helped to groom and wash the horses, muck the stables and, when needed, travel to the market to purchase supplies. Several months into their stay, Thibalt had even convinced Oswald to keep a young filly that he had taken a liking to, named Esree.

Oswald also gave them time away from their chores, and in these breaks the brothers explored the city. Being the most active port in Feldom, the harbour and market districts always held some excitement for them. They mingled with the diverse peoples of Andron and did their best to learn about the society to which they now belonged. Yet in this time they quickly found that there were several corners of the city best avoided. The bustling harbour brought with it a plethora of cutthroats and thieves. Men who would not think twice about murdering a man for his coin.

It was in one such part of the harbour that the brothers had their first brush with the lingering effects of Andronian ale. Unaccustomed to the strong drink, they soon understood that in some things moderation is pertinent.

Having entered The Smiling Trout in search of a meal, they found the only unoccupied table in the far corner of the room, away from the boisterous bar and the band playing in the front of the tavern. The room was full to bursting with the visiting sailors and dock workers that had finished for the day. The combined roar of the drunk patrons and poorly timed music left the brothers astounded. The sour smell of sweat and spilled drink wafted through the air, mingled with the faint odour of roasting meat from the kitchens. Thibalt already felt his mouth watering at the smell of the roast and raised his hand to call a serving girl.

She returned with two plates of roasted potatoes and char-grilled beef, and slammed two foaming cups of ale onto the table before storming off for the next order. The brothers glanced at each other, shrugged their shoulders and guzzled down a large mouthful of the ale. Christill sputtered up some of his ale with a cough, but Thibalt slammed his fist into the table in delight.

"This must be what the gods drink!" said Thibalt excitedly.

Christill wiped the ale from his chin and replied, "It's a lot stronger than I expected."

But Thibalt wasn't listening. He had raised the cup once more to his mouth and was gulping the remaining ale down in long draughts. He slammed the empty cup down on the table and motioned for the serving girl to bring him another. She swiftly did so, taking another two copper coins from Thibalt before handing it over.

By the time Christill had finished his food, and leaned back to rest his stomach, Thibalt had ordered his third and Christill's second.

They then spotted three sailors making their way towards them.

"Looks like someone took our table, Tristan," said the smallest of the three, a man with stained yellow teeth and dark black circles under his eyes.

The man named Tristan, a slender figure with a coarse brown beard and long hair covering most of his face, let out a boisterous laugh. "Always room for a few more, Luan. Don't be so rude."

The sailors then joined the brothers, calling for cups of ale.

Thibalt and Christill sat silently at first, unsure what to make of these three men, but found themselves engrossed in their tales. The sailors talked amongst themselves, ignoring the brothers at first. They spoke passionately of the tension between Dargon and the Alliance that showed little sign of improving. To their surprise, they learnt that Feldom itself was divided in its beliefs. The western and eastern halves of the nation bore little love for one another and were held together primarily through trade. The citizens of Andron blamed their problems on the warmongering easterners. Yet, in the East, Feldonians accused their western brethren of lying complacently on their backs, growing wealthy whilst they were forced to suffer Dargon's wrath.

To their even greater surprise they learnt that the northern cities, under the rulership of a separate King in Auldney, restrained their contact with the rest of the nation. It was rumoured that those in Auldney still followed barbaric tribal rituals from the dawn of man and kept to themselves to hide their debasement.

City rivalry was not something the brothers were unaccustomed to, with the Miirvkin in Hamal having strained relationships with their neighbouring settlements. However, the outright aversion shown by the Andronian citizens still amazed them.

After some time the banter took a friendlier turn and the brothers joined in on their conversation. The sailors explained how they were only in Andron for a few nights, whilst their ship restocked for the journey back to Cardrin in the south.

"So what will you take back to Cardrin?" asked Christill, who was finding himself more at ease after his second cup of ale.

"Mainly stone fruits and medicine. You know, leeches, honeysuckle wraps and such," answered Luan.

"And a large shipment of bear pelts that we took on-board in Larthstone. Though we won't be telling the harbourmasters about that one, if you catch my meaning," added in Tristan with a sly wink.

"I don't really," replied Thibalt, who had begun to sway in his seat. Christill had noticed the numbing effect of the drinks taking hold of him after his second cup and could only imagine what Thibalt was feeling with his rapid indulging.

"Taxes, boy!" replied the third sailor, an overfed ruffian by the name of Roran.

"Doesn't everyone have to pay taxes? Our father is always mentioning them."

"You only pay if they know about it," said Tristan. "Do you have any idea what we would be forced to cough up on a load of bear fur from the north? It wouldn't even be worth the trip if we paid the correct levies at each port of call."

"Why so much?" asked Christill, whilst Thibalt motioned for another cup of ale for the both of them.

"Because every bastard gets to dip his fingers into our coffers. We pay the harbourmasters guild for the use of the docks. We pay the Duke for the city's upkeep. We pay the blasted disciples of Skiye an offering to the goddess. Worst of all we pay the royal customs to provide our fat King with an even greater share of all of our profits."

"Hardly seems fair," commented Thibalt, eagerly taking hold of his new cup of ale for a big mouthful.

"That's why every sailor from here to Dark Shell Bay sells his mother to avoid paying it," said Luan, his wide smile presenting his mouthful of rotten teeth.

"And what happens if you get caught?" asked Christill.

Roran's eyes narrowed dishearteningly. "We silence the harbourmaster who found out and set sail before the local guard can commandeer our cargo," he replied.

"Much like our last visit to Summerstone," said Tristan with a chuckle. "Roran here likes to pride himself on being able to beat anyone and everyone into submission. Claims he once fought one of the King's personal guards and won. Gods, he almost thinks he could take on the Thaldun Blades, he does."

"Who?" burst out Thibalt louder than he had intended.

The three sailors turned to him perplexed. "What do you mean? You been living under a rock or something?"

"Our father doesn't let us away from the Ranch very often," lied Christill, aware that they were dangerously close to revealing their Miirvkin upbringing.

"The Thaldun Blades are Karmena's finest warriors. The most skilled soldiers that they have to offer," said Luan, whose eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

"Well if you are such a great fighter then you should try take on the champions in the Arcein Arena in Hamal. I have never seen better warriors," said Thibalt with a hiccup.

Christill's eyes shot wide open and the three sailors pushed back from the table in alarm.

"What did you just say?" asked Tristan.

"We best be heading home," Christill said hastily, grabbing Thibalt's arm and rising from his seat.

"But I haven't finished," complained Thibalt.

"Just move!" yelled Christill.

The three sailors rose from the table and towered menacingly over them. "What kind of treacherous dogs are you?" called Luan.

"He doesn't know what he is saying," said Christill. "He has had too much to drink."

Thibalt, sobering up as he realised what he had said, also rose from the table and took a step back, sensing the tension in the air.

"I think he knew exactly what he was saying," replied Tristan, taking a threatening step around the table. "You some kind of Miirvkin spies?"

"No, it's not what you think," said Christill, but he was interrupted by Thibalt's cry as he reached out and hoisted the wooden table up and at the sailors.

The three men turned as the cups and plates flew into the air at them, and were pushed back by the table that toppled over upside down.

"Run!" called out Thibalt. Christill did not hesitate and they were both off, storming towards the door whilst the sailors recovered.

They rushed out of the tavern and headed straight down the street in the direction of the Ranch. Neither of them turned to look behind and kept their focus on putting as great a distance between themselves and The Smiling Trout.

Running at their swiftest pace, it did not take long before they were forced to stop and catch their breaths. They had rounded several corners, hoping to make it too hard to follow them and were pleased to see no one in immediate pursuit.

"What were you thinking?" said Christill, his hands on the back of his head, gasping for air.

Thibalt dropped to his knees and retched up his evening meal on the side of the street. After wiping his mouth he replied in a weakened voice, "I don't know. I just blurted it out without realising what I was saying."

"We need to be careful. Who knows what they would have done to us. Can you go on?"

Thibalt nodded and they continued on back to the Ranch. "Don't tell Oswald!"

"Agreed," replied Christill.

* * *

Weeks passed by and the brothers soon forgot the incident at The Smiling Trout. Thibalt promised his brother that he would take greater care with his words and they found the memories of their life in Miirvk creeping up less often. The rough and lively Feldonian city had fully enveloped them into its rich and vibrant soul.

They continued to frequent the many taprooms in the city, mingling with the men and women of Andron. Thibalt found himself talking frequently to the off duty guards and soldiers, begging them to tell him more about the fight against Dargon to the east. And though Christill sometimes joined in on these discussions, he was drawn to other things. At times they spent days apart, Christill exploring the city and Thibalt loitering around the barracks to catch a glimpse of the army's training drills. They became firmly aware that now that they had settled in Andron, their lives were headed down different paths.

The months spent at the Ranch also gave them the opportunity to learn more of their true father. Some nights, before they retired to their room, Oswald would tell them of their grandparents who had founded the Steelfist Ranch. With little more than a rotten barn and three young foals they had become one of the largest horse breeders in the west.

Growing up Oswald had received little attention from his parents, until his father passed away. Oswald had been only fourteen summers old, but was forced to fill in for his absent father on the Ranch. This burden had strained his already frail relationship with his mother and after two years he fled Andron and moved to Carlor, where he could hide from his responsibilities. There he met Iara and soon found himself married and at peace.

Yet when it came time to tell the brothers of the infidelities that brought them into this world, Oswald initially found himself lost for words. He talked briefly to them of the night that he had taken too much drink and been unfaithful to Iara. The visible pain in the old man's eyes as he spoke showed the brothers the heavy remorse that he felt. Despite the situation, Thibalt and Christill found they could harbour no anger or resentment towards their father. Not after the support that he had shown them since their arrival in Feldom.

The shame that Oswald had felt after his actions in Carlor proved too much for him to bear. He could not bring himself to face Iara or Christill's mother Lissi again and thus he fled once more. He returned to Andron where he found his grief compounded by the knowledge that his mother had also passed from this world. His cousin, who had remained at Steelfist Ranch, blamed him for his mother's death and before long also left, once again leaving the Ranch to him.

Oswald had then retreated into his work and spent the last eighteen years turning the Ranch back into a reputable business. His tone as he spoke of these years was laced with a despondency that unsettled the boys deeply. They suspected that the last years had been ones of great loneliness for the aging farmer who had abandoned or lost all of his family.

Their suspicions were aided by the certain spark that filled Oswald's eyes when they joined him in the evenings. Although he made no mention of it, they noticed that Oswald was taking a greater interest in their lives as the months drifted by.

Eventually they reached the day that marked close to a year and a half since their arrival in Feldom. They were well aware that the Duke's blessing had long been provided to Oswald, freeing him of his responsibility towards the two brothers. But, the topic had been avoided by all of them for as long as possible.

Despite this they all knew that the time had come for them to leave. Oswald's Ranch, though busy, did not provide him with enough profit to continue to pay the brothers sufficiently for their work. Thibalt and Christill understood that their father had struggled to find the extra coin to pay them in the last year and did not wish to prove a further burden to their father. In addition, they realised that a life at Steelfist Ranch was not something for them.

Late in the evening the brothers found themselves in the stable that they had originally slept in upon their arrival in Andron.

"What do you think? We have been here for a lot longer than I thought we would," said Thibalt. He moved up to Esree, and began to brush down the chestnut coloured hair on her neck affectionately.

Christill walked up to the spirited mare and handed her a handful of oats. "You know she reminds me so much of Jin," he said. "I can see why you wanted Oswald to keep her."

Thibalt smiled, "Yes. I do miss him. He is about the only thing that still comes to mind from Miirvk. Though there are many things I am happy never to see again."

"Cathan," mentioned Christill.

"It should have been him on that chopping block," Thibalt returned, his tone still laced with hate.

Christill let out a long breath. "We have been avoiding this for much too long, Thibalt. It has made the choice all the more difficult I fear. I think it is time we leave."

Thibalt continued to run the brush over Esree carefully, scraping away the loose hairs, unsure of how to respond. He had come to accept that they would leave the Ranch, but knew his own plans were not something that Christill would wish to follow.

Moments later Oswald walked through the stable door with his filthy apron wrapped around his waist and a forced smile on his grime covered face. He was carrying a small bundle wrapped in a cloth. "How is she?" he asked, after an awkward silence.

"She is the pride of Steelfist Ranch," replied Thibalt.

Oswald chuckled. "Always knew you were right about not selling her," he said. Oswald paused, as always struggling for words, and then clumsily continued, "I have...um, I mean...uh I." He stopped embarrassedly and handed over the bundle to Thibalt. "This is for you two."

After that he headed straight back to the stable door, but as he reached the entrance he turned and looked once more at them with a sorrowful expression. "I am no good with words. But I want you both to know how truly sorry I am for not being there to protect you in Carlor. I was a coward back then. I hope that one day you will find it in your hearts to forgive an old fool," he finished. He then turned and left the boys standing in the stable.

"What's in the cloth?" queried Christill, after a time.

Thibalt opened the bundle and found two polished daggers and a scribbled note. He unravelled the note and read it out, "For the coming journey."

Thibalt turned to Christill and said, "I agree. It is time we left."

Thibalt and Christill trotted through the streets of Andron, seated on the back of Esree. To Thibalt's pleasure Oswald had asked them to take Esree as a farewell gift once they had finally decided to leave.

They headed towards the large sanctum street market both aware of what was to come, but unwilling to broach the subject. Esree carried them through the busy streets with Christill sitting behind Thibalt, and they were both proud to see many eyes admiring the fine mare as she moved by.

The busy marketplace finally came into view, coloured tents and stalls lining the street, and bright flags and signs flapping loudly in the wind. In the midst of the tents stood countless smaller tables from which the varying traders displayed their wares. They passed by racks of pottery, tables laden with food and spices, and merchants selling dyed fabrics and exotic clothes. The sights, sounds and smells of the market invigorated the brothers' spirits and allowed them to take their minds from their imminent choice.

They continued through to a separate section of the market lined with stages and smaller tents. Here entertainers and those merchants providing more unique services found their home. The laughter of children and adults alike was loud in the air, as actors fought on stages and fools with brightly coloured clothes ran around with juggling balls. Thibalt guided Esree through, trying his best to avoid the acrobats twirling and leaping through the open spaces of the market.

Ahead, a large crowd had gathered, heads turned to the east as though expecting something. Thibalt pushed forward and asked one of those waiting what they were expecting. The woman turned, visibly annoyed at the interruption, and mumbled something about a royal messenger.

They tied Esree to a timber hitching post and joined the crowd, curious to see what was being announced. They stood silently for a while until a trumpet sounded through the street three times. From the eastern entrance of the market came a large contingent of Feldonian soldiers, marching strictly in their bright plated armour and blue cloaks. Upon their heads they each wore a helm with a crossed visor and a tail of blue dyed horse's hair. They moved in controlled unison, in ranks of four, carrying square shields in front of their bodies that bore the symbol of Skiye. The angel was etched into their shields in polished brass and reflected the sunlight sharply.

Behind the soldiers came a carriage of the finest make, lined with crimson curtains and flanked by a large group of the soldiers. It was pulled by two pure white stallions decorated with colourful feathers.

By the time the carriage reached the large open space in the market's centre, everyone had gathered closer and the crowd had swelled to twice its original size. The soldiers accompanying the carriage created a defensive circle around it, pushing the crowd back with their shields and forming a solid barrier.

Thibalt stared in wonder at the loyal soldiers. He had no doubt that every one of them would forfeit their own lives if need be to protect the Kingdom. The intense sense of duty sent a shiver up his body.

Christill, though impressed, was keener to know what the carriage contained. After several moments, the carriage door slowly creaked open and a thin man in a blue shirt and fine black leggings stepped out. His fair hair was cropped and impeccably clean. They noticed his shirt also bore the symbol of Skiye as he bowed to the crowd.

He held his hand up for silence. "Hearken to me, children of Skiye," he yelled in an ensnaring voice. "Hearken to the words of a lonely messenger in the service of the royal family."

The mention of the royal family gained the full attention of the crowd.

"As we stand here in witness, Skiye blesses her people in the prosperous town of Andron with wealth, peace and happiness. However at the very same time many others are suffering. Your brethren in the East are yet again in dire need," he continued in a passionate voice. "Every day more villages are attacked by King Zephra's forces. They come through the mountain passes, bearing steel, fire and most of all raw hatred. Burning, hacking, slicing and murdering! For they have no honour, no limits. Theirs is a nation born on vengeance. Shunned by the gods themselves," he added, building the tension in the crowd and causing them to stir.

He walked closer to the circle of soldiers around the carriage and stared deep into the eyes of those in crowd. "Something is amiss. We are hearing rumours throughout Feldom of the sighting of strange creatures. Beast never seen before. And now we have news that our spies have recently happened upon," he whispered, loudly enough for the crowd to hear. "Zephra Hermagoras has united the armies of Carnaic and Bultan under Galdovan's banner. This signifies the largest joining of Dargon's forces since the end of the third age."

The crowd burst into voice. Many of the gathered men and women cried out that the messenger was a charlatan, come to spread lies.

"Very well," he yelled, silencing the crowd once more. "If you will not believe me, then maybe you will believe her."

He moved aside to reveal a woman stepping from the carriage. She was dressed in remarkable blue and white robes that outlined her slender figure. Her long brown hair was tied into three interlocked tails that flowed gracefully down her slender back, and on her head she wore a thin circlet of silver, encrusted with two oval sapphires. Thibalt and Christill both gazed, enchanted by the beauty of this woman.

"With great pleasure I present to you all, Queen Triel Castaneda," the Messenger announced with a sweeping bow.

The noise of the crowd erupted once more. Most had never seen a person of royal blood and only heard rumours of the Queen's allure. None had expected such flawless beauty. And a beauty she was, yet when one studied her face for longer she showed traces of melancholy in her features.

The respect for the Queen amongst the Feldonian commoners was well known. It was said that in the capital city the Queen actually governed the throne in her incompetent husband's place.

She spoke in a voice that was feminine yet conveyed her presence. "I have come amongst you now to show you the graveness of this news we bring. The Tyrant King of Dargon has been in power for most of my life and has made constant attacks on our borders. Yet only recently have our brave spies learnt that he has been preparing for a final push since the very day that he claimed the throne of Galdovan. We were blind to his handy work and now Zephra Hermagoras has managed to unite Dargon against us. If he manages to convince Vladistov to join the war, the power that he will have amassed will be irrepressible. Feldom may be powerless to stop him.

"This King is a demon who will stop at nothing to see Feldom and the rest of the Alliance crushed. He has been building his strength, sending out but a fraction of his true forces. We have grown foolish in these last years, thinking that the might of Dargon had finally dissipated. Zephra has been planning something all along. Our men have been unable to locate him for some time now and fear that he has neared the end of his scheming. We believe he is ready to strike again. And strike hard!

"We are seeing more and more attacks on the villages outlying the Beon Ranges. The Misty Forest, home of the Karmanians, is under siege as well. The Dargonians have found a way to break through Nyrune's shield and have entered Karmena. Now all Karmanian soldiers have been called home from Precedin, leaving the city short of men. Thus I am travelling to the cities of the West, bringing this dire news with a plea from your King."

The Queen pulled a scroll from her robes and handed it to the Messenger. He unravelled it, cleared his throat and began to read in a loud voice.

Citizens of Feldom, children of Skiye. It is with great reluctance that I make this request of you, for I know that the people of the West have seen troubled times.

The once mighty garrisons of Precedin are running dry. So many men are needed to patrol the Beon Ranges in these wicked times, that we are leaving the city vulnerable, stripped bare of its defences. Thus, in order to replenish the depleting forces of Precedin, I am calling forth all able bodied men to help protect our borders.

With the power invested in me by the people of Feldom, I ask for the Militia of Feldom to march forth to Precedin to aid your brothers in the fight against our most hated enemies.

Honour those who have fallen before us.

"This is signed by your King, Dieter Castaneda," the Messenger added.

A few disgruntled remarks came from the crowd following the announcement. Christill glanced at Thibalt, unmoved by the speech, but saw that his brother was captivated.

This talk of war was stirring a primal instinct inside of him. It had been months since he had wielded a weapon and he suddenly yearned for a chance to hold an axe, just like the one that he had forged with Beanon.

Queen Triel addressed the crowd once more. "I urge as many of you to join up as possible. If our spies are correct Zephra will march his armies into our land within months. It has been many years since a King has summoned the Militia of Feldom, and I assure you that he does so with great reluctance. For only when in dire need are the citizens of Feldom asked to go to war. So heed my warning." The passion in the Queen's voice seemed to impress upon several members of the crowd. They could see the honesty and pain in her expression.

Yet most of the onlookers still voiced their opposition to the idea.

"What about the Karmanians? Why are they not honouring the Alliance and sending troops to our aid?" yelled a brawny man from the crowd.

"Yeah!" yelled another, "Why should we fight? Why not send the Andronian army to Precedin."

The answer to their questions came not from the Queen, but from a calm and graceful male voice. "The Karmanians have not broken the Alliance. We cannot send our warriors to Precedin, for we fight to stop the Dargonians from entering our own homeland."

The crowd peered around, uncertain where the voice had come from. Then a tall man stepped from the carriage. His black hair was tied into a tail behind his head, revealing a lean face that was accentuated by his vivid blue eyes. His height and slender facial features strongly displayed his Karmanian blood. Taller and more graceful than their Feldonian cousins, the Karmanians showed their heritage most obviously in their eyes, which seemed to glow from within. As the people stared at this new speaker, Christill's eyes were drawn to the armour he was wearing. It was plain to see that the suit of green tinted armour had been expertly crafted with meticulous care and skill. Made of a dark metal, it appeared out of place amongst the Feldonian soldiers.

Christill had recognized the suit instantly as the same that had been on display in Beanon's armoury. The foreign metal and clawed gauntlets were identical on this man's armour, and he even wore a similar green cape to the one in Beanon's smith. Unfortunately, thought Christill, he was not carrying a bow akin to the one Christill had always longed for.

"Furthermore, were we not protecting our own borders, the might of Dargon would have a gateway to your land through the Misty Forest. So do not point the finger, my good cousins," added the Karmanian.

"Who is this man that we should listen to him?" questioned an observer.

"This is Dievu Ilphuki, Emissary of Duathnin, and he speaks with the authority of Karmena's Council of Elders," replied Queen Triel.

Christill looked around and saw that his status had quickly earned him some respect amongst the crowd.

"And to answer your other question, we cannot leave Andron without its army in times like these. If Zephra plans to assault Feldom with all of his strength then he will surely take example from the past and sail some of his forces against the West, striking from the North Sea. This city will need its defences to hold out against such an onslaught. War will come to Feldom on both sides."

An elderly woman from the crowd pushed herself forward and addressed the Queen. "Your grace, you cannot truly believe that all of this is necessary. I have lived for more years than I can count and have seen battles come and go. Every generation believes that a new war, like those of old, will come about. But every time the Dargonians have been stopped. You are overreacting."

The Queen's expression, if possible, saddened further. With a deep sigh she said, "I wish I could say that we are. Believe me, I truly do. But if you had seen the fear in our spies when they told us this news, you would agree with the precautions that we are taking. They acted as men who had seen their own deaths played out before their own eyes. And we cannot dismiss the increased attacks in the last year. War is coming and there is nothing we can do to stop that. I ask you one final time, join the militia and fight to protect your country." She raised her hand to her head, in exhaustion. "I thank you for listening."

Her speech over, Dievu led the Queen back to the carriage.

The crowd gradually dispersed and they watched several of the Queen's soldiers setting up tables for enlistment, Thibalt watched many of the locals, primarily young men, lining up to join the Militia of Feldom and felt an urge to join them.

He was then roused by the approach of the Queen's Messenger, who was moving through the market talking to those left from the crowd.

"How about it lads, willing to join up?" he probed. Before the boys could reply he continued, "What do you do for a living? Farmers by the look of it." He moved closer to them and took a deep sniff. "Horse farmers by the smell of it. We could use people like you in the Militia. We always need young, able bodied men to tend the horses after the battle. It would do you both good to serve the nation."

The brothers stood stunned, not knowing how to reply, or even whether they had actually been asked a question.

"Very well, you know where to enlist. Carry on."

As quickly as he had appeared, he moved on.

"Well we could you know?" Thibalt said.

Christill looked at Thibalt with raised eyebrows. He then laughed. "Could you see me fighting in a battle? Now follow me, I want to see something."

"See what?" Thibalt asked, but Christill was already off and moving through the crowd.

The children all cheered wildly as they saw the illusionary bear turn into a small rabbit in a burst of sparks. Amongst the children stood several adults and two young men, all watching Dievu Ilphuki use his magic to bewilder and entertain the crowd. Not one to usually show off his god given powers, Dievu could not deny the requests of the young children and continued to conjure up fantastic illusions and perform various tricks.

Christill and Thibalt stood in Dievu's crowd, enjoying the display just as much as the children. This was the first time that they had seen magic used to such an extent. In Hamal the Disciple was the sole person gifted with the power of magic by Beon, but they had never seen him use it like this. On the mainland magic was an important part of society. Each nation held academies dedicated purely to the study of magic and the number of magic users grew with each passing year.

"Another one," pleaded several of the children.

"Very well, one more, but then I must be off," replied Dievu with a smile.

The crowd remained silent as Dievu closed his eyes. A thin green mist formed around his body, swirling rapidly. The mist became so thick that it became difficult to see him. The children then watched eagerly as the mist rose into the air and became solid.

The green cloud had turned into a dazzling phoenix that let out a shrill cry. The phoenix, a bird of myth and legend, was the creation of story tellers and a favourite of Feldonian children. Its bright orange and red feathers glowed brightly in the sky and in its wake came a trail of fire. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the spectral phoenix burst into flames and disappeared. The children clapped and shouted their approval and after a few moments Dievu moved down the street back towards the caravan.

As he walked down the busy street, he turned and fixed a piercing gaze on Christill. Christill found himself extremely uncomfortable under the watch of this mysterious Karmanian. Out of the entire crowd, Dievu was staring at him. Why? Suddenly he noticed a tingling in his fingertips that spread up to his ears. This quickly faded and he was overcome with a sudden desire to follow this man, to speak with him and learn from him. To become just like him.

Christill began to sway where he stood and was startled by Thibalt grabbing his arm. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"What?" Christill said softly. "Sorry, I...never mind."

Thibalt looked at his brother with a bemused expression, and Christill realised that Thibalt had no idea what had just happened. He decided it was best not to mention anything.

"Well, what now?" asked Thibalt.

As Christill thought, he kept remembering Dievu's penetrating gaze. The illusions that he had conjured up were majestic. Here was a man who, using only the power of his mind, could humble the greatest of warriors. If only he could have that power. The strange notion that had presented itself in Christill's mind before would not shake itself free.

"I think we both knew what would happen," he said, starting at Thibalt.

"You know what my wish is?"

"I do," said Christill, with a sad nod. "You and I are two different people. We cannot follow the same path in this new life and remain satisfied."

"You were always the wiser one."

"So I suspect you are going to do something foolish like join the Militia?"

"Am I that predictable?"

Christill simply nodded.

"Will you join me?" asked Thibalt with a grin.

"No, brother."

Thibalt smile faded in surprise. "No?...What then?"

"Like you I am going to find some adventure."

"Where better to find adventure than the frontline of the war?"

"Do I look like a soldier to you, brother?"

Thibalt shook his head. "I am sure that you could find something of interest in Precedin. Come see the East with me."

"I will...soon," replied Christill, his voice taking on a sombre tone. "But first there is something I wish to do. I am going to follow the Queen's carriage. I want to see more of that magic and am hoping that that Karmanian will lead me to a place where I might find a way to do so," replied Christill.

"What will you do without me to protect you?"

Christill snickered. "I am sure that I will manage."

"This is very sudden" said Thibalt, struggling to believe that Christill was wanting to leave him. "You said nothing of this before."

"Seeing the Karmanian before awoke something inside of me. I can't leave without finding out what that was. Can you understand that?"

"I can," answered Thibalt. "I feel the very same thing when I think about the struggle in the East." He let out a long, resigned breath. "I hope that you find some answers then."

Christill then placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and embraced him. "This is not going to be easy for either of us, so let's make it quick." said Christill. "We have never been apart for long, but I am sure that I will find my way to Precedin sooner than you think."

"You promise?"

"Of course," said Christill with a smirk. "Good luck brother. Here our paths part, but we will meet again." Christill stepped back and winked at his brother. "You keep Esree, she will keep you safe. Try not to get yourself into too much trouble before we meet again." Christill then turned and walked out of the market.

"Goodbye Christill, may the gods watch over you," Thibalt whispered.

Unbeknownst to Christill, as he walked away from his brother, a pair of vivid blue eyes followed his every step.

CHAPTER SIX

### THE EASTERN HIGHWAY

Patches of grass flew in their wake as Esree galloped along the rain soaked fields. Thibalt revelled in the cool wind that rushed past his ears and stretched out his arms in the saddle.

After Christill had left him, Thibalt had approached the Queen's soldiers to enlist in the Militia of Feldom. At the tables Guard Captain Falneren had spotted him and approached. Thibalt's history then came back to hinder him as the Guard Captain refused to allow him to join the Militia.

"Duke Poleus may have pardoned you and your brother, but that does not mean that I trust you," he had said. "Whilst I have a say in the matter, you will not be allowed to join our armed forces."

Falneren's decision had been firm and Thibalt, not wishing to anger the Guard Captain, left the soldiers regretfully. With nowhere else to go he had made the decision to travel to Precedin. To see the frontline of the struggle for himself. If he could not join the effort, he would at least behold it.

The further into the East that he rode, the flatter the land grew. Thibalt made his first encounter with Nyrune's hold over the mainland weather as the lush rolling fields morphed into rocky plains over the space of a few miles. The change had come about so quickly that Thibalt had paused in his saddle and turned around in confusion. The fresh sea breeze had been brushing his neck moments before, as Esree galloped through the fertile fields. Then the warm sun had taken hold of the land, sapping the moisture from the very air. Esree now dodged between the dry rocky formations scattered amongst the landscape, where what seemed seconds ago, she had been tearing up wet grass in her path.

Then, as the thick blanket of night clouded the sky on the fourth day of riding, Thibalt found himself in the Pauper's Cave tavern. The road from Andron passed through countless small towns and hamlets offering reputable inns and a warm meal. Thus Thibalt had spent many of the cold nights in a small tavern, mingling with other travellers and locals. He stepped into the common room of the Pauper's Cave and shook out his sodden cloak. The tavern was empty, but for a few elderly men drinking away their troubles.

Thibalt walked up to the bar and sat himself next to a hunched man whose hair dangled loosely over his face. The man looked up and smiled. "How are you young man?" he asked in an ancient voice.

Thibalt was amazed at how alert the man seemed. "As well as one could be," he replied. "Though I have seen better weather."

The man let out a raucous laugh and slapped Thibalt on the back. "Thank Nyrune for that! My name is Oldus. For a copper I will tell you anything you wish to know. And believe me, I know more than most."

Thibalt studied the man, wondering whether he could trust him. He seemed harmless enough and he could do with some friendly conversation after the long ride. He pulled out a copper coin and handed it to the old man.

"What story shall I weave for you tonight?" asked Oldus.

Thibalt quickly thought of a lie to conceal his past and replied, "I have never been this far east, Oldus," replied Thibalt, somewhat cautiously. "I spent most my time out at sea and in the small village I call home. Tell me something of this region."

Oldus slapped Thibalt once more on the back. "Ah, a fisherman. You should have told me," he laughed. "I have seen plenty of men that spent more time out over the water than on dry land. I will tell you everything you need to know." He cleared his throat dramatically and began. "Though Feldom is wide at its broadest borders, the differences between the east, west and the north are momentous. Nyrune's influence over the weather means that over small distances the climate changes dramatically."

"So I have noticed," mentioned Thibalt.

"You have seen nothing. In Auldney it grows so cold that you need to be careful not to close your eyes too long, lest they freeze shut," he said with a chuckle. "Then a few days ride south you will find yourself stripping the clothes from your back as you endure the heat of the scorching sun."

"What purpose does this all serve?"

"You will have to ask Nyrune that question, my lad. Us mere mortals cannot understand the choices the gods make."

"Nyrune does not seem to burden the Karmanians with such unusual weather," said Thibalt.

"Ah Karmena!" exclaimed Oldus. "The nation within the great Misty Forest. I have never stepped foot within the forest, yet they say that it is a wonder to behold. Nyrune provides her people with all that they might ever need."

"That seems unjust to me," said Thibalt.

"Let me tell you something. Nyrune's influence over our weather may be a hidden blessing. You see the Karmanians are all the same. Here in Feldom, as a result of the segregated climate, each city holds its own people, and each is as different as the next. And I for one find that we are better for it."

Thibalt could see the man's reasoning. The diversity amongst the Feldonians, though troublesome, was one of their most admired features. He accepted a bowl of stew that the innkeeper had handed him and ate greedily. Although Oldus's voice was tainted with the mark of too much drink, he did appear to know a great deal.

Oldus continued. "But you wished to hear about the East. The foundations of Feldom were of course created here in the East. The first children of Skiye created a great city in her honour. It still remains the largest city on Kovi. Have you ever seen it?" he asked, with a hint of doubt in his tone.

Thibalt nodded with his spoon in his mouth. He did not want to raise suspicion.

"It is the very beacon of the East. A marvellous creation. Yet, the city to which most refer to when talking of the East, is Precedin. The City of War, as it has been dubbed by Feldonian and Dargonians alike. But of course you knew that," Thibalt nodded quickly, but Oldus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Never in its long history has the city gone more than a decade without a major attack from the Dargonian forces. It is the headquarters of the Feldonian army and the main defence between Dargon and the Alliance. Many consider it to be the most important city in the entire world. Wise men claim that the nation that controls Precedin holds the power to control the entire continent."

Thibalt's eyes widened. This was where he was headed, to the City of War and adventure. He licked his spoon clean and placed it into the empty bowl. "Why doesn't Dargon simply attack through another path?"

"There is none," replied Oldus. "Though there are many trails through the Beon Ranges, none are large enough for an entire army. A few well-placed men could hold off hundreds in the treacherous passes through the mountains. And to the south, Nyrune's protection ensures that the Misty Forest is kept free of enemies."

"Then why not set sail and strike from the sea?"

"They have done this, but have never found success. The Dargonians are not a seafaring nation. Our own ships patrol the North Sea ceaselessly and have held back many of Dargon's attempts to break through."

"Tell me something storyteller," said Thibalt, whilst motioning for the barkeeper to pass him a mug of ale. "I have passed a lot of people on the road travelling westwards. Entire families travelling with their belongings packed on wagons. What drives them west?

"They are heading for safety, young man. The East is ever full of strife and is no place for families."

"Do you believe a new war is truly coming?" asked Thibalt.

"War with Dargon is inevitable and constant," he returned with a laugh. The old man's eyes then turned dark. "The young and naive say that war is coming. It has always been here."

Thibalt saw Oldus trying to hold back sorrow from his expression. "Thank you for your story, Oldus. It has been a long day and I think it is time I retired to my room."

"As you will, young sir. I thank you for lending me your ears and I bid you goodnight."

Thibalt slid off his stool and began to head for the stairs.

"One last thing," called Oldus. "You would do well to practice your Feldonian accent a bit more if you intend to keep hiding the Miirvkin within you."

Thibalt turned around in distress.

"Don't fear young man, your secret is safe," he said with a sly bow.

Thibalt could not reply. The old man had known all along, but kept silent on the matter. He simply nodded and moved up the stairs to his room.

In the days following that night Thibalt kept to himself when he lodged in an inn. He had been riding hard for up on two weeks when he crossed the Moon River at the Hammer Bridge. One of the largest in Feldom, at almost three hundred feet long and forty feet wide, it was made from bluestone and was almost as old as the City of Skiye. The sheer scale of the bridge was a testament to the crafting ability of the early Feldonians.

He continued his journey with little pause, eager to reach Precedin and found himself following the road along the river. Now that he was closer to the river the landscape had once again changed, turning moist and cold. The way passed through a thick forest of beech and oak trees. He found these surroundings more pleasing than those of the past week. The tranquil sounds and sights of the woods were more preferable to the uncomfortable heat. Large forests were still foreign to Thibalt and he slowed his pace to gain a better view of his surroundings.

The road continued on and the forest grew denser at its sides. Soon the path shrunk, just wide enough for a single wagon or two riders to pass through, and as Thibalt looked to the sky he saw that night was quickly approaching. He was not likely to find an inn tonight.

Finally deciding to make camp in the wilds, he moved off the road and into the woods. He found a small clearing which looked as though it had once been used as a camping spot by past travellers. The area had been flattened and in the middle of the clearing were the charred remains of a fire that had burnt out long ago. Thibalt unpacked his blanket, made sure that Esree was happy, and then spread himself out on the grass.

He tried to fall asleep, but found it slow in coming. There was an eerie atmosphere in the woods that kept his nerves on edge. Darkness surrounded him in all directions, since the thick trees blocked out the moon's limited light. Noises began to fill the forest from around and above him. The cracks of twigs, the rustling of leaves, the moaning of the strong trunks that swayed in the wind and many other sounds that Thibalt could not identify. He was roused many times in the night by strange noises coming from deep within the woods. He lay awake, staying close to Esree, who had no trouble falling asleep. Finally, sleep overcame him.

Thibalt was standing in a particularly well kept inn. In front of him was a pretty, red haired bar maid that he found quite charming. He walked over to her and she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him close. Without a word she moved in for a kiss. Thibalt, overjoyed, also moved in, but to his surprise he felt her wet kiss touch his eye. The maid then began to kiss all over his face. He did not know what to do, this girl was clearly mad. Then he realized.

He awoke with a start to find Esree brushing his face with her mouth.

"Esree, get off me!" he yelled in annoyance. "What is it with me and animals?" he said, pushing Esree away. He sat up and wiped his face on his blanket. "Just like Jin...can't give me a moment's rest."

The sun had already risen and the birds were once again singing their morning tune. Thibalt let out a long yawn and stopped midway. Sitting against a tree opposite him was a young man. The man was obviously asleep, his head leaning against his shoulder. Instinctively Thibalt drew his dagger from his pack. The man stirred and, seeing Thibalt holding his dagger in front of him, stood up.

"Oh, hello there. Good to see you up and about," he said in a strangely cheerful tone.

Thibalt took in the man's appearance. He was one of the oddest looking men that he had ever seen. He had very short black hair and was wearing a bright yellow and blue shirt. His pants were an off green colour and he wore a pair of very fancy brown boots. He was thin, yet muscular, and the expression on his face was pleasant, but somehow suspicious. It also seemed to Thibalt that the man had a permanent smirk stuck on his face.

"Who are you?" asked Thibalt.

"Well, how very rude of me," said the man quickly. "Not introducing myself...I tell you the world has gone mad when the ever delightful Estallion Bastion forgets to introduce himself to a stranger."

Thibalt was having trouble keeping up with what Estallion was saying. Though he spoke eloquently, the speed with which he talked was phenomenal. It was astounding that this man could think and talk at such speed. "Well, what are you doing here?"

"Now that is an interesting story," he replied with a chuckle. "I was heading back to Precedin on my trusty steed, Falgo, when my stomach and I had a sudden disagreement. In a rush I leapt from my horse and raced into the woods to relieve my gut of its painful cramps...Mind you that was not a pleasant experience." He paused for a moment. "Now where was I...that's right! So being done with that rather awkward escapade, I marched out of the forest victorious over my stomach, only to find that I had lost my horse. So you see the pickle that I am in."

Thibalt looked at Estallion without blinking and said, "But that still doesn't explain why you are in my camp."

"Your camp!" protested Estallion. "Do you have the deeds for this portion of the forest?"

"Well no," replied Thibalt, hesitantly.

"My point exactly. There is no law stating that I cannot sleep in the middle of a forest. Though it wouldn't surprise me if there was. There are laws against everything these days. You know I was arrested just last month for picking flowers from the General's garden. I tell you, I don't know what they were thinking when they made it a crime to pick flowers. Though come to think of it, they did mention something about trespassing," he noted, scratching his chin.

"What has this got to do with the matter at hand?" Thibalt interrupted, angrily. He was beginning to lose his temper and the fact that Estallion had kept that cheerful smile on his face the whole time only frustrated him further.

"Well I never!" exclaimed Estallion, the smile disappearing from his face. "It is quite rude to cut in whilst someone is talking. Now, I have no quarrel to pick with you, I just thought that being an honest man you might be able to help a fellow such as myself in their hour of need." He then gasped out aloud. "Great gods, you haven't even introduced yourself. How very rude of you." Estallion began shaking his head and muttering to himself.

Thibalt sighed and lowered his dagger. The man was obviously mad. "Thibalt Steelfist is my name and I had no intention of being rude. It's just that you gave me a shock."

The jolly smile appeared once more on Estallion's handsome face. "Pleasure to meet you, Thibalt. I like you. I can always tell whether I like a person by the way they introduce themselves...and you did well. Though it was rather untimely. I say, I may have never learnt your name if I didn't ask for it. Never mind, back to the real business now."

"What real business?" asked Thibalt, who was now more confused than he had ever been in his entire life.

"You're just full of questions aren't you? Well the business of me losing Falgo," Estallion said.

"Did you go and look for him?"

"Of course I went and looked for him. He wouldn't be lost if I wasn't looking for him, would he?" replied Estallion, shaking his head in disbelief.

Thibalt thought about it for a moment then said, "No, I guess not."

"Ah, I knew it, you're not that thick. Now when are we off?" asked Estallion cheerfully.

"Off where? And what do you mean we?" replied Thibalt.

"Well off to Precedin of course, and by we, I mean you and me. Unless you've got someone else hidden under that blanket. I need a ride and you need some company. Everything's worked out perfectly. Except of course that my sword was on Falgo's saddle."

Thibalt looked at Estallion suspiciously. "What do you need your sword for?"

"You're getting close to the Beon Ranges, Thibalt. You do not travel the highway without ample protection, and I somehow believe that we are going to have trouble protecting ourselves with that knife of yours," pointed out Estallion. "Oh well, there's not much we can do about that. Shall we be off then?"

Thibalt stared at Estallion, who was waiting for his reply. It was true that the road had been lonely and that some company would be nice, but could he trust this man? Looking once again at Estallion's hilarious outfit, Thibalt dismissed any dangers that this man presented. "Very well, you are in luck as I am on my way to Precedin. I warn you though, one false step and I will leave you lying in a ditch."

"Excellent!" shouted Estallion happily.

Thibalt packed his gear and made Esree ready for the journey. He climbed onto her back and reached down to help Estallion up.

"No need. I am quite capable of getting up myself," Estallion said. He then leapt up onto Esree's back and made himself comfortable behind Thibalt.

"Should we have another look for your horse first?" asked Thibalt.

"No need," said Estallion. "He's always managed to find his way back in the past."

Thibalt turned in his saddle. "You mean to say that this has happened to you before?"

"Thibalt, my friend," laughed Estallion. "This happens to me all the time."

Two days riding brought the new companions another smaller bridge, crossing a stream. Thibalt had found Estallion's company pleasing, though he continued to talk without pause.

He was explaining one of his many adventures in Precedin, most of which seemed to involve the local guards, when they reached the foot of the bridge.

Estallion abruptly stopped talking.

Thibalt instantly stopped and peered around. Something important must have occurred for Estallion to cease talking.

"This means trouble," Estallion said in a voice less jovial than usual.

"What is it?"

"Up on the other side of the bridge. It's the Honour Guard," replied Estallion.

Thibalt had heard of the Maloreichar. From what he could remember, the Honour Guard were a powerful force in the Kingdom. They were soldiers of such proven skill and expertise that in times of war they could overthrow the King himself. All had proven themselves in some way that had earned them the right to be appointed into the famed order. Their duty was to the Feldonian people and none other.

On the other side of the bridge rode the four heavily armoured figures. Behind them came a large group of mounted soldiers. The Honour Guard all wore identical suits of impressive armour. Such ornate detail had been placed into their suits that Thibalt could only shake his head. Each and every inch was etched and moulded into a fantastic design of intertwined leaves and symbols. Their breastplates were emblazoned with a beautiful rendition of the symbol of Skiye in what appeared to be silver and brass. They wore equally impressive helmets with open faced visors and coloured feather plumes. The only thing that distinguished the four riders from each other was the colour of their garments. Each rider held a specific colour that their plume, cape and padding were dyed in.

"It's strange to see them all together at once. Usually they are out and about in separate parts of the kingdom, solving disputes and such," muttered Estallion, obviously unimpressed by the Honour Guard. "Mind you, Thibalt, they are essentially the highest ranking people in all of Feldom, so we would do well to show some sort of respect."

Thibalt gulped. The highest ranking men in Feldom heading towards him. What should he do? He started to sweat uncomfortably as they approached. He straightened himself in his seat and cleared his throat, then waited.

The Maloreichar rode up to the two men and stopped their horses. The soldiers following them halted their own mounts and waited. Thibalt marvelled at the steeds the Honour Guard rode and could see that they were a rare breed. One by one they removed their helms. They were a lot older than he had expected, however each held an aura of power that demanded respect.

Estallion motioned his hand towards the riders. "Thibalt Steelfist, may I present to you the Honour Guard of Feldom. Errollan Dune in green, Azbaar Ingel in red, Ludvic Hammerfell in yellow, and the ever mysterious Mandigal in purple."

Thibalt bowed as well as he could in the saddle and said, "I am honoured to meet you, my lords." Thibalt took note that the man named Mandigal did not have the symbol of Skiye on his breastplate.

"Oh, quit your insolent prattle, boy!" replied Ludvic through his thick grey beard. His tone was deep and rugged and his face puffy with reddened cheeks. Ludvic's frame was larger than the rest, and it appeared as though his armour had been made some time ago, measured for a leaner, younger man. "We all know you care less about us than you do a horse's arse."

Thibalt was totally shocked. This was not what he had expected.

Errollan moved his horse a little closer and said, "Do not mind him young man. He is from the North and let's just say that he will never be rid of those Northern manners." His speech was much more regal and matched Thibalt's expectations of such high ranking soldiers. He also seemed to be the youngest of the four with short black hair that was greying in only a few spots. Azbaar and Ludvic, whose hair had long ago turned completely grey, showed their age in the deep lines on their faces.

"Estallion Bastion, you lout," yelled Ludvic. "We saw that useless horse of yours running down the road yesterday. Probably trying to get away from your incessant yapping. You'd best watch out, before that new friend of yours catches on and follows your horse's example," he added, laughing heavily. It was a deep forceful laugh that was contagious and Thibalt soon found himself laughing as well. He quickly stopped laughing however when he noticed Mandigal staring at him intently. The Honour Guard in purple trimmings was a mysterious figure, with hauntingly dark, deep set eyes and strangely pale skin.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" asked Azbaar. As he asked the question he seemed exhausted, but not the kind of exhaustion that came from exertion, it was the type that came with old age. Visibly the oldest of the group, Azbaar had a face that had seen many troubles. A large scar marked his right cheek and dark shadows showed the signs of many sleepless nights.

"Well, I'm on my way home. Isn't that blatantly obvious?" replied Estallion, astonished that he was being asked such a ridiculous question.

"Nothing is blatantly obvious with you. That is the entire problem," Errollan noted. "The amount of mischief that you get up to in Precedin is beyond imagination. Do you know how many times General De Lamina has asked permission to banish you from the city?"

"Were it not that your father, rest his soul, was a good friend of ours, you would be exiled from every city in the East," added Ludvic with a chuckle.

Estallion laughed. "Oh Ludvic, don't joke. You and I know very well that without me the city... nay, the entire East, would crumble and fall apart. By all rights I should have your post, so I could actually do something good for the people. Not just sit on my rump, drinking the day away."

"Do some good!" Ludvic blurted, laughing uncontrollably. "You would cause the downfall of our entire civilization."

The entire company broke into laughter, even the hard faced Mandigal. Estallion himself couldn't help but giggle. Once the laughter had subsided Estallion asked, "So where are you off to then? Running from battle as usual."

"Our business is our own, Bastion," Errollan added solemnly. "You would do well to keep your nose out of it. Trouble is brewing quicker than we had expected. Preparations must be made, and made hastily if we are to keep Precedin safe."

Estallion nodded, his smile disappearing. All those Thibalt met in the East showed their concern regarding the struggle with Dargon. It made him question the attitude of the Westerners. Being on the other side of the nation, the people of the West had grown ignorant of the danger that Dargon presented. The deep hatred between the nations had begun the very moment that Dargon was separated from the rest of Kovi. The East had carried the burden of this hatred for as long as any could recall, whilst the West had come to know a life of relative peace and prosperity.

"How long do you think we have before Zephra begins?" asked Estallion.

For the first time Mandigal spoke. "You fools, it has already begun. Enemy troops enter Karmena as we speak and it will only be weeks until an assault is launched on Precedin."

"How is it that Karmena is under attack? Does Nyrune herself not protect its borders?" Thibalt queried.

"You are right Master Steelfist," replied Errollan. "The goddess has protected the Misty Forest in the past. But the Dargonians have found a way to enter the forest unchallenged. The Karmanian Council of Elders are attempting to once again raise Nyrune's defences, but from what we have heard they are having great trouble doing so."

"Will Precedin be evacuated then?" asked Estallion.

"Not the entire city," Ludvic answered. "We do not want to cause widespread panic. At the moment we are removing as many of the families as we can. It is slow work, but we will have half the city out within the month."

"Fools!" interrupted Mandigal again, keeping his gaze on Thibalt. "You think it will matter if we evacuate the city. If Zephra manages to take Precedin, he will send legions over the river. Like a tide of darkness the armies of the Dargon will consume Feldom to the last inch of ground."

Mandigal's speech silenced the entire group. Estallion was the first to break the silence. "You're a charming fellow, aren't you Mandigal."

Mandigal smiled an awkward smile, one that was out of place on his stern face. "Unlike some, Bastion, I talk the truth and do not lace it with honey so that others might feel better for a brief moment, later realizing that death is inevitable."

"Is there a heart underneath that breastplate? You really know how to suck the life out of the air don't you?" said Estallion, with a shake of his head.

"You are not one to point the finger," butted in Ludvic. "I have seen you talk so much that your ramblings have sent men to their graves in search of peace." Ludvic was once again laughing uncontrollably.

"I'd watch out old man," warned Estallion. "This much mirth could cause you some harm. You know your body is not as young as it used to be, back...what...some seventy...eighty years ago."

"That's done it boy," roared Ludvic. "I believe you're already acquainted with Crunch and Crack." Ludvic continued, unhooking two axes from his horse's saddle; a small hatchet, that he had named Crunch, and a long hand axe named Crack.

Errollan moved his horse in front of Ludvic's. "Alright now boys, enough play." It appeared to Thibalt that Errollan was a leader of sorts in the group, although as Maloreichar they all held equal rank.

Estallion nudged Thibalt with his shoulder and with a smile whispered, "He loves it when you talk about his age." Thibalt was speechless. He could not believe that Estallion was casting fun at the most respected figures in the kingdom.

Mandigal suddenly interrupted, "Thibalt Steelfist, listen to me."

Thibalt almost jumped out of his saddle.

"Two days past I had an unsettling dream," the pale Honour Guard continued. "Oddly enough I saw your face in it. I warn you it is no coincidence that we meet today. In my dream I saw great pain and sorrow in the eyes of many. I could not make sense of it, but I know that something will happen that will bring distress to us all. I do not know when, but I am sure that it will occur. Know this, the last thing that I saw was your face, stricken with great anguish and fear."

Thibalt sat motionless, his heart beating rapidly. He felt a lump build in his throat and sweat bead on his forehead. There was a chilling presence about this man that made him extremely uncomfortable. Looking into Mandigal's eyes he felt lost in a labyrinth of darkness. A prison of endless twists and turns. Thibalt found himself thinking, Why is this man one of the Honour Guard? What good could he have possibly done for Feldom?

Errollan broke the uncomfortable silence. "We have wasted too much time, let us be off. Farewell Estallion. Farewell Master Steelfist."

The Maloreichar put on their helmets and rode off the bridge, heading down the road and towards the woods.

Once the soldiers following them had passed Estallion turned to Thibalt and said, "There's an interesting story I have about them. I was on one of my routine visits to the market when a spice merchant accused me of having an account outstanding with him. Well I was sure that I'd never met the man before, and I argued my case quite thoroughly. Somehow though I don't think it helped. A sudden brawl broke out. Luckily I escaped unharmed, and I got away with a few bags of mint as well. A rather fruitful day really."

Thibalt waited a moment, but Estallion had finished his story. "What does that have to do with the Honour Guard?" he asked.

"The what?" replied Estallion. "Oh yes...you know come to think of it...I'm not quite sure."

Thibalt simply let out a long sigh and urged Esree over the bridge towards Precedin. Estallion quickly resumed his stories.

When the city of Precedin first came into view Thibalt reined Esree to a halt. All of the tales he had heard were true. Spanning the entire length of Lake Moonsong, Precedin was the most heavily fortified city in the world. An enormous, crescent shaped stone wall stood on the Eastern side of the city, facing the nation of Dargon. It touched both the Northern and Southern Beon Ranges and held only two entrances. One at the point at which the Moon River passed under the wall through an iron grate. The other a twenty foot high gate marked with the symbols of Nyrune and Skiye. Behind this wall lay the city of Precedin, the City of War.

Almost every structure was made of stone, with a few sandstone buildings scattered amongst them. The streets were tightly packed with almost every inch of land taken up. This meant that the thin streets of the city were constantly clogged with the throngs of citizens that called Precedin home. The western wall of the city that faced Feldom was small and unremarkable. When the city was being built the builders came to the conclusion that the city would never be attacked by an army from within Feldom.

Estallion explained to Thibalt that the two main focal points of Precedin were the Guardhouse of Oril, main barracks of the Feldonian army, and the large fishing village which lay outside of the mammoth eastern wall, on the shores of Lake Moonsong.

They approached the western wall and Estallion motioned for Thibalt to enter through the centremost gate. The guards stationed at the gate wore sturdy mail, covered in boiled leather vests. As they reached the gate, a tall guard with a pleasant face left his post and walked up to them.

"Estallion Bastion. You have been gone for some time. We hoped you had left us for good. There were reports of Falgo returning yesterday," he added.

"Me, leave the city for good? It would take the Tyrant King himself to remove me from here," laughed Estallion. "Come now Watchman, you know as well as I do that this city requires my presence."

The guard and several of the others snickered. "Indeed, Estallion. It seems not only the city requires your presence, but General de Lamina as well. He requests you see him at once."

Estallion shifted nervously in his seat. "Well this can't be good," he muttered under his breath. "I thought he might have forgotten by now."

"Be on your way then, my lord, and try not to cause too much trouble this time," said the guard as he returned to his post.

Estallion tapped Thibalt on the shoulder and pointed to a narrow street leading to the centre of the city.

Thibalt nodded and led Esree down the street. He then turned in his saddle and queried, "My lord?"

"Oh, long story," replied Estallion casually. "Some of the guards feel the need to use formalities."

Thibalt's brow shot up. "You are a lord? Why did you not tell me this?" demanded Thibalt.

"You never asked," replied Estallion in a matter of fact tone. "How can you expect to know these things if you never ask any questions?"

Thibalt decided not to push the point. He realized that it would get him nowhere. He once again shook his head and continued on through the city.

The ride into the middle of the city should have been swift, but the hectic streets had delayed their journey. Tall two and three story buildings loomed on either side of them, casting a grim shadow down on the street. The balconies and window sills above them were covered in wet clothes that dripped dirty water down onto their heads. The people walking amongst them looked down as they walked and Thibalt heard no friendly greetings or conversations.

Precedin, unlike Andron, had a dreary feel. Its citizens trudging through the streets with grim demeanours. Thibalt thought on the stark contrast between this city and Andron and sighed. The people of Precedin had been hardened and broken by constant warfare, whereas Andron's populous were indeed growing fat on prosperity.

The two young men finally reached the centre of Precedin, in which the Guardhouse of Oril stood. "Good gods, what is that?" gasped Thibalt, as he caught his first glimpse of the Guardhouse.

The rectangular building was constructed from sandstone and was supported by tall pillars. Sculptured arches covered the entryways, and in between the support pillars stood great statues of men in heroic stances. Every wall contained bas relief images depicting great battles and mighty warriors. From the roof of the main entrance flew a mighty banner. It displayed Skiye's angel, bearing her sword and heart in her hands on a blue background, with two white steeds galloping at her sides. Thibalt was truly amazed at how much the symbol of Skiye was used in Feldonian life.

"What do you mean, what is that?" said Estallion. "It's the Guardhouse of Oril Firestorm. Have you been locked in a cage your entire life?" Estallion said, not comprehending Thibalt's ignorance.

"Not far from it," replied Thibalt, not wishing to tell Estallion about his past. "So who is Oril Firestorm?"

Estallion almost fell from the saddle. "Have you been bludgeoned on the head recently? Oril Firestorm, the hero of Feldom, the very first Honour Guard. He is right in front of you for goodness sake." Estallion motioned to a statue which stood on a raised column of stone in the centre of the street, overlooking the Guardhouse. The statue portrayed a stern faced man in a full suit armour, pointing his sword to the East, towards Dargon.

"Oh, of course," replied Thibalt quickly. "My mind was elsewhere for a moment."

Estallion looked at Thibalt suspiciously. "There is something odd about you my dear Thibalt. You're hiding something from me. What is it?"

Thibalt could not answer. He was unsure if he could trust Estallion enough to tell him the truth about his past. There were a lot of Feldonians who harboured a hatred of the Miirvkin. And he was beginning to like Estallion.

Thibalt counted his luck when a soldier suddenly shouted from the stairs of the Guardhouse. "Bastion, do not move!"

"Can we not move fifty feet without getting into trouble?" asked Thibalt.

"Welcome to my life," replied Estallion with his ever cheerful smile.

A soldier dressed in ceremonial vestments moved down the steps towards them, his dark brown cape brushing the street behind him as he marched. The pompous manner of his steps and unnatural cleanliness of his clothing told Thibalt that this man was no real soldier.

"Well, well," said the soldier in a high pitched voice. "Isn't the General going to be happy when I bring him the very man he has been hunting for the last month."

Estallion rolled his eyes. "Very well, Guard Marshal. I know how much it would mean to you to capture the ever elusive Estallion Bastion. I'll come with you. I tell you my schedule is never empty. There is always someone requesting my presence. A disgruntled merchant, an angry father, and more often than not the General himself. Regardless...lead the way."

The Guard Marshal smiled triumphantly and walked back to the Guardhouse. They slid from Esree's back and Estallion held his hand to his forehead dramatically, feigning distress. Thibalt laughed and they followed the Guard Marshall.

The large arch at the front of the Guardhouse led to a common room that acted as a portal to the many sections of the complex. The walls inside were decorated with eye catching tapestries and paintings and, much like outside, statues of former soldiers stood in hollowed out sections of the wall, overlooking those that passed.

"Follow me," said the Guard Marshal, as he entered the centremost door in the room. It opened up into a large amphitheatre. This was the council hall of Feldom's armed forces. Here the commanders of the Feldonian cities gathered together to formulate strategies and make plans that would affect the entire nation. The many seats that branched out to their sides looked down upon a vast map of Kovi painted on the amphitheatre floor. They spotted three men standing over the map. Two wore black capes over their leather vests and stood listening to the third figure.

The Guard Marshal cleared his throat to gain their attention. The men looked up to see Thibalt and Estallion standing at the top of the theatre. "General Guthrum de Lamina. I have brought Estallion Bastion for you," announced the Marshal proudly.

The third figure smiled. He was visibly older than his companions, with a thick black moustache and tight corded muscles under his golden breastplate. "Many thanks, Guard Marshal Coppercloud. You may return to your post."

The Marshal's proud smile disappeared and he stormed out of the amphitheatre, highly displeased by the lack of recognition given. Estallion chuckled happily.

"Now, Estallion, we can finally settle this dispute," boomed the General, amplified by the echo of the theatre.

"Hardly a dispute if you ask me," replied Estallion, raising his hands into the air. "Soldiers are always blowing up minor problems to enormous proportions. I tell you, you make one small mistake and all of a sudden half the kingdom is after you. I might add that no one told me that the gate was supposed to remain locked. How was I to know that the cattle were going to stampede through the city streets? It's all just a big misunderstanding."

The General cast a sinister look at Estallion, but remained quiet.

"You know what the real problem is, we live in a world where people feel the need to lock doors and gates. I consider it plain rude, don't you think?" he asked Thibalt.

Thibalt's eyes shot wide open and he shrugged his shoulders in panic.

"And another thing..."

"Shut up you imbecile!" roared General de Lamina, the blood rushing to his head. "Can't you keep your mouth closed for two breaths? By leaving the gate to that stockyard open you caused a catastrophic amount of damage. Not to mention the manpower required to recapture the lost cattle. The owner of the stockyard wanted me to order a death warrant on your life. You left us in chaos."

"Hardly...look at it now, good as new. Nice clean up Guard Captains," he added to the two soldiers at the General's side.

"Hold your tongue!" yelled the General. "The stockyard owner wants six hundred gold coins payment for the damage you caused."

Estallion laughed. "Is that all? I thought you were going to have me thrown in jail again."

Thibalt turned in shock. "Again?" He was beginning to wonder whether travelling with Estallion had been a good idea after all.

Estallion simply smiled. The General took a seat to calm his spinning head. "Trust me Bastion, if I could find a jail that your family couldn't buy you out of, I would gladly throw you in it and melt the key."

"I'd gladly take that challenge, but since none exists, I'll have one of my men deliver the money to the stockyard. Quite understandable. Maybe I should apologize in person...buy the man a drink."

"If I were you, I wouldn't go within sight of that stockyard. There's a good chance you might come to an accidental death," the General pointed out. "Though that may solve our problems once and for all."

"Point well taken," replied Estallion. "Glad we got that settled, mind you I'll probably be in here again next week because of some other complaint. It never ends. You would think that people could just let me live my life without enforcing this law and that law. I think I need to have a talk with the King, get some rules changed." Estallion stopped talking when he saw the red rising in the General's neck. This time he kept his mouth closed to prevent a violent outburst.

"And who are you?" asked the General, looking at Thibalt whilst trying to calm his nerves.

"Thibalt Steelfist, son of Oswald Steelfist of Andron," he replied.

"Of Steelfist Ranch?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And what unfortunate circumstance has led you to Precedin in the company of this dissident?"

Thibalt looked over at Estallion who was listening eagerly. He did not want to lie to the General, but also did not want to tell Estallion the truth of his past life. He paused awkwardly, fumbling with his hands. Then an oddly cheerful smirk from Estallion changed his mind. If he was going to make a new life for himself in Feldom, then he would do so without fear. He took a deep breath and told the General of his Miirvkin upbringing and how his capture by Andronian soldiers had ultimately led to his freedom.

"Amazing!" replied Estallion. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Thibalt, pleased that Estallion was not showing any signs of hostility replied, "You never asked."

Estallion chuckled. "You're catching on."

The General interrupted. "So interesting a tale I have not heard in some time. But tell me, Thibalt Steelfist, why have you travelled to the city from which all are currently fleeing."

"I do not really know. I guess that I wanted to see the frontline. See the everlasting struggle against Dargon firsthand. I thought, where better to go than the City of War herself."

General de Lamina nodded. "This is a vague answer, which ultimately is a wise answer. Never let those you do not know learn your secrets. I can tell you have the motivation of a soldier, but that alone will not be enough to survive in Precedin. Tell me Thibalt have you ever been in a battle?"

Thibalt shook his head.

"I thought so," continued the General. "You should not be so hasty to throw yourself into a war. Especially one where you do not even know what you are your fighting for. Do you know, Thibalt?"

Thibalt looked the General in the eyes and replied, "We fight for honour. We fight for glory in the heat of battle."

"Now you are showing the Miirvkin inside of you," replied the General. Thibalt was surprised to see that none of them were troubled by the knowledge of his life in Hamal. The people of the East were far enough detached from the Miirvkin continent so as not to harbour such great animosity towards that race. "Of course we fight for some degree of recognition, but there are truer things that a soldier fights for. We fight for the families that are left behind. The ones who cannot defend themselves. We fight for the ordinary people of Feldom that will suffer if we do not stand for them. The people who never provoked the wrath of the enemy. On that day when they do not have the strength to stand up to the violent anger and hate that is thrust upon them, we will be there. We fight for Feldom.

"War is not what you think it is. I have seen too many youths come to this city, eager to take a sword in hand and throw away their lives in pursuit of an imagined glory. When you are standing in line with your fellow soldiers next to you, staring death in the face, the only thing that matters is the man next to you. There is no glory, no heightened sense of wonder. For when that wave of darkness sweeps over the battlefield towards you, eager to crush your spirit and your body, the only thing that you will feel is fear. Overwhelming, heart crushing fear!"

Thibalt felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"You will survive if you keep your head. Protect the men next to you and they will protect you. Keep the line strong and you will survive to live another day. If you falter for one moment and the line breaks, then all hope is lost. Order and discipline is what you must learn if you wish to survive in the City of War. Forget your search for glory. Fear is the true essence of war. Remember to hold the line and then those who need protection the most will receive it."

Thibalt found his heart stirring with new emotions. The General's speech had been said with such passion that Thibalt held a new respect for this man. He would gladly follow this man into battle. Yet he also felt embarrassment for his naive view. What did he truly know of war and fighting?

"Well, we better be off then," interrupted Estallion, bored by this topic.

"You could use some discipline as well Bastion. A great deal of it. I know that you are probably one of the greatest fighters in this city, yet you waste your time finding trouble."

"When the time comes, when all that is left to do is take up arms, I will gladly fight and protect my family and friends, but until then I bid you good day," replied Estallion with a boisterous laugh, just before leaving.

Thibalt was still mesmerized by the General's words and had to be dragged out of the room by Estallion.

Just before they left the amphitheatre, the General called out to Thibalt. "Be wary of your new friend. Trouble follows in his wake. And heed my words. Before you throw your life away, make sure you know what you are fighting for."

"That's it," said Estallion, pointing to an enormous three story mansion in front of them. The estate took up almost half of the southern quadrant of the city.

"You live here?" asked Thibalt incredulously.

"Nice place, isn't it?" replied Estallion. "I don't get enough time to really enjoy it with all the summons I receive. Well let's go in. No use standing around here. You can stay if you like, there are always plenty of jobs to do around the estate, and I could use a hunting partner."

Thibalt could not believe how generous Estallion was being. He had only known him for the short time that they had journeyed together and he was already offering him quarters and work. "That would be mighty generous, Estallion. As long as it proves no problem," he answered.

"Not at all," laughed Estallion. "Now let's get inside and get something to eat."

Thibalt guided Esree through the entrance and followed the path through the front garden. The garden was alive with workers planting new flowers and tending to the dying ones. The beauty of the flower beds stood out in sharp contrast to the harsh exterior of Precedin. They reached the front of the mansion and a small stable boy appeared to take Esree.

"She'll be fine," said Estallion. "Now let's go say hello to my dear mother. She is always so happy to see me when I return from a long trip."

Thibalt followed Estallion inside. Looking around, he was struck by the exquisiteness of the house. The finest furniture and carpets decorated each and every inch of space. Hundreds of pieces of art adorned the walls and the tables were littered with sparkling glassware and crockery. There was hardly a plain item to be seen. Even the doors were carved from the finest wood, shipped all the way from the Misty Forest.

"I've never..."

"Seen anything like it," finished Estallion. "I hear that quite often."

Out of the dining room walked a woman in a fabulous white gown. She had long black hair that was beginning to show hints of grey and her eyes were a mirror image of Estallion's own.

"Hello mother, did you miss me?" called Estallion, happily.

The Lady Bastion walked over to him gracefully, and then in a swift, sudden movement she slapped him hard on the cheek. "Where in Skiye's name have you been?" she said, visibly struggling to keep her calm. "Do you know how much trouble you have caused? I have had to apologize to hundreds of people for what you did."

Thibalt stood awkwardly behind Estallion, whilst his mother scolded him, slapping Estallion repeatedly. All the while Estallion managed to keep his smile on his face.

When his mother had finally given up, likely from exhaustion, she walked back into the dining room. Estallion turned around with a reddened cheek and said, "Not as bad as I thought." They both burst into laughter.

CHAPTER SEVEN

### PURE MAGIC

He had never imagined that the caravan could travel so swiftly. After leaving Andron's southern gate, Christill had seen it far in the distance, flanked by the convoy of guards. And though he had followed straight away, he slowly lost them as the days passed. Foolishly he had believed that one man would have no trouble keeping up pace with such a large troop of armoured soldiers. Yet, by the morning of the third day the caravan had disappeared from sight. The determined march of the Queen's men was more persistent than he ever thought possible.

With no knowledge of their next destination, Christill was forced to follow his instincts. The road south passed hundreds of forks that branched off to the small villages and cities of the West. Christill used what tracking skills he could recall from his lessons in Hamal to follow the mark of the caravan. However the abundance of wagons using the highway made tailing the caravan difficult.

He followed the trail for most of the third day and reached a small town aptly named Hillscape, for its location on the peak of a wide hillock. Here Christill persuaded an elderly farmer to sell him one of his ageing horses. At first reluctant to lose one of his oldest friends, the farmer made the trade and sent Christill on his way. To his delight he also learnt that the caravan had passed through Hillscape that very morning.

Thus, eager to make up lost ground, Christill mounted his new charger, Polthus, and rode hard along the coastal road. It took him two further days of riding until he finally caught a glimpse of the Queen's caravan in the distance. Christill dismounted and walked the rest of the way until nightfall, allowing Polthus to regain his strength. At almost fifteen years of age, Polthus still showed great endurance.

By the time the moon had taken dominance in the sky, Christill had reached a fork in the road that turned south towards the Crescent Lake. He could see the dim lights of the caravan far down the road and decided to make his own camp. Moving off the road he found himself a spot amongst a copse of flowering Tulip trees. And within moments of wrapping himself up he had drifted to sleep.

Unbeknownst to Christill, a green mist began to form in the air around him. It snaked and swirled around his body and began to pulsate with an eerie light. Gradually the mist moved towards his head and found its way into his body. It streamed silently through his nose, ears and mouth.

Christill's sleep was unexpectedly pierced by a strange voice.

" _What is your name?"_

Christill opened his eyes and found himself in a beautiful forest. It extended densely into the distance in all directions, full of healthy trees and colourful foliage. Never had he seen so many different forms of plant life in one space. Some he recognised, the rest appeared otherworldly.

"What is your name?" asked the strange voice once more.

The voice sounded from within his own mind. He could not distinguish what it sounded like, or even whether it was male or female. Yet he knew that it was coming from inside of him.

"What is your name?" repeated the voice.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Trying as hard as he could, no noise would escape his lips. His heart beat rapidly and his stomach cramped and turned anxiously. He opened his mouth to scream, but once more, not even a hint of sound penetrated the forest. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, running into his eyes. Nervously he wiped his brow with his sleeve, his hand shaking uncontrollably with fright.

"Relax, take deep breaths," said the voice in his head.

Christill relaxed slightly. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. He needed to consider his situation rationally. The voice was in his mind. He could not hear it, yet knew what it was saying. A thought suddenly occurred to him. He focused hard on the words that he wanted to say. "Christill Greyspell is my name."

He heard his own words echo through the forest, though he had not opened his mouth. Through his thoughts alone he had managed to convey his message.

"Well done, Christill," answered the voice.

The forest began to fade away, slowly losing its colour, then disappearing altogether, leaving Christill standing in a void of darkness. He was surrounded by the sheer blackness, but could see his own body clearly. Then as quickly as the darkness had appeared it was gone.

Christill now found himself standing in the Disciple's classroom in Hamal, watching a young version of himself being yelled at by the loathsome Disciple.

A sharp stabbing pain entered Christill's head and he fell to his knees. Around him the world changed. He saw visions of his life in Miirvk, then images of his capture by Captain Falneren. Rapid glimpses of his life were playing out before him. The pain in his head was increasing with every new scene. Finally he saw the execution of the two Miirvkin soldiers and the pain became almost unbearable. He let out a loud scream and noticed that it pierced the air and rang out loudly into the night.

He looked around and saw Polthus standing next to him, spooked by Christill's violent scream. He was once again in his campsite. His blanket lay in the dirt several feet away and his clothes were drenched with sweat. He did not know what had just happened, but he was sure that it was no dream.

In a campsite not far from Christill's, Dievu Ilphuki removed his fingers from his temples and allowed the green mist swirling about him to dissipate. He let out a small murmur of approval and returned to the carriage.

The incident had left its mark on Christill. Everywhere he looked he saw shadows darting from view and try as he might he could not drive the fright from his limbs. He continued to follow the caravan, but could find no sleep the next night. Each time he closed his eyes, the painful flashbacks of the previous night returned. The strange voice lingered in his ears, repeating itself over and over, slowly driving him senseless. In the faint light of the moon Christill sat shivering against a wet tree trunk, though whether from the cold or from the haunting images in his mind he was unsure.

When morning broke he felt slightly renewed. The chill of the night had not helped to calm his nerves, yet the welcoming warmth of the sun had raised his spirit. He had caught up to the caravan, but now that it was in reach he found himself reluctant to approach it. What would he say?

Seeing the Queen's men resuming their march, he decided to follow until an opportunity presented itself. Further south they travelled on the coastal road, passing outposts and farms along the way. Christill kept the caravan in sight, but held his distance as he followed them. The road was busy with farmers and merchants on their way to Andron, allowing Christill to remain overlooked.

At the end of the eighth day the caravan stopped in a small forested area adjacent to the Crescent Lake. Christill made his own camp closer to the lake itself and deeper within the trees. His meagre food supplies were running surprisingly thin with only a small pouch of hard bread and dried fruits left. He would need to stop and purchase more soon or be forced to catch his own food. Seeing as he was only carrying the knife that Oswald had given him, that was out of the question.

Night crept into the forest quicker than Christill had expected and soon he was sitting against the trunk of an ancient oak, fighting away haunting images once again. Realizing that sleep would not find him tonight, Christill decided to creep up to the caravan to catch a glimpse of Dievu. He moved through the scrappy bushes, heading in the direction of the caravan. Gradually traces of light flickered through the bracken, and he slowed his approach. At this point Christill was thankful for the hunting lessons that had taught him to keep his steps silent.

Each careful stride drew him closer to the camp. He reached a twisted and gnarled tree which was suitable enough to climb and knew that moving any further would be too risky. He darted up the tree swiftly, its knotty form keeping him hidden. Finding a comfortable perch, he separated two branches, giving him a view of the campsite.

Even from this distance he could see several fires burning around the carriage. Soldiers sat and slept in any patch of soft ground that they could find. Christill noticed that only half of the soldiers guarding the carriage slept. The remainder stood on guard or around the fires, speaking softly. His eyes were drawn to the many roasting fowl and other wild game hovering above the campfires. The juicy aroma rose with the smoke and filled the campsite. Christill contemplated an attempt to steal one but knew he would be risking his life.

He tried to find Dievu amongst the soldiers but had no luck. Finally he decided that the search was hopeless, as Dievu was probably in the carriage, fast asleep. So he made sure that none of the soldiers were looking and leapt down from the tree. He then made his way back through the forest, taking care to create as little noise as possible.

The splendid aroma of roasted meat followed Christill as he walked solemnly back to his campsite. His stomach gurgled in protest and he let out a sigh. He was passing through a thick bush when something flashed past his field of vision. He instinctively stopped dead still and drew his dagger. Crouching low, he took small, measured steps forwards. The blur flew by him again, this time closer. Christill planted his right foot behind himself for support and brought the dagger in his right hand back, ready to strike.

The blur swiftly darted across the forest floor once more. Christill did not lash out; he was waiting and watching, calculating his enemy's movements. He could not recognize it and there was something unnatural about the speed at which it moved. Yet he could sense something when it passed him. A sensation that raised the hairs on his arms and a sent a cold chill into his shoulders.

Whatever this thing was, it now appeared more often, darting in and out of the bushes. Christill focussed all of his attention on the blur, blocking out the other noises and sights in the forest. It flew past him again and Christill struck out with his dagger. His arm was hit with such a force the he was sent spinning into a tree. He rose as quickly as he could and raised his fists. His dagger was gone and in the dark he could not see where it had fallen.

"What trickery is this?" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

He waited several moments, but there was no reply. The blur had disappeared. He moved cautiously back to where he was standing to look for his dagger.

"Do not waste your time searching in vain for something that cannot help you," a voice called out of the forest.

Christill jumped with a start and turned to face the speaker. Leaning against a large moss covered tree was Dievu, balancing Christill's dagger on his fingers. His hypnotizing blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. He was no longer wearing his Karmanian armour, now adorned in a simple brown tunic with green embroidery.

Christill stood up straight and proud. He held out his hand. "Could I have my dagger back?"

Dievu looked at the dagger, then walked over to him. He place it hilt first into Christill's outstretched hand then suddenly disappeared. Within a blink he reappeared behind Christill and placed his surprisingly strong grip around Christill's head, holding it tightly.

"One false step and with a twist of my wrist I could shatter your neck and send you back to the Third Plane," whispered Dievu. "So you see why I told you that your dagger could not help you."

Christill stood perfectly still, his heart beating nervously in his throat. He then felt Dievu's grip release and the dagger slip out of his hand. Surprised, he looked up to see Dievu standing against the same tree holding his dagger once more. He quickly glanced behind and then back at Dievu. "How did you do that?" he asked, astonished.

Dievu raised his eyebrows. "Do what exactly?"

"Disappear and reappear. Move as quick as lightning."

Dievu laughed and began to play with Christill's dagger, twirling it gracefully in between his fingers. "Tell me," he began in a questioning tone. "How do you know that I did anything at all? Is it not possible that I was simply standing against this tree the whole time? I was standing here just before, with your dagger in my hands, and I am doing so now. How can you be so sure that I moved from my spot at all? Perhaps it was an illusion."

"I felt your hands on my head, heard your whisper in my ear," replied Christill, confused by the question.

"That may be so," nodded Dievu. "But what else was it that made you so certain that I was moving about you?"

Christill's eyes narrowed. Dievu was playing with him. What else?, he thought to himself. Dievu watched intently and smiled.

"I felt something when you passed by me," said Christill. "A force of some sort."

"Very good, Christill. You saw the question for what it truly was, and then saw the world for what it truly is. You saw past the physical boundaries of Fellarrnur that most men live under."

Christill's eyes opened. "How is it that you know my name?"

Dievu shrugged Christill's question away. "I know many things. But that is not important now," he continued. "Do you know what it is that you felt when I passed you?"

Christill shook his head. "No."

"You cannot give me a proper answer if you do not think about it. Now answer me again! Do you know what you felt?" Dievu repeated, sternly.

Christill sighed. Vivid memories of the Disciple's painful lessons came back into his mind. He thought about the sensation that he had felt when Dievu had passed close by. A tingling feeling on his skin, and a sensation of raw heat coming from Dievu's body. "I am not sure what it was," said Christill honestly.

Dievu frowned. "Think harder."

What was it? He had felt something unnatural and intense pulsating from within Dievu's body. Something foreign, yet very familiar. What was it? He glanced up at Dievu who was staring into his eyes intently. "It was magic."

"Yes," laughed Dievu. "Christill Greyspell, you have come to a realization that students studying in the academies of magic do not fully comprehend until well into their first year."

Christill did not fully understand what that meant but was pleased that he had made a good impression on Dievu.

"You are right. What you felt was pure magic flowing from my body as I used it to speed through the forest. Tell me though, what is magic?"

"A power that allows you to conjure illusions, and perform normally impossible tasks," replied Christill confidently.

"Wrong," replied Dievu swiftly. "You answered the wrong question. I asked you what is magic? You explained its use. But do not worry, I did not expect you to know the true answer. Now tell me, what do you know of Teefarrnur?"

Christill, knowing the answer, smiled and answered, "It is the realm of the gods."

Dievu nodded slightly. "Tell me its relationship with those gods."

Christill shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well...tell me of Silphuras Hilke," Dievu continued.

Christill had only briefly heard of this man. "He was a disciple of some note...though that is all I truly know."

"Well that is sad," replied Dievu, shaking his head. "Hilke was the first man to speak directly with the gods on the Third Plane. Born of both Feldonian and Karmanian heritage, his chronicles contain some of the most valuable information ever recorded. In his most famous book he speaks of the relationship between gods and men. Pay heed to what I tell you now," he added. "The realm of the gods, Teefarrnur, is made up of a raw energy. The countless gods in Teefarrnur are created from this energy and in turn create mortal beings such as us from it. This energy is what we call magic. So what you felt when I sped past you was that raw power of Teefarrnur surging from my body."

"And Nyrune gives you this magic?" asked Christill.

"Yes," replied Dievu. "Mortals are given the ability to use this power by the four guardian gods of Kovi. Those that are worthy and who choose to speak with their god on the Third Plane may be granted the ability to use magic on Fellarrnur."

Christill listened intently.

"I know that you seek this power for yourself. I have seen the events of your life. I have read your mind," said Dievu.

Christill gasped. "It was you!"

"Yes...It was I who entered your mind that night. It was a test, Christill, to see if you were worthy."

"Worthy of what?" asked Christill, furiously. "Do you know what I had to endure that night?"

"You needed to be worthy of my time and effort. I imagine it was hard for you to relive the pain of your past, but only through acceptance can one reach a peaceful state of mind. You must accept the events of your past life and learn to live with them. And trust me it is not every day that I allow commoners to learn the truths of magic. Most are not strong enough to understand the lessons that I teach."

Christill could not believe how indifferent Dievu was to his pain. He forced himself to hold back his frustration and took several quick breaths, his fists clenched at his side. "How is it that you knew I was following you?"

Dievu shook his head once more. "You know nothing of the Karmanians. You are not exactly a master of stealth. I spotted you the moment you left Andron's gates."

"Yet you did not approach me."

"Another test," said Dievu. "If you were interested in seeking out my help, I knew that you would endure the long trek to follow me."

Christill punched the tree next to him, letting out his pent up frustration. "This is a game to you. My whole life, everyone has used me as their pawn. I have been put down, thrown around and laughed at every second I have lived. You are exactly the same as all the others." He spat on the ground and stormed away, stomping heavily through the forest.

"Turn around!" boomed Dievu's voice, amplified by his magic.

Christill stopped and shuddered as he felt the anger in the air around him.

"You struggle with the uncontrolled hatred and resent inside you. But you are nothing more than a child! How long will you walk away from everyone and everything and use your anger as an excuse for not reaching your true potential?"

Christill had no response.

"If you continue on this path you will find yourself hopelessly alone. Each person is responsible for their own destiny. So cease your self-pity. The world is no longer out to harm you, Christill. It is time you woke up to this and began acting like a man."

Shame quickly replaced Christill's anger and he found himself embarrassed by his actions.

Dievu then appeared in front of him holding out the knife. "If you take this knife and leave, you will forgo any chance you will ever have of being granted the right to wield magic. No one in Feldom would allow you to join the Academy of Skiye. Come with me and I will take you to Karmena. If the gods grant you luck the Council of Elders will permit your enrolment into Nyrune's Academy."

This was the opportunity he had hoped for, yet he could not shake the suspicion in his thoughts. Dievu's offer was too sudden. "You promise me the ability to do what you can with Nyrune's magic?" he asked.

"I promise you nothing. If the Council grants you entry into the Academy you will learn with our brightest. If you can prove yourself worthy, then you may be allowed to speak to Nyrune to convince her of your worth. That is all that I can offer. If you accept, come to our campsite at first light," said Dievu. He handed Christill the dagger and in a flash disappeared.

Christill gripped the hilt of his dagger hard. "Very well Dievu, I will take up your challenge." He walked slowly back to his camp, his mind full of questions.

Not far away, peering through a hollow trunk, Dievu's eyes narrowed slightly. "Excellent!"

The first hint of light shone through the canopy above as Christill walked into the campsite. The soldiers were already up and preparing to move out. None seemed to pay much attention to him as he approached. He received a few unpleased looks from some of the older soldiers, but was not hindered in his journey to the carriage. Just as he reached it, the door opened and Queen Triel stepped out to bask in the morning sunlight. Christill bowed, enthralled by the young Queen. Looking up he could see the same sorrowful expression that she had carried whilst she was in Andron.

"You must be Christill," she said softly. "Dievu mentioned you would be joining us."

"Yes, your grace," replied Christill, awkwardly.

"Very well," said the Queen. She then walked off towards the lake with an exhausted face, accompanied by several guards.

"Troubled times create a troubled king," came a voice.

Christill turned to find Dievu leaning against the frame of the carriage. He was staring at the Queen, as she walked off, a sympathetic look on his face.

"You mean a troubled queen," said Christill.

"It is an old saying," smiled Dievu. "But yes, you are right. The Queen is the one who bears the troubles of Feldom on her shoulders."

"What of the King, why does he do nothing?"

"That is not my business...so I do not ask. The Karmanians do not meddle in matters beyond their authority. You too must learn to know when to stop asking questions," said Dievu.

Christill nodded in acceptance. "So where are we going?" he asked.

"South...then west...then east," answered Dievu. "We will finish the royal tour and pass through the major western cities. Queen Triel will sound the call to arms and in the end return to the City of Skiye. If you are still with us at that point, you will accompany me to Karmena."

"Understood," said Christill. "But I must get a message to my brother. He will be expecting me in Precedin."

"That will not be difficult," replied Dievu. "Are you sure that you can leave him? I do not know how long you will be at the Academy if the Council accepts our request."

Christill had thought long and hard about Thibalt. He had never been apart from his brother for a long period of time. Yet Dievu's words to him the night before had made him realise that he did need to stop acting like a child and choose a life for himself. There was nothing for him in Precedin. The call of war did not stir any emotions in his heart. And it was not forever. Eventually Christill would be able to see him again. Thibalt would understand.

Once the Queen returned, the caravan was packed and once again moving. They followed the road south until they reached the small city of Beldney. Here the highway forked east and the caravan stopped to purchase supplies. They did not linger in Beldney, and once the Queen had addressed the citizens, they headed along the main highway towards Summerstone.

The journey was pleasant for Christill and he was thankful for Polthus' company as the pace of the caravan was much swifter than his legs were accustomed to. He was accepted into the company of the soldiers readily which surprised him. However after a while Christill attributed this friendliness to the trust the soldiers placed in Dievu.

A few days out of Beldney, Christill was subject to his first experience of Nyrune's hold over the weather. Short miles after trotting through modest sunlight over grassy fields, they passed into a scorched and barren wasteland. The clouds parted from the sky and the sun glared down upon them menacingly. The ground had lost its moisture and was devoid of the rich plant life he had been so accustomed to seeing. The landscape reminded Christill of the Miirvkin Desert and brought unpleasant thoughts to his mind.

"How can it be that in such a short span the land can change so dramatically?" asked Christill, wiping the sweat from his face.

Dievu stretched in the saddle of his black mare, Vithanu, and replied, "When our race was created and Skiye and Beon blocked Dargon off from the rest of the world, Nyrune was also angered. In her rage she changed the climate of the world. To the hated Dargonian nation she gave an eternal winter that would not allow them a hint of happiness. To the Miirvkin, who had forsaken our land and crossed the seas, she gave great heat in the hope that they would one day flee that lifeless island and return to the mainland. Little did she know that they would learn to flourish under the harsh conditions," Dievu laughed. "To her own beloved children, the Karmanians, Nyrune gave the Misty Forest. It is undoubtedly the most fertile place in the entire world. Never have the Karmanians endured ill weather within our borders, and ever has Nyrune provided us with all that we need from within the forest."

"But what of Feldom?" Christill asked anxiously.

Dievu raised his finger. "You are eager to learn. That is good. But patience is a virtue that you must learn if you are to persuade the Council of Elders to grant you tutelage under their own watchful gaze."

"Sorry Dievu," Christill apologised.

"And you will call me Master from now on," Dievu commanded. "Now...after Nyrune had created the Misty Forest only one nation remained."

Christill smiled. He was thoroughly enjoying the lessons with Dievu as they travelled beside the Queen. Unlike the Disciple, whose lessons were ultimately biased, Dievu spoke the truth about anything Christill asked.

"Up until this day," continued Dievu. "No one has found the true reason as to why Nyrune chose to mould Feldom's climate so heavily. She separated the nation into a veritable puzzle of regions, each different from the other. Nyrune was so precise that these changes come about so suddenly, yet seem almost unnoticeable at first glance. So do you understand?"

Christill dipped his head. "Not fully. I find it strange that Nyrune chose to punish the Feldonians."

"Ah...but she did not punish them. She merely gave them a different way to live. Trust me Christill, the actions of the gods are beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. The great Silphuras Hilke died still asking questions about the gods, though he had spent over fifty years talking with Skiye."

"I see," replied Christill with a frown.

"Do not trouble yourself. There will be a great many things that you will learn which will not be easy to understand at first. With time they will make sense," said Dievu. "We have now passed into the Plains of the Gods. It is not unlike your old homeland."

Christill quickly rebutted angrily, "That hell was never my homeland. Understand that. I hold no link to the Miirvkin people and they hold none to me. Never again will I walk amongst them."

"You have every right to be angry," replied Dievu. "The theft of an infant is a vile act that should be justly punished. But if you do not come to terms with your feelings towards them you will never lead a fulfilling life. Rid your mind of that hatred and your thoughts of vengeance. From this point onwards your study will be the only thing in your mind. If you cannot rid yourself of these thoughts, you will fail."

Christill did not respond. Dievu's lecture had upset him, but he again realized that he was right. His passionate detestation of the Miirvkin only served to cloud his judgement and would ultimately stop him. He was not going to let anything stop him from talking to Nyrune.

* * *

It took four long and arduous weeks for the caravan to pass through the Plains of the Gods. They were forced to keep a slow pace due to the inhospitable conditions of the region. To Christill, it seemed as though they had passed into the Miirvkin Desert once more and he struggled to contain the memories of the past.

The sun cracked lips and burnt their exposed skin, but the caravan moved on. Only the Queen and Dievu were able to find some refuge in the carriage during the daylight hours. The soldiers were forced to march without complaint for hours, resting only for short periods. Finally the coastal breeze found them.

The Dunleith Pass, a tall formation of rock that protected Summerstone from the hot winds from the east, came into view and was a heart-warming sight after the Plains. They travelled through the mouth of the pass eagerly, seeing groups of trees for the first time in a month. Though still hot, the area approaching Summerstone was fertile enough to farm and was dotted with small settlements.

Two more days of marching and the caravan caught its first glimpse of Summerstone. The city lay in a deep valley on the coast. They approached the city eagerly and moved towards a large flat section of the valley directly in front of the city wall. Dievu named it the Summerstone Pitch. The caravan moved down the slope onto the Pitch, heading straight for the large wooden gates of the city. Christill noticed from the Pitch that the city was surrounded by steep slopes, being nestled in the bottom of the valley, right against the sea.

"This seems an odd place for a city of this size," commented Christill.

"You are right," replied Dievu. "Summerstone began as a small fishing village, yet grew with each passing year until its port was the largest in all of the Alliance. Yet by the time the people realised how much they had grown, it was too late to move to a more suitable location. Its wealth lies not on land, but out past the docks. The city itself is home to more warehouses and shipyards than actual homes."

"Where do they find all the wood to build ships for such a large port?" asked Christill.

Dievu laughed, "A clever observation, Christill. In the midst of the mountains south of here, close to the city of Ramine, is a dense forest. Hidden from view until you pass well into the ranges. Summerstone ferries their timber all the way up the coast from Ramine and in doing so keeps that coastal city as prosperous as itself."

"Is there really that much wealth in the sea that a city as big as this can rely solely on its harbour?"

"Yes. The sea provides the merchants of Summerstone with all that they need to lead an honest, and for many rich, life."

Upon reaching reached the main gate, they were escorted in through the small wall that protected the city from the hot winds of the Plains. Christill considered the wall a poor defence yet was told that it served its purpose.

In the past Summerstone had only ever seen the touch of war once, and that strike had come from the sea. At that time the ships of Dargon had been sent back with their tails between their legs by the fleet of Summerstone. It is said that so many ships had sailed against Dargon's mighty host that they had barely reached the city before they had broken and fled north.

As they moved through the streets, Christill found the main city quite unimpressive. It was ill designed and appeared as though its only purpose was to house the families of the many sailors and fishermen who worked in the port.

The single impressive structure was the Duke's mansion, which spread out over a whole block, with high, decorated windows and a stunning yellow tiled roof. The mansion was surrounded by a high wall with only one thin entrance, barely wide enough for two men side by side. The current Duke, Asferous Salenburg, was the Queen's cousin and son to the last King's sister. Following Dieter Castaneda's rise to the throne, and the end of the Salenburg dynasty, he remained the last of the Salenburg's to hold a seat of power in the Kingdom.

They continued through the city to the market which lay on the border of the port and the warehouses. Though busy, it paled in comparison to Andron's market. The Queen once again gave her speech and announced the forming of the Militia of Feldom. The response was more than disappointing. At first Christill had thought that the people of Andron were unsympathetic, but the men and women of Summerstone were wholly uncompassionate towards the call of the East. Only a small handful of citizens stayed for the Queen's entire speech, and fewer approached the enlistment booths to join the Militia.

Once the Queen had finished, Christill and Dievu opted for a walk through the harbour. They passed several loud and lively taverns along the way and finally Christill gave in. "Master will you join me for a drink?"

Dievu looked at Christill suspiciously. "I have seen your past, Christill. I know that you and your brother shared a fond love of Andronian ale. But if you think that you can control yourself, then I will gladly join you."

Christill smirked. "Excellent!" He then walked into the nearest tavern and jumped onto the closest bar stool. He had missed the sounds and tastes of a Feldonian tavern since leaving the Ranch. "Two cups of Andronian ale," shouted Christill to the barkeep.

Dievu took a seat and held his hand up to the owner of this establishment. "Make mine a cup of red," he requested. "Karmanian if you have it."

The barkeep lowered his brow as though insulted and went off to collect the drinks.

"Red beer?" asked Christill, puzzled.

"No Christill. Not beer...wine."

Christill, having only ever tried the honey wine of the Miirvkin, was interested to see what Dievu had ordered. Dievu briefly explained how the Karmanians made their wine and the barkeeper then returned with a mug of beer, brimming with thick froth, and a goblet of murky red wine.

"No Andronian," mumbled the Barkeeper. "We've got Seafarer's Beer. Will put some hair on yer chest."

Christill quickly took an appreciative gulp of his beer, and slammed it down on the table to show his satisfaction. "A fine drink."

The barkeeper smiled a toothless grin and left them.

Christill looked at Dievu who had begun to sniff his wine whilst swirling it around in the goblet. "Is there something wrong with it?" he asked

Dievu laughed. "Not at all. One day you will come to understand the merits of Karmanian wine." He then took a small sip and smiled contently. He handed the goblet to Christill.

Christill uncomfortably swirled the wine around in the goblet and took a deep whiff. His head jerked back from the intense smell and he coughed loudly. "It is overpowering," he commented. He then slowly took a sip and swallowed. The ripe taste of fermented grapes covered his tongue and spread warmth down his throat. Christill found the wine pleasant, but handed the goblet back to Dievu. "I think I will stick to ale," he added.

"It is an accustomed taste," Dievu nodded. "Now onto other matters. If you are accepted into Nyrune's Academy you will be stripped of all personal items. The Academy will provide you with what you need. You will study every day, for as long as is necessary until the Council of Elders decides that you are ready to speak with Nyrune. You will not be allowed out of the Academy at any time. So you had better enjoy that mug of ale. It may be your last for a long time."

Christill's jaw dropped. "You mean there is no ale in Karmena?"

"Oh, there is ale...We have developed a strong liking for it, but students are not permitted to consume mind altering substances during their study. Your mind must be focused on your work at all times."

Christill sighed loudly. "In that case, Barkeep, four more please."

CHAPTER EIGHT

### A PROPHECY FULFILLED

"Welcome, my lords," called the watchman as the three horsemen entered the city gates. "We were not expecting you so soon."

Errollan dismounted and removed his helmet. "We have been absent from Precedin for some weeks and the city looks no more prepared than when we left."

"The General has never been known to act quickly," said Azbaar as he stretched his tired muscles. "We will likely find him in the war room debating, whilst the armies of Dargon march ever closer."

"I assure you my lords, the General has been preparing the city. I see more and more militia pouring through the city gates and filling up our diminishing ranks. The city will hold if attacked," the watchman assured them.

Errollan waved the watchman away and led his horse into the city, followed closely by Ludvic and Azbaar.

The watchman returned to his post just as two more riders entered the city gates. "Well, haven't we been lucky today," said the watchman, smirking at the sight of a young deer hanging over the back of Estallion's horse, Falgo.

"When one knows how to hunt there is no luck involved. Simply a good eye and a strong bow," commented Estallion.

"Assuredly," laughed the watchman. "That will be five copper."

"Five!" blurted out Estallion. "Last week it was three. Has the King lost his mind?"

Thibalt laughed. "You will hardly miss the extra coin."

"It's the principle, Thibalt. The hunting taxes are constantly rising. I remember when I was a young lad, my father would take me hunting and we would pay two coppers for four deer. Now we are expected to pay five for a single doe."

"Just pay the money, I have work to do before it gets dark," urged Thibalt.

"I am your employer, Thibalt. You don't have to work unless I tell you so," said Estallion.

"It's the principle," replied Thibalt with a grin.

Estallion reached into his pocket and rather grimly handed the watchman five coins. The watchman smiled and moved out of their way. They then continued on towards the Bastion estate.

They had just begun to move when they came across the Honour Guard. Estallion turned Falgo and changed his direction to catch up to the three riders. A sense of dread came over Thibalt. He hoped Estallion was not going to get them into trouble.

"Well look who we have here," called Estallion.

The Maloreichar turned to see where the call had come from and all rolled their eyes when they saw Estallion approaching.

"Your forefather must have been a gnat, Estallion," replied Ludvic. "Regardless of how much we wave our arms we can never seem to be rid of you."

"Only you are old enough to know, Ludvic, so I'll trust your words."

"Insolent brat!"

"I live but to serve," said Estallion with half bow.

"Please...not again," begged Errollan. "My head is full enough of ramblings."

The three riders did not stop their mounts so Estallion and Thibalt joined them as they moved towards the city centre.

"So where have you been? I was worried you had left us for good," asked Estallion.

"Butting heads with men who have let their positions get the better of their judgement," replied Azbaar, his voice showing a hint of frustration.

Estallion decided to let the matter slip. "Sounds enthralling."

"You could not imagine," agreed Errollan.

"And I see you have managed to hold onto your companion," said Ludvic with a quick glance at Thibalt. "I hope you know what you are doing lad."

Thibalt, not having expected to be addressed, shyly replied, "Estallion has been very kind to me... He has provided me with lodging and work."

"Ah! I knew it. Only a man who was getting paid would be brave enough to stay around you."

"You hurt my feelings, Ludvic," said Estallion. "I am starting to think that the many years that we have been friends were all a lie."

Ludvic replied with a laugh.

"Regardless, whilst I have you here," continued Estallion. "Can you do something about the hunting tax? It is absolutely outrageous that I am forced to pay five coppers for a single deer."

"You know very well that that is not our domain," said Errollan.

"I disagree. As Maloreichar you are entrusted to safeguard the kingdom. How about safeguarding the people of the kingdom from the robbery of the state?"

"How can you be worried about five coppers," asked Azbaar. "I am surprised that you even know what a copper looks like. I once heard a rumour that if you hear a Bastion sneeze you best open you palms to catch the gold."

"What is this, a witch hunt?"

"This is a nice way of saying be happy that the King has not chosen to tax the wealthy more than he already does. I would not be surprised to see a special war levy soon."

"Outrageous!" replied Estallion.

Ahead a man stood waiting for the riders. He wore a thin red vest which marked him as one of the General's pages and had a head of straw blonde hair. As they reached him, the man moved to the side and began to walk beside the horses.

"The General welcomes you back," the Page said.

"What have we missed?" asked Errollan.

"I am sure that General de Lamina will inform you of all military movements when you see him. Duke Donain Castaneda of Ardistown passed through the city with his family two weeks past. No other news of urgency."

"And where is Guthrum?" asked Errollan.

"The General is in the Southern Ranges. He has taken a few of his men to inspect the Rekan Outpost."

"He went personally?"

"Yes, my lord."

"What need was there for him to go in place of one of his captains?"

"The commander of the Rekan Outpost is the General's nephew," answered the Page. "With the repeated Dargonian sightings in that part of the Beon Ranges the General wished to pay the outpost a visit. He has asked that you ride out to meet him, Lord Dune."

Errollan let out a thoughtful breath and nodded. "I will leave tonight. Have an escort ready for me at the south gate by nightfall."

"It will be done, my lord."

The messenger bowed low to the ground and then turned from them.

"A strange time to be making inspections," mumbled Azbaar.

"Guthrum knows the importance of the Rekan Outpost," replied Errollan. The passes through that region would provide our enemies with access to our southern gates."

"Then go and make sure that they are well secured," said Ludvic, gruffly. "We don't want any unwanted surprises. Azbaar and I can stay here to talk with the emissaries."

Errollan merely nodded. His features remained cold as he focused deeply on his thoughts.

"Well if you are not going to help me then I bid you good day," said Estallion with a disgruntled huff.

"Stay out of trouble," called Azbaar, whilst Thibalt and Estallion led their mounts away from the Honour Guard.

"You would have greater luck telling a fish to stop swimming," commented Ludvic.

* * *

The Elk and Fawn was particularly busy this night. The tavern was filled to capacity with men and women drinking, eating and gambling away their troubles. In the midst of the patrons sat Estallion and Thibalt, enjoying their nightly mug of ale. The two were regulars and were displeased with the rowdy swarm around them.

"This is quite unbelievable," commented Estallion. "Rude if you ask me. There are so many people in here that I can't even see the barmaid. I ought to have a talk with the owner, don't you think?"

Thibalt choked on his drink, spitting a large mouthful over his tunic. "No Estallion, don't you dare!" he scolded. "In the last month you have managed to get us banished from every alehouse in this city. All except for this one."

"All misunderstandings. You were there, the incidents were hardly my fault," he replied, cheerfully.

"Bedding the owner's daughter...in his own bed, might I add...whilst he was asleep in the very same room, is not a misunderstanding."

Estallion began to giggle. "Now that was an accomplishment."

"No it wasn't, you didn't get away with it," blurted Thibalt. "He woke up and chased you out of the inn whilst you were still putting on your trousers....which I might add again were actually his trousers. You're a mad man."

"I try my best...You know I've still got those trousers."

Thibalt could not help but laugh with Estallion. It was true that he had gotten Thibalt into many threatening situations in his time in Precedin, but he also had the uncanny ability of getting them out of trouble just in time.

He finished the last dregs of his beer and glanced around the room. In the far corner he spotted the page who had approached the Honour Guard drinking with some other men. The page caught Thibalt's eye and bowed his head slightly. Thibalt smiled in return. Estallion's ease in talking to the Honour Guard was not something that Thibalt could understand. In their presence he always found himself humbled and lost for words.

"Any more news from Christill? asked Estallion.

"No," said Thibalt with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Since his letter from Hulmtown I have not heard any news."

"Don't worry," said Estallion, noticing Thibalt's low spirits. "That area has hundreds of small towns. I am sure they are just taking their time in finishing the royal inspections."

"I am sure he is fine, but I still wish he was here."

"You will see him again soon," said Estallion cheerfully. "If we don't hear from him soon, you and I will mount up and ride down to the Misty Forest ourselves to visit him."

Thibalt smiled. "I somehow doubt that they would let us in. Regardless, we don't even know if he will be allowed to join the Academy of Nyrune. From what he said in his last letter he will need the approval of the Karmanian Elders."

"Why would you want to go messing about with magic," said Estallion. "If you ask me it just causes more trouble than it's worth. I once had a run in with a disciple of Skiye who accused me of soiling his robes. I told the man it was hardly my fault that he was standing in Falgo's way when I passed. So he zapped me with a shot of magic that turned my hair white. Took some months before it grew back to its normal colour."

"Count yourself lucky that was all that he did," said Thibalt, remembering the ways that the Disciple in Hamal would use his power. "Christill has never been one to follow the conventional path. It does not surprise me greatly that he is seeking this."

"Oh well, I can't speak for him, but I know that if I spoke to the gods and asked them for some of their power, there would be only one response."

"Let's hope that day never comes," said Thibalt with a chuckle. "Have you heard from your mother? Has she reached Andron yet?"

"Not yet...but she will be fine. The Bastion family is quite resourceful you know."

The noise in the tavern suddenly grew softer. They glanced around and saw that many of the patrons had ceased talking and turned their faces to their cups. In the back of the room a group of men rushed to sweep a bunch of cards from their table.

"Calm yourselves gentlemen. I am not here on business," came a call from the entrance.

Thibalt peered over the many people in his way and saw Ludvic standing in the front doorway, a tan shirt over his barrel chest and long brown leggings covering his boots. Behind him stood three men, obviously guards by the swords at their sides, though not dressed in uniform.

Ludvic moved into the tavern and glanced around. Finally seeing Estallion, he moved for their table, the crowd parting for him.

"Whatever it was...I didn't do it," announced Estallion before Ludvic could speak.

"Even though I lack the knowledge as to what it was, I am sure you did do it," replied Ludvic, taking a seat. He waved the guards away and motioned for the barmaid to bring him a drink. "You're paying," he added to Estallion.

Estallion's eyes narrowed, but he reached into his pocket and handed the girl a silver coin and said, "Keep them coming. I am likely going to need them."

"You make a man feel welcome, Bastion."

"I do try," said Estallion with a wink.

Thibalt grabbed his mug and took a deep gulp. The presence of the Honour Guard once again made him nervous.

Ludvic noticed the anxiety in Thibalt's expression and reached over to grab him on the arm. "I am a man like all others here. And was once a boy much like you."

Thibalt forced a smile. Though his words provided some comfort, he was still not confident speaking at length in front of such authority.

"What madness has driven you to leave your lavish rooms in the Guardhouse and join the common rabble here?" asked Estallion.

"Azbaar was bringing me to my wits end."

"He can be a little old fashioned at times," said Estallion.

"Sometimes I feel as though he cannot let go of the past. His thinking can be so constrained."

"You were all appointed Maloreichar for your own qualities. I am sure there was reasoning behind it all."

"I never question that," replied Ludvic. "Yet we are all different men. And sometimes the four of us do not agree on what would be considered the best way to safeguard our kingdom."

"What does it matter? Errollan makes all the decisions anyhow. We all know you just hang about for the feasts," said Estallion with a grin.

"How did your father sire such a fool?" said Ludvic with a sigh. "But speaking of Errollan you bring me to my real reason for being here."

"As I said, I object to any claims he has made," repeated Estallion.

"Surprisingly this isn't about something you have done. We received a message from him asking us to come to the Rekan Outpost. He has found some disturbing tracks which he wants us to see."

"How thrilling!" commented Estallion sarcastically.

Ludvic smiled. "I want you to come with us."

Estallion's eyes widened. "What in the world for?"

"You are one of the best trackers I know. If I have to haul my sore behind all the way down to that outpost then it better be worth the trip. And I have little faith in Guthrum's scouts. If they haven't found anything yet, I have doubts that they will do so when we get there."

Thibalt listened intently, holding his cup close to his face. Ludvic's words were true. The few times that they had left Precedin to hunt, Estallion had shown incredible skills in tracking down game. His skills rivalled even Reinar's, whose many years of experience far outweighed Estallion's own.

"I don't think this is such a good idea, Ludvic. A trip through the Ranges together may spell the end of our long lasting friendship," said Estallion, raising his hand to his chin and shaking his head.

"Trust me, things could not get much worse," Ludvic replied with a loud laugh.

"I trust that Thibalt will join us," said Estallion.

Thibalt's eyes widened in surprise.

"I see no harm," replied Ludvic. "Though once we reach the outpost you will stay out of our business."

Thibalt nodded and took another gulp of his ale. A trip to a Feldonian outpost. A real taste of the frontline. Ludvic emptied his cup and motioned for another. They continued to talk, though for the most part Thibalt simply listened and wondered what excitement their trip would bring.

"Are they our men?" Ludvic asked, motioning to the marks in the dirt.

Estallion dismounted and studied the tracks. "Could be... It's hard to tell. I expect our enemies wear similar boots to our soldiers."

"This is pointless," said Azbaar. "Let's head up to the outpost and see what was so damned important that we had to come all this way."

Estallion leapt back onto Falgo and the group continued on along the thin path that snaked its way through the Beon Ranges. Their company made their way single file along the road with Azbaar and Ludvic at the head of the column. Thibalt and Estallion followed closely by and behind them came thirty of Precedin's soldiers on foot. The soldiers, dressed in leather mountain gear, kept pace with the slow movement of the Honour Guard's mounts.

The path wound its way in between and at times over the mountains and rocky outcroppings of the Ranges and at several points they were forced to dismount and walk their steeds over the treacherous passes.

Thibalt took the chance to mingle with the soldiers who spoke to him of their time in the Feldonian army. Though proud of their exploits, Thibalt noted the same reluctance in their speech that he had heard from the General. These men had fought for many years and understood the true meaning of war. Few of them held their positions in search of glory and honour. Theirs was more a sense of duty than anything else.

As they rounded a sharp cutting in the side of the rock the Rekan Outpost came into view. Nestled halfway up a sharp incline, the outpost was built entirely out of timber and stood raised on thick trunks that had been driven into the hard ground. Waist high barricades surrounded the structure and even from this distance they could see several men patrolling the walls. Two small buildings that backed up to the mountain housed the men that were stationed here. These also contained enough beds for the countless scouts and rangers that would stop off here to re-supply before heading back out to the Dargonian side of the mountains.

Once the full company had moved onto the path leading up to the outpost, the sentries sounded a horn that blew two long notes and alerted the soldiers of the outpost to their presence.

"How many outposts like this are there?" asked Thibalt.

The soldier nearest him, a solid man with a pointed chin, replied," You will find one every few miles. For the most part, the mountains are too difficult to cross. A few men may be able to make the journey unscathed, but for any large group to move through, they have to choose the safer paths. At each of these paths you will find an outpost. Further south you will also find some manned by our Karmanians allies."

Here the land was much more forgiving than the area they had passed through to reach the outpost. East of the outpost, a gap between two of the larger mountains travelled away towards Dargon and was partially hidden by dry trees that hung out over the path. The opening then disappeared to the left, but was more than wide enough for mounts and a larger group of men to pass through. Thibalt could understand the need for a Feldonian presence here.

Ludvic and Azbaar led their mounts to the base of the outpost and dismounted. They climbed up the ladder to the top of the barricade and Thibalt and Estallion followed. The soldiers that had accompanied them let their packs fall to the floor and remained with the horses.

"Wait here," commanded Azbaar as he and Ludvic moved into the closest building.

"How rude," said Estallion. He pulled an apple from his pocket and took a large bite.

"Where did you get that from?" queried Thibalt.

Estallion's mischievous grin appeared and he replied, "Ludvic's pack."

They waited and watched the soldiers of the outpost. After a while Ludvic came out of the building followed by Azbaar whose neck had turned red.

"Ignorant fool!" called Azbaar in anger.

"He didn't know any better," said Ludvic. "Let's just go find Errollan so we can make our way back."

"What happened?" asked Estallion.

"The captain here was not expecting us and cannot understand why he was not told that we were on our way."

"That's a tad unusual," said Estallion.

"It would not be the first time that Errollan has kept his decisions from others. He doesn't trust anyone," added Ludvic.

"Enough talk," cut in Azbaar. "He followed the General north. Let's just find him and be done with this." Azbaar moved to the ladder and began to climb back down to the horses, frustration evident in his hasty steps.

"There is no need to snap," commented Estallion, aggrievedly.

"He's not in a good mood," warned Ludvic. "I would watch your tongue."

"My mouth is sealed," said Estallion.

"I find that hard to believe," replied Ludvic as he followed Azbaar back down the ladder.

"Why did we agree to come?" Estallion asked Thibalt, placing his hands at his hips.

Thibalt stared at Estallion for a moment then moved to follow the Honour Guard.

"What?" called Estallion, raising his hands in the air. "When did everyone become so rude!"

Azbaar and Ludvic climbed back onto their mounts and began to lead the men down the incline. Thibalt waited for Estallion to climb down and mount Falgo and then they moved to catch up to the company. The rough path carried them away from the Rekan Outpost and Azbaar kept the pace quick, annoyance still showing in his scowl. They crossed over a shallow stream, where they stopped to fill their water skins, and continued through a maze of sharp rock formations. Here Azbaar called Estallion forward to find the General's trail.

"I believe this is it," he called studying some marks that led east up through a cutting in the land.

"Are you sure?" Ludvic asked softly to avoid being overheard. "If we follow the wrong trail Azbaar may prove troublesome."

Estallion looked over at the disgruntled honour guard and let out a puff of air. "And here I thought you were the grumpy old man," he said with a shake of his head. "Don't worry, the only other tracks that I have seen are those of goats and mountain wolves. They went this way."

Ludvic nodded then ordered his men up the cutting. Estallion climbed back onto Falgo's saddle and joined Thibalt in the climb through to the East.

"Did you come to the Ranges often before I met you?" Thibalt asked.

Estallion shook his head. "Hardly ever. Look around you my friend. What lunatic would come here of their own free will?"

Thibalt could not find fault in Estallion's opinion. There was some beauty in the rugged mountain range, with snow-capped peaks rising up to the clouds and copses of blossoming trees nestled amongst the valleys. But for the most part they walked through jagged crags and clusters of ugly rock. "Then how did you become so adept at tracking?"

"I spent a great deal of time with my uncle Terin as a lad. When my father wasn't looking I would sneak out with him and we would go hunting in the woods to the south. He was a tracker in the King's personal service and knew more tricks than a circus juggler." Estallion paused with a look of contemplation. "Though I don't think he knew how to juggle...Never mind."

Thibalt, used to Estallion's lapses is concentration, simply waited.

"He taught me many a secret which have come in handy. He once taught me how to hang from a tree in such a way that most men would take no more notice of you than the branches around you...Very handy in certain circumstances."

"I can only imagine," said Thibalt, knowing full well what Estallion was hinting at.

"But you should know what I am talking about. I have seen you hunt. You have some skills."

"My time in Miirvk was not all in vain. My fa-," Thibalt paused. "My trainer in Hamal taught us how to survive in the wilderness. Showed us the skills necessary to hunt."

"Fascinating," said Estallion. "We know very little of the Miirvkin in the East, I have never even seen one. Tell me, is it true that they eat children? My gran used to tell me that...but I suspect she may have just been trying to stop me from running away from home."

"I haven't seen them do so, but I cannot say that I have seen all the Miirvkin," replied Thibalt. "Regardless, you have not missed out on anything of value. A life without the Miirvkin is much better than one with it. I am sure the people of the western coast will tell you the same."

Estallion shrugged his shoulders. "Still, one day I plan to go see Miirvk."

"Then you truly are mad," replied Thibalt.

They continued to follow the trail until it left the path and made its way up a sharp incline. Ludvic slid from his saddle and the others followed. Thibalt pulled a small scabbard from the pack on his saddle and tied it to his belt. Estallion had insisted that he carry a weapon with him through the Ranges. One could never be too careful.

They then moved up the incline, leaving the mounts at the path to avoid any injuries. The General's tracks moved up the rocky heights and became easier to follow thanks to the loose pebbles covering the ground. Finally they climbed a steep face and came upon a cave with a wide opening. A soldier stood waiting at its entrance, dressed in the dark brown hide of the Feldonian rangers.

"My lords!" the Ranger greeted in a shocked voice. "We had no idea."

"Is Errollan here?" asked Ludvic.

"Yes they are inside. We heard reports of a newly discovered cave system in this peak and then found this entrance. The General and the rest of our group have gone in to see how far it travels."

"How long have they been gone?" asked Ludvic, showing a hint of concern in his voice. The Ranges held many crevices and caves that were favoured hiding spots for bands of thieves or worse, Dargonian spies.

"Not long, my lord."

"Very well. Let's go find them." Ludvic motioned to most of his men to remain at the entrance and then called for a few to follow him.

"What tracks are these?" asked Estallion, stopping Ludvic.

The Ranger moved over to Estallion who was crouched low several feet away from the entrance and examined the soil. "Leopard," he said.

"Where did you learn to read tracks, in a tavern?" said Estallion in an incredulous tone. "No mountain leopards make tracks this wide. Something else has trod here. Though I cannot guess as to what."

"All the more reason for haste," said Ludvic, unhooking Crunch and Crack from his own pack and walking through the cave entrance. Azbaar drew his own sword, lifted his shield onto his arm and followed Ludvic.

They were forced to light torches as they travelled further into the cave. "What do you smell?" whispered Azbaar as they stepped cautiously ahead.

"Something damned foul!" whispered Ludvic. He motioned for them to continue into the darkness of the cave. They moved close together, weapons drawn, making as little noise as possible. There was an eerie silence inside the mountain. A hidden malevolence that pressed the shadows in around them. They turned around to see that the entrance was now a barely visible speck behind them.

"Something is amiss. I feel magic at work here," whispered Azbaar. They kept walking into the daunting silence of the cave, hearts pounding nervously.

They then glimpsed moving lights ahead. Approaching cautiously at first, they quickly recognised the shapes in the flickering light. The group ahead was bunched together in a wider portion of the cave and they could make out a few dozen men moving about. They picked up their pace.

"Who goes there?" came a call that they recognised as the General.

"Someone who is wondering what he did to deserve this," called Ludvic loudly.

Ahead Errollan stopped in shock as he recognised the voice. "Ludvic?" he said softly.

"None other," replied Ludvic as they finally came up to join them.

"Why in Skiye's name are you here? What has happened?"

"What offal are you babbling? You summoned us here."

"Summoned?" returned Errollan in confusion. "I made no such request."

"No request," said Azbaar, his eyes narrowing. "We received your message a few..." His words were cut short as something struck his chest, punching through his armour and into his body. Azbaar fell to the ground from the impact and dropped his weapon.

Before they could react a faint whirr filled the cave and a shower of crossbow bolts shot from the darkness. Those with shields raised them to their heads and slowly fell back. Thibalt and Estallion joined the others in diving to the floor to avoid the deadly bolts.

Errollan knelt down, holding his shield high for protection, and saw blood oozing from Azbaar's chest. He cursed loudly as the bolts continued to fly out of the darkness. Some of the Feldonians cried out as they were struck and fell to the floor in agony.

Ludvic leapt up to Errollan and picked up Azbaar's shield. They then jammed their shields together in front of Azbaar's body and huddled behind them.

Then as quickly as they had begun, the bolts stopped and a terrifying cry broke the silence of the cave as their assailants stormed out into the open. Even in the faint torchlight they identified their attackers as Dargonian Elites, savagely skilled men from the highest ranks of Zephra's army. Their armour was dyed black and covered their chests and thighs tightly, however their arms were bare, showing their shockingly pale skin. Around their eyes they had painted unique symbols, giving each a sinister appearance.

Errollan and Ludvic jumped up, weapons ready, just as the first wave of Elites hit them. Their attackers fought with short but wide swords and the famed Dargonian shields that held razor sharp edges around their entire frame. The shields were well feared amongst those Feldonians who had fought against them. Wielded as a second weapon, those skilled enough to use one did so with deadly precision, slicing off limbs and causing grievous wounds in battle.

The General's men who were able to, quickly rose from the ground to absorb the charge of the Elites. The first group of Dargonians leapt into the air with their shields held high and swung them in a wide arc, hoping to strike at the head. They then followed through with quick thrusts of their swords. The Feldonians were forced to duck and pull backwards to avoid the shields and many were caught by the swift thrust that followed.

Errollan stopped a Dargonian shield with his own and sidestepped the blade that came behind it. He then bashed the soldier's shield arm, sending it wide, and sent his own sword forward into the attacker's stomach. The Elite fell back with a cry of anguish and two more moved in to take his spot.

Ludvic remained over Azbaar, flailing wildly with Crunch and Crack, aiming to keep the Dargonians at a distance. Though it worked for a moment, with many of the Dargonians not willing to enter the range of Ludvic's savage swings, eventually the attackers pressed forwards and forced him to fight. He narrowly ducked a shield that came flying at his head and fell to the floor. Instantly a soldier lunged at him and he just managed to bring Crunch up to shift the direction of the attack. He then brought his right arm up and embedded Crack in the man's head.

Ludvic pushed the dead man's body away and sprang up. Another soldier charged at him and he threw Crunch through the air. It struck true, splitting the man's chest. Unarmed, Ludvic quickly ran to remove Crack from the dead soldier's head, and panicked when two more Elites ran at him. He reached the body, but knew that he was too late. He looked up expecting to see the blows that would seal his fate, but instead watched as the Elites flew backwards.

Thibalt and Estallion had hurled themselves into the fray from behind. Estallion wrestled with the Elite he had fallen on top of whilst Thibalt struggled to get back on his feet. Thibalt, seeking to take advantage of the Dargonian's shock then sliced down, catching him on the arm and driving hard down to the bone. The Elite let out a roar of pain and anger and Thibalt pulled the sword free and stabbed down into the man's stomach. Thibalt watched the man's life slip away beneath him and felt a sense of dread.

He glanced over to Estallion who had just silenced the man that he had charged into. Estallion walked over to Ludvic and helped him up. "Now didn't I tell you that the world needs Estallion Bastion," he laughed. "It is not time to die yet, old man."

Ludvic stared confoundedly at Estallion. He wanted to reply but there was no time. More Elites streamed out of the darkness, screaming chants of death. However they turned to hear a rallying cry from the entrance of the cave as the soldiers they had left outside joined the battle. With a passion driven by anger the Feldonian soldiers leapt into the fray crying, "No Surrender!"

The new combatants crashed into the Dargonians with swords and shields pressing hard. The lack of light caused utter chaos in the cave with many not knowing whom to fight. Yet sparks flew in the air as cold steel struck armour and shields. The soldiers from the entrance exerted all effort to give their fallen comrades time to regroup and succeeded in providing them with a momentary respite.

Errollan fought his way back to Azbaar's body and began to drag him away from the fighting.

Thibalt stood side by side with Estallion, fighting the apprehension inside of him. He worked frantically to parry blow after blow, waiting for his opponent to pause and then striking hard. The Elite facing him was then struck from behind as a Feldonian soldier came to his aid. Thibalt brought his sword hand forward, catching the Elite's side and opening up a long gash in his hip. The man fell to the floor and Thibalt knew that he was not going to rise.

The sheer frenzy of battle began to fill his every sense. His body numbed and his vision swam. The fighting around him became clouded and he struggled to focus on the attackers around him. He then fell back with a cry of pain as an Elite brought his shield down on Thibalt's shoulder, just managing to cut through his leather cuirass. He looked up to see the soldier moving up for a killing blow and found himself frozen still in fear. The world began to slow as he waited for the final strike.

No, this cannot be, he thought. I cannot fall in my first fight. He looked up and saw the soldier pull his short sword back to thrust, however the sword fell from his hand as something struck his throat. The Elite fell to the floor, clutching his neck, unable to breathe.

The world returned to normal; he hadn't died. He turned around and saw Estallion facing him with a small crossbow raised high. He stood up and nodded his thanks to Estallion who waved the hand crossbow and said, "Useful little thing."

Thibalt shook the pain in his shoulder away and found his sense of dread easing. He forced himself to place those thoughts at the back of his mind and charged at the nearest enemy, pounding at the man's head with his hilt.

General de Lamina fought in the middle of the cave, his golden breastplate a beacon for the enemy. "Form on me!" he screamed over the sounds of battle. "Do not stray from the light."

Thibalt moved to the centre, where the remaining Feldonian soldiers were forming a defensive circle around the wounded Azbaar. Estallion joined the circle and drew a small dirk from his belt to accompany his short sword.

Ludvic, now totally enraged, did not fight in the circle, but ran around the cave swinging Crunch and Crack frantically, clearing a path as he split and smashed armour and bones. The Dargonian armour did little to stop his powerful blows and soon the enemy began to fear his presence. "Great Skiye guide my strikes!" he screamed as he swung his axes around him.

Slowly the enemy were forced back. The General ordered the circle broken and the soldiers fanned out to overpower the Elites. Thibalt picked up a Dargonian shield and ran into one of the Elites with a cry of rage. He fell on top of his opponent and repeatedly rammed the shield into his stomach. As he let go of the shield he found his arms burning with fresh cuts and realised that he had hurt himself trying to use the shield. He struggled to shrug away the pain. How could a man wield such a thing?

He then noticed a Feldonian soldier pinned against the wall by two Elites and leapt to his aid. Thibalt plunged his sword into the first enemy's back, and then threw him to the side. But it was too late. The second Elite turned from the pinned Feldonian that he had finished and brought his sword forward at Thibalt's waist. A quick reaction allowed Thibalt to dodge the strike but he was forced backwards. The Elite pressed his attack using his sword to thrust at Thibalt's vulnerable areas. Thibalt who was fighting without a shield was forced to step further backwards to avoid the stabs.

General de Lamina, seeing Thibalt, charged at the Elite, using his momentum to slam the man against the cave wall. The Elite let out a loud gasp as the air left his lungs and then swooned after his head struck the rough stone. Thibalt took advantage of the pause and ran up to the General, sticking his sword into the Elite's gut. They then turned and saw a scene of carnage on the cave floor. Bodies lay on almost every patch of dirt.

The fighting was over, none of the Dargonians stood, yet only a handful of the Feldonian soldiers remained. Those who still breathed had all sustained injuries, but none as great as Azbaar. Errollan and Ludvic stood over him with distressed expressions. Azbaar was breathing hoarsely, coughing on his own blood.

General de Lamina motioned for his remaining soldiers to move closer and said, "Stay alert, we do not know that we are free of them yet."

Estallion walked over to Thibalt, who was staring at the dead bodies with glazed eyes. "It isn't always fun and games," he said, still smiling, though lacking his usual cheerfulness.

Thibalt looked down at his sword. The hot blood oozed slowly down the blade and onto his hand and he dropped it in disgust. He glanced down at the body of the last man he had killed. But for his ghastly pale skin, he was just like all the other men that he had met. "Are we justified in killing these people?" he asked.

"No," replied Estallion resolutely, "but it is a part of our life, and we cannot avoid it. Though I would say we were lucky today. By rights that many Elites should have slaughtered us. Were it not for the sacrifice of these brave soldiers we would have joined the dead on their journey to the Third Plane."

Thibalt nodded. "I was always eager to fight, test my skills in battle, but now that I have done so, I wish it had never happened."

The General walked up to Thibalt and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "And that is what makes you honourable," he said softly.

Errollan heaved Azbaar up onto his shoulder. "We need to move him outside. I cannot see his wounds without proper light." The General acknowledged his request and signalled for everyone to return to the entrance. The soldiers checked their fallen comrades one last time to ensure that none still breathed and began to head out of the cave.

Thibalt wiped the blood from his hands on his trousers and moved to follow when a horrifying roar echoed through the cave. The company turned and out of the darkness in the back of the cave stormed a terrifying creature. It was grey in colour with a face that showed a mouth of slimy fangs. Two large pointed ears jutted from the side of its square head, yet they could make out no eyes. Its massive arms reached down to the ground and helped it move in the fashion of an ape, yet it was hairless and had slick claws on each fist, each the size of a dagger.

They all stood stunned, staring at the creature in utter terror. None had ever set eyes upon such a hideous beast and its savage roar shook them down to their bones.

It ran at Errollan and smashed into him with its shoulder, sending him and Azbaar to the ground. Errollan cried out as he landed on his arm and the beast raised its head into the air to let out another roar.

Ludvic and the General mustered up what courage they had to move and rush at the beast. They ran towards it, Ludvic screaming at the top of his lungs, "Back to the darkness with you!"

The beast swung it gigantic arm, striking the General in the head and knocking him to the floor unconscious. Ludvic came around behind the beast whilst it recovered and sent Crunch flying into its leg. The axe imbedded itself deeply into the calf and drew thick black blood. The creature cried out in pain and swiped at the axe, dislodging it from its leg. It then put its head up into the air and began to turn in all directions rapidly.

Thibalt watched in fear but realised that he had seen behaviour like this before at Steelfist Ranch. "The beast is blind!" he yelled. "Keep your distance."

The creature turned towards Thibalt and began to charge in his direction. Estallion raised his hand crossbow and fired. The small dart struck the creature's chest, but it did not seem to notice. It charged onwards and both Estallion and Thibalt scarcely managed to leap out of its path. It crashed into the wall, sending a cloud of dust and stone through the cave.

They all remained still, trying to make as little noise as possible. The beast turned and raised its head, once again smelling the air and listening for any movement. Thibalt raised his finger to his mouth and held up his other hand, motioning for silence. Then Azbaar screamed as a spasm of pain hit him. The beast roared and charged in his direction. It reached his body and began clawing at him with its powerful arms. Estallion and Thibalt stared at the horrific sight, and stood frozen to the ground. The beast's claws tore through Azbaar's armour as though it were water.

Errollan screamed in anger and jumped onto the back of the beast. He began bashing the creature with his fists, striking with a crazed rage. The creature tried to reach behind itself to grab Errollan, but he held on tightly, continuing to pummel its head. Thibalt could no longer watch, he picked up a sword from the ground and ran at the beast screaming loudly, in an attempt to distract it. The beast momentarily stopped as it heard Thibalt's cry draw nearer, which was enough for Errollan. He drew a dagger from his waist and plunged it into the back of the creature's neck. The blade struck true and severed the beast's spine. It fell to the floor, instantly dead, and Errollan hastily rolled from its back and over to Azbaar.

What strength had remained in the old Honour Guard was gone. His chest was a ruined mess. Errollan brought his hand to his eyes to hide the tears that were forming.

Ludvic walked over to Errollan and whispered solemnly, "You could not have done any more."

Errollan took a deep breath to compose himself and nodded. He clasped his hands over Azbaar's and said, "Skiye take this man's soul from Fellarrnur and give him a resting spot amongst the kings of our kind."

"There passes one of the greatest men to have ever walked this world," said Estallion sadly. He then walked over to the General and shook him awake.

Thibalt could not bear to watch so he looked away and spotted a Dargonian soldier moving on the cave floor. He ran over to the soldier and turned him over. The man had a deep gash in his stomach. "This one is alive," he called. The soldier coughed and Thibalt saw light red blood on his lips. "Barely though," he added.

Errollan ran over to the soldier and violently picked him up. "How did so many of you make it here?"

The soldier looked up at Errollan. "King Zephra wanted you dead. We may have failed, but soon your fate will find you." He laughed which caused him to cough up more blood. "Zephra will not let anything stand in his way. He will take Feldom, and you will be powerless to stop him."

"Your master must have grown ignorant indeed if he thinks he can take our land without a fight. Feldom has never fallen to Dargon, and as long as the Honour Guard live, so it shall remain... forever!" said Errollan, viciously.

"You think you are safe, locked up in your mighty castles, protected by the gods," said the Elite, sadistically. "My king will come to Feldom unhindered, and not even the guardian gods will be able to protect you from his wrath."

Errollan's eyes flared. "How did you know we would be here?" he asked.

"Allies can be found in the most unusual of places," said the man laughing painfully.

"More riddles," Errollan raised his fist to strike the man.

Thibalt grabbed Errollan's arm and quietly said, "It is not worth it, my lord."

The General, shaking his head, walked over and pointed to the dead beast. "And what foul creature is this?" he demanded.

The soldier laughed, "A taste of things to come."

Errollan shook the man. "Explain yourself," he said, but the soldier never replied. He coughed one last time and slumped in Errollan's grip.

"Damn!" yelled Errollan, throwing the man's body to the ground.

Ludvic walked over to Azbaar's body and lifted it onto his shoulder. "Let us leave this place. Skiye knows how many more are nearby."

"What about this?" asked the General, pointing to the corpse of the horrid beast.

Errollan walked over to it and kicked it with all of his might. "Burn it," he said, with great anger blazing in his eyes.

"Should we not take it back for the disciples of Skiye?"

Errollan glared fiercely at Guthrum. "Burn it now!"

They moved out of the cave, the General's soldiers dragging the body of the beast with them.

Before they left, the company watched the thick black smoke rise from the pyre that they had set the creature upon. Errollan watched with glee as the flames consumed the grey corpse of the monster that had claimed Azbaar's life.

"We should have known that you would not send for us," said Ludvic regretfully.

Errollan's cold expression did not change. "Zephra wanted us all here. He wanted to rid himself of the Honour Guard." His eyes narrowed menacingly. "We will pay him back in full for what he has done."

As Thibalt watched he become conscious of something and walked over to Estallion. He moved him to one side and said, "Do you recall the first time that I met the Honour Guard. Mandigal spoke of a dream?"

Estallion thought back to the time they had met the Maloreichar and vaguely recalled Mandigal's prophecy. "Great pain and sorrow in the eyes of many," he whispered, recalling Mandigal's words.

Thibalt looked Estallion in the eyes. "Do you think?" asked Thibalt, leaving the rest unsaid.

"Only the gods know, Thibalt," said Estallion, raising his hand to his mouth with a concerned look.

Thibalt sighed; so many unanswered questions, so many riddles. As he watched Estallion, whose lips were pursed in deep thought he let out a sigh. Gone was the Estallion that he had come to know. The carefree and childish charm had been replaced by a grave demeanour. Perhaps he should have followed Christill. The war changed everyone, and as he looked down at his bloodied hands he realized that it was changing him as well.

The procession left the Guardhouse and began to move north through the city. Errollan and Ludvic held the front poles of the palanquin that was bearing Azbaar's body; General de Lamina and Mandigal carried the back poles. The city's finest blacksmiths had worked tirelessly to repair the armour that Azbaar now wore. They carried him through the city streets, towards the Tomb of the Moon.

The entire city had turned up to pay their respects to the man who had protected their nation for over fifty years. Thibalt and Estallion marched behind the palanquin, next to the Guard Captains of the eastern cities. Amongst the crowd, not a smile was seen, not a laugh heard. Today Precedin and the East mourned the death of the oldest of the Maloreichar.

A cold wind swept through the city from the lake, a chilling reminder of Dargon's approach. The news of Azbaar's death had spread quickly throughout Precedin and then across Feldom, and on this day many cities held a ceremony to honour his life.

The Tomb of the Moon was as ancient as the Guardhouse of Oril and contained the bodies of many of the generals and Maloreichar of Feldom's past. The procession stopped at the front gate to the tomb where the guards waited. Four ceremonially dressed soldiers took the palanquin and moved it into the tomb where it would remain untouched until the end of time.

In one final act to pay their respect, the three remaining Honour Guard knelt down in front of the tomb and said a silent prayer to Skiye.

Errollan stood and called out, "In darkness we will all rest." He then turned away from the tomb, his head held low.

The crowd slowly began to leave, all saying their own silent prayers.

Errollan walked up to Thibalt and Estallion. "Thank you for your bravery. Without you we may have all perished. I thank you."

They both nodded and Errollan walked away with Ludvic and Mandigal. Estallion and Thibalt remained to watch the stone doors of the Tomb close. Estallion turned and said, "I have a horrible feeling that these doors will not remain sealed for long."

CHAPTER NINE

### QUEEN TRIEL

Christill sat next to the dying embers of the campfire, studying the worn book Dievu had bought for him as they had passed through Panthron. Titled the Bloodlines of Feldom, it mapped the long history of the royal family of Feldom, recounting events up until Queen Triel's late father, King Reold Salenburg. With little better to occupy his time during the warm nights, Christill had found reading a welcome distraction.

In turn, Dievu was grateful for the respite. Christill's eagerness to learn had begun to test his patience as the weeks passed.

He placed the book down on his knees and marked the page with a thin leaf from the ground. Christill rubbed his sore eyes and whilst glancing around noticed he was one of the few men still awake. Only those unfortunate soldiers whose turn it was to keep watch were alert, listening for any sudden noise around the campsite.

Christill stood up and began to walk over to his blanket when he noticed a shadow in the corner of his eye. He quickly turned his head but whatever it was had moved on. More than the vision he had felt a presence. It was the same sensation that he had felt when Dievu had found him sneaking up to the Queen's camp. It was the presence of magic.

He placed his book on the floor and silently crept up to the trees where he had seen the shadow. The few soldiers on guard cast brief looks at him but took little care. The woods ahead of him were dark, as the flickering light from the campfires was held back by thick overgrowth. He stepped on, moving away from the camp, eager to find what it was that he had seen.

After a few steps he heard what he judged to be crying coming from the trees nearby. He paused and slowly approached the noise. He walked silently, debating at first whether to alert the watch or not, but decided against it when he noticed a delicate silhouette perched on a fallen tree trunk. What danger could there be this close to the campsite?

The moonlight cast a silver glow on the figure as it sat with its face in its hands. Christill noticed that it was a lady with a light blue dress hugging her slender body. The woman was facing away from the camp, sobbing softly into the night.

Then a second figure stepped out of the shadows and Christill could feel the magic that he had felt moments before. It was Dievu, dressed in simple green homespun clothing that blended into the foliage. From what he judged neither of them were aware of his presence so he shifted to the side, to hide behind the leafy branches of the closest tree.

Dievu approached the figure slowly, so as not to scare her and said, "My lady."

The woman lowered her hands with a fright and sat up straight. She turned and Christill realized that it was the Queen sitting before Dievu with red rimmed eyes.

Queen Triel raised her hands and let her shoulders slump to relax. "Oh, it is you," she said in relief. "I thought that the guards had finally found out that I left the carriage. It can be so difficult to find some room to breathe."

"You know that it is not safe for you to wonder around without protection," said Dievu, in a fatherly tone. "The guards are there for a reason."

"The world is not a safe place, Dievu. Better I die happy, as a free woman, than be locked up under watch for the rest of my life," she returned in a regretful tone. "Come sit and talk with me for a moment."

Christill watched as Dievu walked over to the fallen trunk to sit down calmly next to the enchanting Queen. He knew that his eavesdropping was inappropriate, yet he did not wish to turn away.

"Why are you crying?" asked Dievu.

Queen Triel lowered her face and blew out a long breath. "Sometimes I forget what exactly it is that I am crying about." She let out a cheerless laugh. "This nation is in such a dire state...nobody seems to realise."

Christill felt as though she was holding something back. There were emotions that she was forcing herself to contain.

"You seem to be leaving no time to cry for yourself?" Dievu replied softly.

A gentle and homely smile appeared on the young Queen's face. "My troubles are insignificant," she said.

Dievu shook his head. "You are wrong, my lady. You are a leader and the people of this nation look to you for guidance. Thus your problems will become their problems. If the troubles of one person go unchecked, they can lead to the suffering of an entire world."

"You always have wisdom to give me," the Queen replied warmly. "But there is not always time to fix one's troubles when the fates of many lie in your hands."

"The King shares this burden and you must look to him for the help that you need. You are too young to be carrying the weight of rulership on your own. Feldom is rightfully his responsibility."

The Queen remained silent, staring into the cold forest. She then craned her neck back to stretch her tired muscles and said, "Dieter is weak. The bitterness of old age has sapped his wisdom like the decay of winter's chill. He does not want to know or hear of Feldom's problems and allows his advisors to rule in his stead. Advisors who are always right because they speak with the authority of Skiye," she spat.

"You still hold more power than they," said Dievu.

"You are right...The Maloreichar and I still hold enough influence to ensure that they are kept in check. We try to prevent this nation from tearing itself apart." The Queen sighed. "The royal house is not what it used to be. Its halls are wrought with treachery and betrayal. And I would be foolish not to see that Dieter's advisors have their hands in most of it."

Not so unlike the Disciple in Hamal, Christill reflected. These men and women seemed to think that because they are favoured by the gods that they were somehow better than the common man. That they deserved to govern others.

"Lingering on your past again, Christill," said Dievu loudly.

Christill found himself frozen to the spot.

"Come out of those bushes," ordered Dievu. "You did not truly think I did not see you following me."

Christill suddenly felt like such a fool. He moved out into the open and shamefully approached them. Queen Triel showed her shock at his appearance, but he noted that neither of them appeared to be cross.

"Dievu tells me that he wishes to take you to Karmena. That you will attempt to enter the Academy and become a disciple," said the Queen.

Christill nodded.

"Then I think you will need to learn how to behave in a respectful manner, Christill" said Dievu, in a stern voice. "Creeping through the shadows to spy on others is not a quality befitting a disciple of Nyrune."

Christill listened to their words and felt ashamed. "Please forgive me...both of you. I was acting like a child, when I should have known better."

"Yes you should have," replied Dievu. "You not only disrespected me, but disrespected your Queen."

Christill lowered his head.

Queen Triel rose and walked up to Christill. "Dievu is one of the wisest men I have ever met. Always listen to him." She smiled and Christill could see genuine warmth in her for the first time that night. "You must walk away from this with the knowledge that you can become a better man." She took one final look into his eyes and said, "Do not let Dievu down, Christill."

She turned and walked gracefully back to the camp. Before she was out of sight, Christill called out to her, "Forgive me."

Dievu stood from the trunk and Christill noticed that he had a long bundle at his side. "I knew that you would follow me. I am pleased to see that you felt my presence as I passed you. Your recognition of the magical arts is growing keener."

He handed the bundle to Christill who slowly unwrapped it. Inside he found a shorter version of the bow that had inspired him as a youth in Miirvk. Detailed carvings flowed elegantly through the wood, which was tinged with a green dye. Though it brought back memories of Hamal, he felt a warmth at the feel of the earthy wood in his hands.

The quiver was even more extravagant than the bow. Gold and silver ran through the images of trees and forest life embossed into the black case, and inside he found a large bunch of white feathered arrows of the highest quality.

"I see inside of you potential, Christill. But you still have much to learn. Your actions remain immature and rash. Take the bow of the Karmanians and take your first step towards becoming a better man."

For the first time in his life Christill felt like he was in charge of his own destiny.

Dievu nodded and smiled slightly.

Together they moved back to the camp.

The next morning the caravan packed up hastily and began to move down the highway towards Wisthelm. They gradually crossed into an area of fertile dells and blooming flowers. The going was more pleasant in this temperate region close to the River of Ice. The strain of carrying heavy packs and armour had weakened even the hardiest of the Queen's men and they allowed the cool air to soothe their aches.

Christill rode beside Dievu who was outside of the carriage enjoying the brisk breeze coming from the east. It had been a while since Christill had ridden Polthus, as he had feared that the ageing horse would become lame. But he was glad to see that the mount had pulled through without harm. The fresh winds blew around Christill's ears, cooling his face. Most of all, Christill enjoyed the view. Luscious trees lined the road and grasses of bold greens covered the earth with a tranquil carpet.

The change of scenery represented a change in Christill's life. He proudly wore the quiver that he had been given on his back and held his bow close by. In Christill's mind crossing into this comfortable and serene region of Feldom had been the first step in his journey to becoming a better man. He had left his past behind him.

He rode listening to Dievu's lessons and onwards the caravan moved, now travelling west towards the Wisthelm from their last stop in Rustown. They reached the River of Ice, which ran cold down from the Beon Ranges all the way out to the Sea of Turmoil. They then began their journey into a hilly woodland that the road passed through.

Christill began to wonder what kind of trouble his brother might be getting himself into and reminded himself to write another letter once they reached Wisthelm.

Dievu, riding on Vithanu, came up next to Christill and said, "Ready for another lesson, my eager pupil?"

Christill cleared his mind of Thibalt and nodded.

"Very well," continued Dievu. "Today I shall tell you of the unique magic of the Misty Forest. I think that it would..." Dievu suddenly stopped his horse and peered with a worried face into the woods.

Christill stopped and turned Polthus to face Dievu. "What is it, Master?" he asked, but just as he finished the question, a bright flash radiated through the area.

Christill tried to close his eyes but was not quick enough. Blinded, he rubbed his eyes, yet could not see. Screams and shouts of anger sounded in all directions and the few horses in the caravan wailed and reared in the confusion. Christill was thrown from Polthus's back as the horse bucked in panic. Hitting the floor, his vision started to return and gradually he made out the soldiers around him. Many lay motionless on the floor and in the distance more of the Queen's guard fought with a group of masked warriors.

When his eyes finally cleared up he saw that the attackers wore black leather and masks that hid all but their dark eyes. Unsure what to do, Christill scanned the battle for Dievu, but could not see him. He watched the Feldonian soldiers rush into the woods to draw out the masked soldiers, only to see many of them falling to the floor clutching at their throats. He then noticed that the motionless soldiers lying around him had thin needles stuck in their necks.

The guards that had moved to the woods were fighting a losing battle. The attackers were masters of stealth and most of the soldiers fell before they were able to spot their enemy.

"Protect the carriage," came a call from the thick of the battle. Five of the nearest soldiers ran to the carriage and formed a wall at the door, shields held high. Christill scurried up and ran over to the carriage, climbing onto its perch. Taking account of the fight he could see the remaining soldiers fanning out into the trees. It was not far from a massacre. The Queen's guards were fighting phantoms that appeared and disappeared amongst the trees. Needles and arrows flew through the air striking down soldiers as they ran back to protect the carriage.

Dievu then abruptly appeared as he ran from the woods. In the short time since the blinding flash he had managed to don the clawed gauntlets from his armour which were now stained red. His eyes glowed green with magic and in anger he cried, "Out of the forest! Everyone form on the carriage."

Christill spotted an enemy sitting high up in a tree, raining arrows down on the fleeing soldiers. He raised his own bow and retrieved an arrow from behind him. Notching it as fast as he could, he aimed and let loose. The arrow sped off but missed the mark by a good two feet. He pulled out another arrow and this time took his time to aim. The second arrow soared right into the tree and flew past the assassin's face. The archer, shocked by the closeness of the attack, caught sight of Christill and returned a shot.

Christill jumped from the carriage perch, narrowly dodging the arrow, but jarred his arm as he landed on the hard road. He quickly crawled under the carriage for shelter, whilst the remaining soldiers formed a circle around the carriage. Of the guards that had travelled with the Queen, only half remained.

More arrows and needles flew from the phantom assassins in the woods.

"There are magic users amongst them," called one of the soldiers. Moments later he was struck in the chest by an arrow and fell to the ground groaning.

Dievu jumped up onto the carriage and raised his hands high. The green mist that he summoned swirled around him and then shot out in four streams, each striking the ground around the carriage. From each burst of magic came a wall of rippling energy that rose up into the air, forming a square barrier around the men.

As the swarm of missiles continued to shoot from the trees they struck Dievu's shield and burst into ashes which fell harmlessly to the floor. The Feldonian soldiers cheered as they watched the missiles fall harmlessly against the wall of shimmering magic. Eventually the onslaught from the forest stopped and was replaced by dead silence.

The cheering of the guards stopped and the grim silence took hold of their spirits. None spoke, yet all stood with their swords at the ready. Christill looked out into the trees, which all of a sudden seemed to grow darker and denser than before. A cloud of darkness was consuming the woods, obscuring the trees in a hazy mist. The silence continued, bringing their nerves to breaking point. Then out of the trees stepped the assassins.

They did not charge out with their weapons drawn. They simply walked out and formed a line in front of Dievu's barrier. The calm, almost impassive movements of the assassins were more distressing than any battle cry could have been. In almost perfect synchronisation they each drew a long curved blade from their belt and bowed to their enemies. They then removed their masks to reveal their pale faces. All held short cropped black hair with a shockingly pale skin inherited from their harsh homeland.

"Dargonians!" muttered Dievu in surprise. In front of them stood a line of Primals, Dargonian assassins bred for a sole purpose. Each was highly skilled in the art of stealth and murder. "How did so many of them cross this far into Feldom?"

Christill's heart was beating uncontrollably. The only thing standing between them and a painful death was Dievu's magical barrier. He hoped dearly that it was strong enough to repel assassins as well as missiles.

One of the Primals stepped forward. "Give up the Queen and your deaths will be quick and honourable," he announced. "You have fought bravely and there is no need to make this harder than it need be. We will allow you to join your fallen brethren in the Third Plane."

Dievu raised his voice and angrily replied, "Tell your King that the Alliance will never bow down to the requests of Dargon. We will never make bargains with treacherous dogs."

The assassin smiled. "As you wish."

At the leader's command, a bolt of red energy screamed out of the woods with a shrill roar and smashed into Dievu's magical barrier. The blast echoed loudly through the air and shattered the barrier. The force of the blast pushed the Feldonian guards into the carriage, almost toppling it over. Dievu jumped from the carriage roof and readied himself for the fight. "Stand strong!" he shouted to the soldiers. "Protect the Queen!"

The Primals charged at the defenders and smashed into their shields. Using their agility to their advantage they dodged around the heavily armoured guards, who struggled to keep up. Their curved swords sliced and tore at the guards who were forced back. Despite fighting bravely they were outmanoeuvred and outnumbered by the assassins.

Dievu used his powers to speed through the fight, tearing through the black leather of the Primals with his vicious gauntlets. He was a blur on the battlefield, striking out so quickly that his victims were given little time to react.

Christill, still huddled underneath the carriage, remained terrified. He then noticed that the Primal commander was working his way towards the carriage. Christill shuffled to check the door and found that only two of the guards remained beside it, holding off the countless attackers.

With the commander drawing nearer and the Feldonian numbers falling rapidly, Christill panicked and jumped up to the carriage door. He reached out to open the door and leapt inside. The Queen jumped with a fright and Christill found a dagger at his throat. "It is me," he quickly cried.

The Queen sank back into her seat, sweat covering her face. "Christill, I fear that our time is up," she said gravely.

Christill dropped his head. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright, but he did not believe that. The horrid sounds of the fight carried through the carriage walls from outside. The Queen drew a second dagger from a small box and handed it to Christill. He accepted it. "We will die as honourable Feldonians," she said.

Christill smiled as best he could. "I will protect you," he said, though his voice betrayed his own lack of faith. He then pulled up his bow and notched an arrow, aiming at the door.

The door burst open and seeing the black armour of the Primals, Christill let loose. The arrow slammed into the leather armour of the assassin commander. He looked down at the arrow sticking from his chest with a look of astonishment. The look then turned to hatred as he raised his sword to attack. Christill moved in front of the Queen and held up the dagger she had given him, hands shaking in fear. The commander swung, but stopped halfway as a dark green gauntlet grabbed his neck from behind and scratched at his throat.

Dievu pushed the choking commander out of the way and looked into the carriage. "Triel, we must leave now," he said urgently. Christill and the Queen jumped out of the carriage and saw the fighting was still underway. A handful of guards bravely held the deadly Primals at bay.

"We cannot hold them for long. Take Vithanu and get the Queen to Wisthelm as quickly as you can," urged Dievu.

Christill nodded and ran to Dievu's horse. He mounted as quickly as he could and lifted the Queen up behind him. The attackers seeing the Queen making her escape rushed towards them. Dievu raised his hand, palm forward, and sent forth a bolt of magic which engulfed the Primals. He opened his hand and then clenched his fingers causing the magic to morph into barbed coils of energy, which wrapped themselves around the assassins, holding them to the spot. "Go now!" he screamed at Christill. "I cannot stop them for long."

Christill turned Vithanu and urged him forward. They sped away from the battle, heading back towards the river. Gradually the sounds of the fighting faded and as he peered behind he felt as though they had avoided pursuit.

"Do you think that Dievu will make it back?" asked Christill.

The Queen shook her head. "I do not know...How could this happen?"

Christill shook his head, unable to find words.

"So many Dargonians in the middle of our nation. I have never heard of such a thing. How could they have passed through the Ranges unchecked?" asked the Queen, her voice faltering.

Christill sighed and urged Vithanu to go faster, but instead the horse skidded to a stop. "What are you doing?" cried Christill. Vithanu began to snort viciously and stamped his feet in ill temper. "What in the world has gotten into you?"

As he peered down the road, he found his answer.

Standing calmly in the centre of the road was a man in long red robes that dusted the road at his feet. His hood was drawn back, showing a gaunt face with pale Dargonian skin. A pointed beard covered the bottom of his chin and his eyes were sunken back into his head, giving him an unnerving appearance. Something about the man spoke to Christill of a hidden malice. The markings of an eight pointed star, the symbol of the god Gushkall covered the man's robes, marking him a disciple of Gushkall.

Christill drew his bow and readied an arrow. "You would do well to move out of the way, stranger," he cautioned.

The robed figure frowned. "I haven't the time for this nonsense," he said bitterly. He raised his hand and sent an orb of red energy at Christill. It swiftly struck Christill's head and entered his body. Instantly a spasm of pain ran through Christill causing him to fall from the saddle to the ground. Another spasm pulsed through his head causing him to scream out. The Queen could only watch in horror as Christill writhed on the floor from the excruciating pain.

The robed man walked up to the Queen and forced her down from Vithanu. She tried to struggle but he firmly clubbed her on the back of the head, knocking her unconscious. The man then began to walk off with the Queen in his arms. Christill saw him walking away but was powerless to stop him. The pain increased in magnitude until one final spasm struck him with so much force that he fell into darkness.

Christill passed through the void of darkness into a tunnel of light. All around him colours flashed by. Every colour imaginable and some that were so beautiful that he was utterly lost for words to describe them. Faster and faster he sped through the tunnel, though propelled by what force he did not know. A gap of bright white then appeared before him, drawing ever closer and he smiled, knowing that he would reach it soon.

Yet as his destination seemed just within reach, he was pulled back through the tunnel. The colours sped away from him and the darkness returned. He reached out, longing to once again see the colourful tunnel. Then he heard a familiar voice call out his name.

"Christill, are you alright?"

He opened his eyes and saw the sun shining in the cloudless sky. He turned and found Dievu kneeling next to him, with two injured, beaten and bruised soldiers standing behind him. He forced himself to sit up and fell back down as a jolt of pain pulsed through his body.

"Slowly," whispered Dievu. "You will need some time to recover."

The two soldiers behind Dievu stared at Christill with a look of disbelief on their faces. "This is not possible," one commented.

Christill gradually worked his way to a sitting position and held his head to restrain the endless throbbing. "Recover?" he said in confusion. "What happened?"

Dievu briefly glanced at the two soldiers then back at Christill. In a calm voice he said, "You died." Christill's eyes shot wide. "You were on your way to the Third Plane when we found you."

"That cannot be," replied Christill. "I must have been knocked out."

Dievu shook his head. "No. I was able to contact Nyrune before you fully passed from this Plane. She was able to return you to us. Though I must say that you are extremely lucky. As only your mind was damaged and your body left whole, this was possible."

The soldiers shook their heads and Christill noticed that they continued to glare suspiciously at Dievu. "It is not possible to bring someone back from the dead," one soldier said.

"The secrets of magic are not known to commoners!" snapped Dievu quickly. Yet Christill could sense in his tone that there was something he was hiding.

He still could not believe what Dievu had told him. He remembered coming across the robed man on the road, but was having trouble recalling what had happened thereafter.

"Do you know what happened to Triel?" asked Dievu.

Christill, completely preoccupied with his own troubles realized that he had forgotten the Queen. He tried hard to recall the events. "A red robed man with Gushkall's symbol on his clothes attacked us. He sent his powers at me and I could not move. I could not stop him."

"And the Queen, is she dead?"

He closed his eyes. He remembered seeing the man drag Queen Triel from the horse. "I saw him take her away. I believe she was still alive...At least I think so. It is so hard to remember."

Dievu stood up. "Then there is a chance that she still lives. I must follow them." He faced the two guards. "Travel with great haste to Wisthelm. The King must know of this," he ordered.

The soldiers nodded and ran off.

Christill stood up and tried to regain his balance.

Dievu stepped up and helped him. "Are you right to ride?" he asked. Christill nodded. "Then make your way slowly to Wisthelm and find some rest."

"No!" returned Christill. "I will not leave Triel to her fate. Let me go with you."

Dievu remained silent, thinking on Christill's request and finally replied, "Very well. Though if the need arises, I will go on without you. We will follow the Primals and with some luck we may catch them before they reach the Beon Ranges."

Dievu moved to the side of the road and returned with Vithanu and Polthus. Christill walked up and stroked Polthus affectionately on the neck. "He survived the fight," Christill said with a smile.

Dievu grinned. "It was Polthus who allowed me to escape from that ambush with my life. He is a fine horse and an even better friend."

Dievu helped Christill up and stepped up onto Vithanu's saddle. "There was a powerful magic user amongst those assassins. The ease with which he destroyed my barrier astonishes me. This means that their tracks will be masked...Yet we must do our best to find them before they are able to leave Feldonian soil."

"How did this happen?" asked Christill.

Dievu paused as he thought. "I cannot say. To have travelled this far into enemy land without notice is a feat unheard of. But we cannot linger on that for which we have no explanation. All that we can do is try to save Triel."

"Then let us go," said Christill.

Dievu snapped his reins and Vithanu sped of down the highway. Christill followed, his mind dwelling on the tunnel to the Third Plane and the relaxation that he had felt as he had approached the white gateway. Maybe Dievu was speaking the truth, perhaps he had died. Though deep inside he still suspected that there was something that Dievu had not mentioned. Turning his thoughts to the matter at hand, he felt better knowing that death was not as frightening as he had thought it would be.

CHAPTER TEN

### THE HEAVENS ERUPT

Footsteps echoed through the dimly lit passage as the figure made his way to the meeting room. Each step made by the hooded man boomed loudly throughout the complex, followed closely by the loud crack of his staff on the cold stone floor. Years of grime covered the walls in a moist and unclean façade that heightened their uneven shape. These corridors had been carved out of the core of the world itself, so deep underground that the Master's slaves had burrowed well past the roots of the tallest trees. No craftsmen had worked these tunnels, and only a select few knew exactly how they had come to be. Yet those that did rarely left the complex with their sanity intact, let alone alive. A forbidding place it remained, where the screams of the tormented carried through the endless halls, long after their torture had ceased.

The figure kept a steady pace. He walked towards a door at the end of the passage, marked by a fading torch, held up by a rusted holder. His long robes swept the thick layer of dirt on the ground into the air behind him with each stride, creating a cloud of dust in his wake.

An agonizing scream pierced the silence of the corridor, but he did not flinch. There were many who would cower on the floor in the face of such a frightful cry, but not he. He would fear no evil from the forbidden rooms of this complex, for he was the master of it all. The one who had begun the experimentations. The one who had created the devices that brought horrifying pain to the thousands that would never again see the light of the surface world.

Reaching the door, he raised his hand to turn the knob and open the secret entrance. The door slowly swung inside causing a chilling creak to fill the air, as the hinges that had long gone unused struggled to move. The two figures inside turned towards the bookcase which had swung away from the back wall of the room and watched the robed man enter.

"Zephra! I should have guessed as much," said Aldan Hermagoras from the centre of the room, making no effort to hide his vexation.

A scowl appeared on Zephra's face as he walked over to the long wooden table that was the room's centrepiece. "Gourc, that will be all. I will send for you later," he said calmly to his loyal servant.

The third figure in the room, an unsavoury man with a hunched stature and a face full of scars and boils, nodded and hobbled out of the room through the main door. Zephra motioned for Aldan to take a seat, but the duke of Vladistov waved the offer away. Zephra took his own seat and rested his thin black staff against his shoulder. He took a moment to study the man standing before him. Aldan had a slim build and a plain face, with short black hair and thick black eyebrows. This man was no threat to him whatsoever.

"What is this place?" said Aldan nervously, feeling uncomfortable under Zephra's unsettling gaze.

"You do not need to know," said Zephra plainly. "I brought you here to talk, not for a tour of my estates."

Aldan's eyes narrowed. "There is a hidden evil in this place. I can smell the fear, the air is rank with it. Why did you bring me here? My home in Vladistov is secure enough to talk, if that is truly your intent."

"I have no time to travel to Vladistov, so I had you brought to me. It was something that had to be done."

"You could have simply used your magic to speed yourself there," pressed Aldan.

"I could not expend that much of my power today, there are tasks that will require all of my attention," said Zephra, frustration rising in his tone.

Aldan decided not to push the argument further. "Your minions blindfolded me for most of the trip," said Aldan angrily. "Is this how you treat your guests?"

"I cannot give away the location of my most valued works," replied Zephra. "Not even to you, Cousin."

Aldan shuddered at the mention of his link with Zephra. No matter how hard he tried to change things, the same blood that flowed through Zephra's veins would always flow in his. Aldan's father Friedrich Hermagoras II had underestimated Zephra and had paid the price for it. "Well, for what purpose did you bring me here?"

"First sit," motioned Zephra. "I hate it so when someone paces around the room whilst I talk to them."

Aldan took a seat, not wishing to anger Zephra. He was known to lose his temper easily, which had led to the unfortunate death of many innocent men.

"Now firstly I believe we should clear something," started Zephra. "I received word that you still speak ill of Luschia's attack on Feldom."

Aldan shifted nervously in his seat. "I was merely speaking my mind to my own council members," he rebutted.

"Speaking your mind can lead to a rebellion! If one ruler speaks ill of my decisions, then I could have an entire city defect from my campaign. And that is a delay that I will not suffer," he said menacingly.

"I was only saying that in my opinion, Luschia's destruction of the Feldonian village was too ruthless. He left no souls alive."

"No one alive means no witnesses," Zephra pointed out. "The foolish westerners still haven't realised that we were behind the attack."

Aldan nodded. Although the attack was a heinous crime against the women and children that had died, he had to admit that Luschia's strike on the small village of Carlor had been tactically brilliant. "That was a long time ago now. Is Luschia's fleet ready?"

"Not yet, I have asked him to double it," said Zephra casually.

Aldan gasped. "Double it? That would take years."

"Luschia will be able to do it quicker. His construction yards in Sinsai are unmatched. The entire city has been dedicated to his warships."

"But this will mean that you will have to postpone the war until Luschia's navy is complete," criticized Aldan.

Zephra shook his head. "That I cannot do. I will not permit the Feldonians any more time to prepare. Our armies will march within the month."

"You would be foolish to send our men over the Ranges so soon. Sinsai holds more than half of Dargon's troops. Without Luschia and his forces, the chances of victory are slim," said Aldan.

"That is why I need your men. Vladistov is the only city that has not pledged its army to our cause. You can change this," said Zephra. He stared at Aldan, with a scowl. No matter how much he despised his younger cousin, he would need his loyalty to avoid any interruptions. Zephra then smiled. If everything went according to plan tonight, that would only prove a temporary hassle. Yet it paid to cover one's back. Aldan's popularity amongst the Dargonian people meant that Vladistov's defection from the war could lead the minor dukedoms to follow, and that was unacceptable.

Aldan sat solemnly in his chair, thinking on his options. "I can't give you Vladistov's armies, Zephra. My people do not want any part of the coming bloodshed. They have all seen enough strife in their lives."

Zephra's brow lowered further. "This is quite disappointing, Cousin. I had hoped that you were a strong leader. A leader who knew what was best for his people and made his own decisions, without listening to the petty complaints of the commoners. The people of Vladistov have no say in this, only the ruler of the city does." He leant over the table and stared forebodingly at Aldan. "Are you still the ruler, Cousin?...Or have you given that power to your citizens?"

Aldan's eyes flared. "Watch your tongue, Zephra. I am still in charge of Vladistov and I hold the key to your victory in my hands. Vladistov's armies are stronger than you think, and they will stand against you if necessary."

Zephra began to laugh. "You hold nothing in your hands. I can win this war without your help. There are things I have long planned that you know nothing of. I am simply offering you a chance to bask in the glory of victory when I sack Precedin and raise our flag on its western wall."

Aldan shook his head. "You are a fool to try to attack Precedin. The city is unbreakable. You would lose thousands just trying to cross the lake."

"We will cross the lake and then scale the walls, and then we will kill every living creature inside of that god forsaken city and finally claim it for Dargon."

"You dream, Zephra. Not even you with your strongest magic could you break down those walls," said Aldan.

"I do not plan to break the wall. The city will remain intact, but every Feldonian standing in the way of my army as it enters will die," he said, with a fierce voice. "Enough of this! Will you support this war or not?"

Aldan saw the anger flaring in Zephra's eyes. A wrong move and he would likely not leave this place with his life. "Vladistov will aid you in your cause," he said reluctantly. Zephra smiled gleefully. "But we will not send troops to war. We will only send supplies," added Aldan quickly.

Zephra stopped smiling and narrowed his eyes. "Very well, Cousin. I accept your offer, as petty as it is. But this little act of disobedience will not go unnoticed."

Aldan rose from his chair and walked to the door, trying to avoid Zephra's angry gaze. Zephra knocked his staff on the ground four times, the loud bangs echoing through the complex. Moments later Gourc opened the door with a blindfold in his hand and led Aldan out of the room.

Zephra stood up and faced Aldan as he left, "Be wary, Cousin. Tonight it all begins."

Aldan turned around as Zephra finished and wondered what his cousin meant by that. His vision was then taken away as Gourc wrapped the blindfold tightly around his head.

Later that evening the heavy footsteps of Zephra Hermagoras once again echoed through the Dungeon of Kahnustus, as it was referred to by its foul inhabitants. Deeper into the complex he walked, with the rotting smell of corpses and chemicals seeping through the doors of the many chambers he passed. So far everything had gone as planned. Aldan had fallen into his trap, terrified by the thought of his retribution if Vladistov had defected. Now that the only man standing in his way had been taken care of, there was only one thing that he needed to do.

As he travelled the dimly lit corridors he began to hear the sound of crying infants. Slowly as he moved further into the centre and lowest part of the dungeon, the crying grew louder. The walk was long and although time was of the essence, Zephra could not waste any of his magic to speed his travel. He had not yet received confirmation of the Honour Guard's assassination or the Queen's capture, but for the moment those issues were trivial. He needed to focus himself on the task ahead. His entire campaign, even the fate of Dargon, rested on the success of his actions tonight. For countless years he had been planning and preparing for this very day, and for the first time since childhood Zephra felt the gut wrenching sensation of apprehension.

The Dungeon of Kahnustus had been built in such a way that the entire complex led to four long tunnels, each of which then travelled down to the centremost room of the elaborate complex. All but the master of the complex were forbidden to enter this room, and it was he that held the only way to open the four doors leading to the chamber.

Zephra approached the northern door and raised his hand to a key hole in the centre of the iron door. Closing his eyes he summoned up an ounce of his magic which swirled between his fingers. Then concentrating on the shape required, he moulded the magic into a solid key for the door. The key entered the hole, opening the portal. Zephra then dismissed the magic and pushed open the final barrier to his success.

The room that Zephra entered was unlike any in this world. Perfectly round, it held a fountain in its centre with a massive stone shield rising from it. The fountain stood on a raised chunk of marble and had water, a sickly dark green in colour, flowing from the top of the shield down to a pool surrounding the marble. The pattern inscribed into the shield was separated into four sections, with the symbol of each of the guardian gods of Kovi carved into one quarter. The eight pointed star of Gushkall marked the top right and Skiye's angel, bearing heart and sword above her head, the top left. The bottom left held the symbol of Nyrune, a droplet of water, with a watchful eye inside of it. The fourth quarter was left blank, as Beon had never allowed the race of men to portray him with a symbol of their choosing.

The walls were littered with torches that were covered by a red and yellow glass. With a wave of his hand, Zephra sent several balls of red magic flying at the torches, causing them to light and give the dark room an orange glow. He then walked over to a large table, upon which a rectangular slab of onyx was resting. The onyx lay at an angle down towards the pool, designed in such a way so that the blood of sacrificed victims would run directly into the water at the fountain's base. He had spent years planning and designing the room before finally finishing its construction. He was certain he had it right.

Footsteps drew near from outside and the wailing of small children grew louder. From the northern door came Gourc pushing a tray which held four distraught babies, each wrapped tightly in white blankets. Behind him entered four men, all disciples, and each wearing the symbol of their own god.

Zephra smiled as they entered the room. He had worked so hard finding a disciple from every nation to do his bidding. Finding a disciple of Beon had been his hardest task of all, but after several years of searching he had found one in the Miirvkin city of Jalla. Promising them all great power, he had drawn them into his trap, and now he would use them to complete his greatest work yet.

"Bring the infants here," Zephra commanded. Gourc wheeled the tray over to the altar and then retreated quickly to the doorway. "You four, take your positions."

The disciples walked up to the fountain and took their places each in their own designated spot. Zephra picked up the four infants and placed them on the altar. Zephra had collected one pure blooded baby from every nation, another task that had proven exceedingly difficult. He drew a sharp knife from his belt and took a deep breath. This was it, the moment he had worked towards for so very long. A sadistic smile graced his face and he took the knife and cut a long gash into each of the infants' arms. He waited for a stream of blood to flow from of their wounds then wrapped the infants back up in their blankets. The blood from the four mixed together and slowly dripped down the altar, falling into the pool of the fountain.

Gourc ran over and took the children from Zephra. "What shall I do with them, Master?" he asked.

"Bind their wounds. We shall find a use for them," he answered quickly. Gourc walked back to the doorway and began to bind their wounds using shreds from the blankets.

Zephra watched the last droplets of blood fall into the murky water and laughed. "Excellent. Now that the pure essence of the four races is in the shrine we can begin."

He walked over to the front of the fountain and removed his robes. The four disciples were shocked to see that under his robes Zephra's body was surprisingly robust and well-muscled. He looked at the disciples and said, "This is the day you have been waiting for my friends. Today you will receive the power that I have promised you." Zephra then knelt down on the floor and raised his hands, palms forward. The four disciples raised their own hands and pointed them at the pool of water. "Now unleash all of your power into the water," Zephra commanded, his eyes flaring with passion.

The disciples summoned up their magic and allowed it to flow into the water. Bit by bit, more of the magic left their fingers and entered the water, swirling rapidly around the shield. Green, red, blue and yellow energy mixed together in the water, crackling in the air as they unleashed every ounce of their power. A constant stream of magic flowed from each of the disciples' hands into the fountain, linking them together.

"You must not break the connection," shouted Zephra. "Do not forget that." Watching the magic pulse through the water, Zephra decided it was time, and unleashed his own magic into the pool. A great cloud of red mist escaped his hands and engulfed the entire shrine. Zephra stood up, keeping the stream of mist leaving his hands intact, and began to chant.

"Feruthlangan Iluwieth Kahnustus," he recited.

He waited then repeated his words again, louder this time.

Still nothing happened.

"Feruthlangan Iluwieth Kahnustus!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The magic swirling around the shield came together in a circle and exploded with a deafening crack that shook the foundations of the dungeon.

As the smoke from the explosion dissipated Zephra caught his first glimpse of the thing that he had worked so hard to create. In front of the shield, suspended in mid-air, was a circle of black energy. A portal to Teefarrnur, the realm of the gods.

Zephra walked over to the portal, which was alive with energy. The room was now filled with a dreadful hissing and with each passing second tiny bolts of lightning shot from the portal, striking the water in the pool. Looking inside the portal Zephra could see a myriad of colours swirling together in streams. The four disciples remained in the room, pouring their magic into the pool, keeping the portal active.

Zephra took a deep breath and walked over to the portal. He reached out with his right hand and touched the black energy in front of him. A shock of pain ran through his arm, but he did not withdraw. Keeping his arm attached to the portal, he closed his eyes and began a silent prayer to Gushkall.

Gourc watched the magical scene with terrified eyes. The air was alive with raw energy and he could feel the hair on his body rising from the sheer amount of power being unleashed. Zephra had raised his left arm and from it opened another portal, a portal to the Third Plane. It was a mirror image of the first, except that it was red in colour.

Zephra opened his eyes and saw that the two portals were connected through his body and smiled. Although the pain that wracked his body was excruciating, he was pleased that everything had gone as planned.

He lifted his head high and one final time screamed out the words, "Feruthlangan Iluwieth Kahnustus!"

The black portal began to pulse violently, growing larger in size, until a burst of black energy shot out of it into Zephra. He fell to his knees screaming as the energy coursed through his body. Gourc turned away, unable to watch the terrifying scene. Zephra's body began to shake as the energy sizzled him. He did not release his hands from the portals. Blood began to run from his nose and ears and his eyes rolled back, showing only their whites. The energy continued to pass into Zephra for several horrifying moments until it left his body and flowed into the red portal.

Zephra released his arms from the two portals and fell to the floor in a heap. A great beam of energy then shot forward from the red portal into the black causing it to burst. The four disciples were all hit by shots of lightning that travelled up their connections to the fountain and took their lives in an instant.

Then all was silent.

Gourc looked back into the room and saw the four disciples lying dead on the floor. The portal to the Third Plane still hung in the air and underneath it lay Zephra, covered in blood. Gourc ran over to him and held up his head. "Master, what should I do?" he asked in distress.

Zephra opened his eyes halfway and struggled to speak. He was dying. The energy had damaged his body to the very last notion of life. In a hushed voice Zephra managed to whisper, "The portal."

Gourc hesitated at first, but seeing the life quickly fading from his master's eyes, he picked him up and using all of his strength hurled him into the red portal. The energy swallowed Zephra's body up and then exploded into nothingness. Gourc stood in the room staring at the scene of chaos before him. He was now alone, but for the infants in the tunnel outside. His master was gone.

The window burst into a hundred tiny shards, spraying glass into the entire room. Thibalt jumped out of his bed with the fright of his life just as the forceful winds swept through the broken window. "What in the world!" he shouted over the loud moaning of the wind.

His door swung open and Estallion charged in. "We need to board up the windows, a great storm has hit the city," he yelled as loudly as he could.

Thibalt barely managed to hear Estallion's cries as the wind swept past his ears, knocking everything from his bedside table. A great clap of thunder rang through the house, causing Thibalt and Estallion to cover their ears.

"Great Skiye! That sounded like it was just outside," screamed Estallion.

Thibalt ran over to the door just as the thunder sounded again, causing both men to jump. The noise of more windows bursting in the nearby rooms caught their attention and they ran towards the other bedrooms. Estallion moved in first and was showered with glass as the main window of the room burst into pieces. Thibalt pulled him out of the room and yelled, "We need to get out of here. It's too dangerous."

Estallion nodded, wiping the shards of glass from his clothes. "Let's head to the Guardhouse," he shouted back.

They ran through the house, hearing more windows breaking and furniture being blown around as they left. When they opened the front door they were both pushed back by the powerful force of the wind. They wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves and marched outside. The city was in utter chaos. The gales were blowing trees and chimneys down with deafening crashes. Windows and doors were being thrashed so violently that there was little use in boarding them up. Men and woman ran through the streets seeking shelter as thunder and lightning tore up the heavens in a display of nature's dark side.

"I've never seen anything this intense in my life," shouted Estallion as he looked upwards. The entire sky was covered in a curtain of thick black clouds, blocking out the stars. The clouds stretched in all directions, as far as the eye could see. Lightning coursed through the sky with every passing second, illuminating the city in intervals.

They hurried through the streets, avoiding the dangerous debris being thrown around by the wind as best they could.

Then the rain began.

Heavy droplets of water fell from the sky, pelting and instantly drenching everything out in the open. The strong winds only helped the torrential rains to get into every nook and cranny of the city.

When they reached the Guardhouse of Oril, they saw hundreds of people running inside for shelter. They hurried up the stairs and walked into the main chamber, relieved to finally be out of the storm. Estallion motioned for Thibalt to follow him and they walked through the building to a door in the far west of the Guardhouse.

"No one enters this room," said the guard standing at the door with a stern face.

Estallion's eyes widened. "Have you gone mad? I am Estallion Bastion. There are no boundaries in this city that can withhold me. Now move out of the way, before I am forced to use my charm on you," he said with a quick smirk at Thibalt.

"I don't care if you're the King himself. The General demanded that no one be allowed to enter," replied the Guard.

"Well there you have it. He said that no one was allowed in. There are two of us here. By rights you will be following orders by letting us in," said Estallion, smiling happily. He pushed passed the Guard, who was standing dumbfounded at the door, and walked into the room, followed quickly by Thibalt, who was holding back his laughter.

General de Lamina, who was standing in front of the fireplace of his personal office, turned and sighed deeply when he saw Estallion enter. "I knew it was only a matter of time until you smuggled your way in."

"Yes, dreadful business this storm is," replied Estallion. "Never seen anything like it. Wonder what caused it... Have you got any ideas?" he asked.

The General shook his head. "No, but it troubles me deeply that such a storm would engulf our city on the eve of war. It is a bad omen."

Thibalt nodded, but Estallion shook his head. "I never believed in omens. All a bunch of nonsense if you ask me. My mother was one to brag about omens. Don't go out hunting tomorrow, she would say. Those rain clouds are a bad omen. What did she know?...Nothing that's what...Mind you I did catch a rather bad cold during that hunt. Never mind."

The General rolled his eyes and returned to his warm fire, whilst Thibalt walked over to the large table to take a seat. Estallion turned and saw Errollan and Ludvic sitting rather grimly in two wicker chairs in the corner. "Oh, I didn't know you were here. Why are you looking so glum then? Still torn up about Azbaar's death? I'm sure he's up there right now, watching us from the Third Plane, laughing because he's not down here in this horrid weather with the rest of us poor souls."

Estallion's cheerful banter brought a smile to Errollan's face. He and Ludvic had been disheartened since Azbaar's death and it did them good to hear Estallion's chatter.

"Where is Mandigal?" asked Thibalt.

"He's sleeping, boy," answered Ludvic. "Though Skiye only knows how he manages to sleep through such a storm."

"I am not sure that I will ever get used to him. I get shivers whenever he is near," added Thibalt.

Errollan laughed, though it was a forced, half-hearted laugh. "You're not the first person to say that, Thibalt," he pointed out. "Mandigal is a disciple of Gushkall, that is why your feel uncomfortable in his presence."

Thibalt was completely shocked. "Gushkall! How can that be? He worships the god of your most hated enemy?"

"Gushkall is not our enemy, Thibalt, Dargon is," replied Ludvic. "And Mandigal is a good man who has turned from the darkness and embraced Feldom as his own."

"He was also once a friend to Zephra Hermagoras," added Errollan. "And has provided us with crucial information that has saved countless lives."

Thibalt simply shook his head. "Unbelievable," was all that he could say.

"Have you tracked down the men that delivered the message for Ludvic and Azbaar to join you in the Ranges?" asked Estallion.

"No!" snapped Errollan, clearly frustrated. "They had long left Precedin. The message was a master forgery. I myself would have been fooled by that letter. It was as though I had signed it myself."

"At the very least it has shown us how lax we have become," said Ludvic. "We need to take stronger measures to ensure that we are not fooled again."

Thibalt had not mentioned his suspicions about the link between the prophecy that Mandigal had revealed at their first meeting and the events in the Ranges. Staring at the dismay in the Honour Guards' eyes he felt it best to keep the thoughts to himself for now.

A clap of thunder echoed through the halls of the Guardhouse, causing many of those seeking shelter to cry out. The General walked over to take a seat and rested his worried head against the table. "There is nothing we can do but wait until this storm passes," he said.

The others nodded and returned to their own thoughts, stirred every once in a while by an exceptionally loud thunder clap, or Estallion's ravings.

What they did not know, as they sat dwelling on their own troubled thoughts, was that the storm of change, as it would be called in later days, covered the entire world.

In the Misty Forest, homeland of the Karmanians, trees were ripped from the ground by savage winds that penetrated Nyrune's magical barrier. In Dargon, the hammering rain was joined by a thick blizzard, which sent heavy snow falling from the sky to cover the land. And across the Sea of Turmoil, the Miirvkin suffered greatly as giant hailstones and hurricanes tore apart the ground along the coast. The surrounding seas and oceans where sent into disarray as typhoons and heavy swells destroyed most of the ships out in the open water. Tonight no part of Kovi was untouched.

As they sat in the Guardhouse it seemed as though the winds were about to tear the building from its base. The foundations shook as lightning struck and thunder boomed, and the constant wailing of the wind was heard in every corner of the building. There was no true refuge from this storm.

The office door burst open and Mandigal walked in, a flushed look on his face. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his breathing was rapid and irregular.

Errollan jumped up at the sight. "What's wrong?"

"Something has happened," replied Mandigal nervously. "I can feel a great change in the world. Something I have never felt before."

The fear etched into Mandigal's face as he spoke chilled the hearts of all those in the room. "Is it the storm?" asked the General.

Mandigal nodded his head. "This is no ordinary storm. I sense none of Nyrune's power in the foul weather outside. I cannot explain it."

A soldier appeared in the doorway, dripping wet, and struggling for breath. "General...something is happening in the lake. You must come to the wall at once!"

The General grabbed his cloak without hesitation and followed the soldier out of the room. The Honour Guard and Thibalt and Estallion stood to follow.

The soldier led them out of the Guardhouse back into the heart of the storm. They struggled to walk through the forceful winds, but finally made their way to the massive eastern wall of the city. They climbed the stone steps up to the top of the high fortification and ran to the battlements to look at the lake. The wall was packed with citizens who had received word that something was occurring.

Thibalt placed his hands on the soaked battlements and looked out towards Lake Moonsong. The water was alive with the constant splashes of heavy rain and the storm was causing large waves to wash up on the edge of the fishing village beyond the wall. He could not see what the concern was. It appeared just as he would have expected in this terrible weather. He felt a tap on his shoulder and saw a young lady standing next to him.

"Excuse me, but do you know what it is?" she asked.

Thibalt stared at the girl. She had long blonde hair which was tied into a single braid behind her head and wore a simple brown dress underneath her drenched cloak. By her appearance she seemed to be one of the people from the village outside of the wall. "What are you talking about?" he asked back with a puzzled look.

"The light in the lake," she replied, pointing to the centre of the lake.

Thibalt squinted to see through the curtain of rain that was blocking much of his vision, and saw a green light glowing in the centre of the lake, faintly illuminating the water. He rubbed the rain out of his eyes and stared at the light. How could he have missed that before?

"Do you know what it is?" she asked once more. "No one will tell me anything."

Thibalt turned to her once more. She looked to be close to his age, yet her manner portrayed a certain innocence. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I have no more of an idea than you."

A displeased look graced her face and she walked to the edge of the wall, keeping her eyes on the lake. Thibalt could not help but admire her full figure as she walked up to the wall's edge. Although not a stunning beauty, the girl held a simple attractiveness that Thibalt now found quite charming. The girl turned to Thibalt and, noticing that he was staring at her, smiled cheekily. Thibalt quickly looked out to the lake, his face flushing red.

"What's your name?" she asked in a kind tone.

"Thibalt Steelfist, my lady," he replied awkwardly.

The girl laughed at his formal tone. "I'm not quite a lady, Thibalt. You can call me Miera," she replied with a smirk.

Thibalt simply nodded, feeling like a fool. "Should you not be seeking shelter from the storm at home?" he asked, trying to move away from his initial awkwardness.

"My home is on the shore of the lake. I somehow think that I will be safer behind the city wall at the moment," she replied with a giggle.

Thibalt was roused by a tight grip on his shoulder. He turned to find Estallion's cheerful grin a few inches from his own face. "How about that light, Thibalt. I would love to go for a swim, see if I couldn't find out what it is. Though the lake looks a bit choppy at the moment. Oh hello there!" he said, seeing Miera standing behind Thibalt. "Estallion Bastion at your service. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

Thibalt sighed. Estallion had a subtle gift with women that had often tested his nerves. Particularly when Estallion had worked his charm on a girl that Thibalt had fancied. "Her name is Miera," he said quickly, casting a frown at Estallion.

Miera giggled behind her hand, as Estallion stared wide eyed at Thibalt. "Oh!" he replied, realizing why Thibalt was showing him hostility. "Well...um, nice to meet you then. Better go see what the General's up to." He then spun around on the spot dramatically and walked back to the others, chuckling loudly as he walked.

Thibalt raised his hand to his forehead. What was he doing? Acting like a young child. He felt more embarrassed than he had ever been, and now ashamed of his foolish jealousy. He turned back towards Miera who was still laughing, and lowered his head in shame.

A shout came from one of the soldiers on the wall. "The lake, it stirs!"

Thibalt turned his gaze once again to the lake and saw that the water was beginning to swirl in circles. His mouth opened in amazement as he watched the water swirl with greater speed until the entire lake had become an enormous whirlpool, with its eye at the point of the green light.

The General stood next to the Honour Guard watching the spectacle with disbelief. "What in Skiye's name..." he muttered.

The whirlpool swirled with such a force that it sent twelve foot high waves crashing into the fishing village on the outskirts of the lake, destroying piers and boats in a rush of water. The light in the lake began to grow, becoming so intense that the city wall was illuminated in a green hue. Then as the light engulfed the last inch of the lake, the centre of the whirlpool began to bubble wildly. Foam and froth spewed from the eye of the whirlpool and slowly a shadow began to emerge from the bottom of the lake.

Small at first, the shadow grew to immense proportions, blotting out the green light emanating from below. Thibalt felt a shivering hand touch his own and grip tightly. He looked down and realized that Miera was gripping his hand nervously, watching the strange phenomenon with fright.

No one on the wall had any idea of what was happening. Even Mandigal, who was standing beside the General, stood dumbfounded, lost for words. Hundreds of people ran from the fishing village into the city through the mighty gates of the wall, fleeing from the unknown. Errollan instinctively drew a dagger from his belt, unsure of what was about to happen.

The shadow finally reached the top of the water and from the bottom of the lake came a structure. Pale in colour, it rose out of the dark water and stopped, water draining over its sides back into the lake. The people on the wall gasped at what they saw. Standing in their beloved Lake Moonsong was a gigantic bridge spanning the entire distance from Dargon to Feldom.

Cries and screams began to sound along the wall as the citizens saw what the bridge was made of. Thousands of bones, held together by some foul magic, formed the mammoth bridge that now covered the lake. Bones of animals, fish and even men were all wrought together to make the horrifying walkway that now connected Dargon to Feldom.

The whirlpool subsided and slowly the green light began to fade, leaving only the bridge. The rain slowed and came to a halt, and eventually the lightning and thunder that had torn apart the sky ceased.

Mandigal looked up as the storm of change ended, leaving its final mark on the world. "We must destroy that bridge," he said to Errollan, who was staring at the bridge in shock. "We must act now before the magic that has summoned it has time to settle."

Errollan was shaken from his trance and sprang into action. "Watchman!" he yelled. A nervous watchman ran over quickly and stood tall in front of Errollan. "Run to the Guardhouse and summon all of the disciples in the city. Tell them to come to the wall at once."

The watchman nodded and bolted down the stairs of the wall.

Miera gripped Thibalt's arm with her other hand and asked, "What does this mean?"

Thibalt wanted to reply, but could find no answer, so he simply shook his head. He had never thought that something like this was possible. The bridge stood threateningly over the lake, a symbol of Dargon's vicious intent.

The General approached the Honour Guard. "If this bridge remains, we will have great difficulty stopping an attack on the city," he said desperately. "We have always held the enemy numbers back at the lake. If they can simply march over the water we will be hard pressed to hold this wall.

"I know," replied Errollan, in irritation. "We must trust in the power of Skiye's disciples to break the force that holds that bridge together."

"For Feldom's sake let us pray that they succeed," added Ludvic gravely.

The watchman returned hastily with all of the disciples of Skiye that he could summon. Twenty two answered the call, all dressed in the blue robes of Skiye and ready to be of aid.

After they had all had their first glimpse of the bridge, they came to realize how dire the situation was. Mandigal approached them and ordered them to line up on the wall. Errollan and Ludvic worked on moving everyone out of the way and the General left the wall to talk with his captains.

"You must use all of your concentration in this," yelled Mandigal. "The bridge must be destroyed."

The disciples all closed their eyes and began a deep chant, praying to Skiye to grant them the power to destroy the bridge. Mandigal walked over to the others leaving the disciples alone to unleash their power.

"Will you not join them?" asked Estallion, "Surely your own magic would help."

"I would not dare combine Skiye's magic with my own. You have no idea how dangerous that could be," he replied in a tone that sent a chill through Thibalt.

Their talking ceased when the disciples finished their chant. Those still standing on the wall remained dead silent, hoping and praying that the assault would be successful. Thibalt felt Miera's body press close to his own and found comfort in her nearness.

The time had come. The robed men and women raised their hands high to the sky and began to summon up Skiye's magic. The air crackled with energy as each of the disciples formed a ball of energy above their head. Mandigal watched with glowing eyes and then screamed, "Now!"

The disciples threw their arms forwards sending the balls of mist flying at the bridge. On their descent the balls of magic morphed into immense blue fireballs that roared threateningly through the air. The crowd watched anxiously as the fireballs flew over the rooftops of the village and darted at the bridge of bones. They reached the bridge but were repelled moments before the impact by a black field that appeared around the structure. The field sent the fireballs soaring back at the disciples at an intense speed. Each fireball struck the wall where the disciples had been standing, exploding in a series of deafening blasts.

Miera turned away from the blasts clinging to Thibalt for safety. Once the smoke had cleared Thibalt saw charred bodies scattered along the wall that were once disciples of Skiye and retched.

Screams of horror filled the air as people ran from the wall in terror. Errollan fell to his knees, unable to look at the scene in front of him, and Mandigal stared out to the lake. The bridge remained unscathed, looming in the city's shadow, promising further death and destruction.

Gourc wrapped the last bandage over the Miirvkin child's arm and placed him on the bed with the other three children. He then left the room and began to make his way up the dark corridor towards his own chambers. A strange noise caught his attention as he passed the corridor that led down to the southern door of his master's shrine. He stopped and listened for a moment and then he heard what sounded like a distant explosion.

Knowing that he was the only servant in this part of the dungeon, Gourc walked down the corridor to investigate. He reached the door and placed his ear against it, trying to listen for any noises inside the room.

Another loud boom echoed through the corridor, causing Gourc to jump. The door swung in by itself, opening up the shrine room. Gourc stuck his head cautiously inside and lost his breath. "Master, you've returned."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

### THE BITTER BITE OF DARGON

They tied the horses to a sturdy tree trunk using a special knot that Dievu had learnt as a child. It would slowly unravel itself over a week, ensuring that the horses would not remain restrained were their owners not to return. They left Vithanu and Polthus within reach of the small stream flowing down the slope, in an area that contained enough grass for them make it through the week. Christill took what he deemed he would need from Polthus' pack and gave the horse one final appreciative scratch behind the ears. "Thank you my loyal friend. Let's hope that I make it back to you."

"Do not worry about the horses," said Dievu, as he strapped on the last parts of his armour. "Be assured that they will be much safer than we are about to be."

Christill nodded gravely. What chance did they have of rescuing the Queen? Two men against thirty, not even Dievu's magic could even odds that great.

He looked up the rise to the rough path that cut through the footsteps of the Beon Ranges. The vicious mountains that spread out before him with their jagged peaks warned Christill of the dangers they faced. Even if they were to make it to the other side, they would be passing into Dargon.

Dievu saw the desperation in Christill's eyes. "I do not wish to take you with me, Christill, but I have a duty to Triel and to be honest I may require your help to rescue her," he said softly.

"I would go with you even if you commanded me not to," replied Christill. "Feldom is my home, and I also have a duty to Triel that I cannot run from. We must save her."

Dievu smiled. "I truly hope that we will survive this adventure, Christill. You have the makings of a great disciple in you. It would be a crime to take you from this plane before you reach your full potential."

"Well let's make sure that I survive," Christill added with a note of concern in his tone.

Dievu heaved his pack onto his shoulder and began to march up the trail. Christill took a long hard look back towards the countryside of Feldom. Would he ever again walk amongst the mighty oaks and beautiful trees that dotted the landscape? His instinct led him to doubt, yet he would not linger on such concerns. If it was his time to die, then so be it.

Dievu was already at the base of the mountain. The track rose up in between two of the larger mountains and then crept steeply up onto the side of the left peak. Christill lifted his pack and shouldered his bow. He then ran up the track to catch up to Dievu.

"They followed this path," said Dievu as he looked at the marks left by the Dargonian assassins. "And they took their horses."

"Then they are foolish," Christill remarked. "The horses will surely not survive the climb."

"You are right, but the Primals are heartless and will use any means available to them to get out of Feldom quickly."

Christill thought of the horrible things the assassins would be doing to the Queen and felt disgusted. He dismissed his thoughts and kept walking up towards Dargon. He had to hope.

The icy wind was a great hindrance during their travel along the side of the mountain. The high altitude and lack of shelter brought illness to both Dievu and Christill, but they marched on. Sweating and shivering with fever, they could only travel for short parts of the day, having to stop after small distances to rest their burning lungs and aching muscles. Dievu did what he could to relieve the pain using his magic, but proper shelter from the bitter winds sweeping out of Dargon was what they truly needed.

They were assured that they were taking the right path through the mountain when they passed the corpse of one of the Primals on the trail. The harsh conditions had overcome him and he had been left to rot on the side of the mountain by his comrades. They came across more corpses the further they travelled into the Ranges.

"If it keeps going like this there won't be any left to fight. Nyrune seems to be doing our job for us," said Christill as they sat, huddled in their cloaks against the hard rock of the mountain.

Dievu swallowed painfully though his sore throat and answered. "That is if we ourselves are not consumed by Nyrune's hatred of the Dargonians."

Christill moved closer to his master for warmth, any movement a struggle. He had thought that his near death experience had given him a reason not to fear the end of his life. But he was wrong. There was a reason to fear death; his life now had purpose. He was yet to learn to use magic, or find a love that he could share his life with. Most of all, he longed to see Thibalt once more.

His joints ached with every move and even the simple task of breathing drained away his strength. Each breath full of frosty air burned in his inflamed lungs. Christill's appetite had long disappeared, but he was still forcing mouthfuls of bread and fruit down his dry throat.

Dievu used his magic to heat some ice that he scraped off of the rocks and then made warm tea using some herbs that he had kept in his pack. The tea helped to ease the burning in Christill's chest and ran temporary warmth through his veins.

"We will travel no further this night," muttered Dievu. "The clouds betray the first signs of a storm."

Christill looked up to the sky and saw the grey clouds scattered amongst the stars, waiting to unleash their full force. He desperately hoped it would not rain, not knowing that in mere hours the storm of change was going to begin. As the time passed by, the clouds gathered together and grew in size until the entire sky was covered in a grey mantle.

"Something is not right," Dievu said, his voice betraying his fear. "I have never seen such a gathering of storm clouds."

"Look!" urged Christill, pointing to the west. "It covers the entire world." Dievu's eyes widened as he saw the cover of darkness spreading endlessly into the distance.

"Is this Nyrune's doing?" asked Christill.

"No. I cannot sense Nyrune's influence in these clouds," Dievu replied.

Then it began.

The wind grew in force, until soon Christill and Dievu were both worried they would be thrown from the very side of the mountain by the powerful gales. Then the rain began to fall, showering down in immense proportions. The trail was soon turned into muddy slush and they were forced to climb up the mountain to find what shelter they could underneath a small rocky outcropping.

Thunder roared angrily and lightning coursed through the skies as the storm reached its peak. Never before had the world suffered such a great onslaught of violent weather, and never again would it be the same. Dievu and Christill could do nothing but sit out the storm in the open, constantly pelted by heavy rain and winds.

As the waters of Lake Moonsong stirred, raising the skeletal bridge, a great bolt of lightning struck out from the sky, hitting the mountainside above Christill and Dievu. The rock blasted into pieces that tumbled down the mountain in an avalanche of harsh stone. Acting quickly Dievu jumped out from under the outcropping and began to send bolts of energy at the large falling chunks of rock. His magic worked to break them up into harmless pebbles before they reached their shelter. He worked frantically to destroy all of the pieces heading their way, sending bolt after bolt of green magic out of his hands.

Christill watched Dievu from the outcropping and saw that his eyes were glowing green with power. Finally the last piece that posed a threat to them was blown apart and Dievu ran back to Christill, completely exhausted.

Christill urged him to drink some water. "Master, you must rest. This sickness will take you if you continue to exert yourself like this."

Dievu nodded and closed his eyes to rest. Thunder echoed loudly amongst the mountains as the storm continued its assault. Christill sat quietly, wrapped up as tightly as possible in his cloak, watching the lightning brighten the sky. Then the storm stopped. Christill left the outcropping cautiously and let out a long breath when he realised that it was truly over.

Dievu, who had drifted into sleep, awoke with a scream.

Christill ran over to him, asking, "What's wrong?"

Dievu begun to search the skies frantically, darting his head here and there.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something is wrong. I feel a change in the world," Dievu replied.

"Maybe it is just this cold sickness."

"No, it's not. I do not know what it is that I feel...I must talk with Nyrune." He walked away from Christill and dropped to his knees. Raising his hands to his temples he began to call out to Nyrune. Christill watched silently, not knowing what to expect.

Long moments passed in which nothing happened. Christill kept as quiet as he could, not wishing to interrupt Dievu in his difficult task. He was surprised when Dievu stood up, shaking his head in a confused manner.

"What did the goddess say?" asked Christill anxiously.

Dievu gazed at Christill with a nervous look. "She did not answer my prayers," he replied uneasily. "I'm not sure what this means yet. For now we must keep following the Queen's captors. We have lingered for too long."

Christill hoisted his pack and then handed Dievu his own. He was greatly disturbed by the troubled look on his Master's face. It was a look of resignation, as though all hope was lost, and Christill was not about to believe that they had made it this far to give up. "Come Master, we must hurry."

Dievu's lips curled into a mild smile. He nodded slightly and took the pack from Christill. "Maybe there is hope, Christill, but without Nyrune's guidance we are lost."

"We are not lost," insisted Christill. "You can't lose faith just because Nyrune will not answer your prayers. We still have a duty to Triel and we are not about to let her die because of a minor setback. The storm has stopped, and although, as you say, something is not right, we must move on."

Dievu listened to Christill's words intently. "You are right. Triel needs us more right now. Let us go." Christill and Dievu headed back down to the trail and once more began to step along the muddy ground towards Dargon.

* * *

Christill dropped his pack and took only his bow and quiver. Dievu had already begun the climb up the mountain to the crest from which they could see the Dargonian camp. He lay on his stomach peering over the rocky cliff, staying as silent as he could.

Christill crept up next to him and peered over the edge. About fifty feet down the mountain was the camp. He counted around twenty of the Primals left and Christill spotted the robed disciple who had attacked him and captured the Queen, sitting by himself next to a small fire. The camp was set out in a circle with three fires burning to keep the assassins warm in the high altitude.

Dievu shuffled around the crest to get a better look at the camp and saw Queen Triel sitting on the floor with her hands bound behind her and cuts and bruises covering her body. He cringed when he saw the state of her clothes, all tattered and filthy, and felt furious when he thought about the things the assassins would have done to her. Spotting the red robed disciple, he punched his fist into the hard rock to vent his anger and then returned to Christill.

He motioned for Christill to follow him down the mountain and they both crept back to their packs, trying desperately to remain discreet.

"There are too many of them," breathed Dievu.

"But we must try," urged Christill.

"No," replied Dievu, regretfully. Christill could sense Dievu was leaving something unsaid. "Duty is one thing, but throwing your life away needlessly is another. There is no hope in us trying to rescue the Queen with these odds."

Christill was infuriated. "What do you mean? We cannot just let her be taken into Dargon. They will kill her, or worse."

"Quiet!" demanded Dievu. "We will not abandon the Queen. We will help her in other ways. Now that we know the route they are taking I can estimate that it will take them at least another fortnight to escape the Beon Ranges. If I send word to the Council of Elders, they will be able to contact Precedin. Riders could be sent out by tomorrow. From Precedin there are quicker routes through the Ranges into Dargon. With luck they may reach the Queen before the assassins manage to take her too far into their homeland."

"And what will we do?" asked Christill.

"We will return to Feldom and then to Duathnin."

Christill stared at Dievu in disbelief. "After all this you would return to Karmena and simply get on with your life? How could you come all this way and then turn around?"

Dievu answered, "Think rationally, Christill. There is nothing that we can do for Triel anymore. We have helped her enough by following her this far. We now know that they want her alive and we also know where they will enter Dargon which will give the Feldonians a chance of rescuing her. This is now beyond you and me."

"I cannot believe this," Christill replied.

"You will do as I tell you," snapped Dievu. "I will contact the Elders, and tell them to send word to their people in Precedin. Wait here for my return."

Christill acknowledged Dievu's order regretfully and sat down as his master walked off up the mountain. As he waited he found conflicting emotions building up inside of him. He was angry that they were going to abandon the Queen, and a part of him wanted to jump down the mountain and attack the assassins, regardless of the odds. However, he knew that there would be no chance of rescuing the Queen by himself and lowered his head.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain around his neck and was pulled backwards. He attempted to scream but the pressure around his throat was too great. Christill looked up and saw a Primal standing above him, choking him with a length of clear wire. The assassin dragged Christill backwards down the mountain, cutting into his skin as he violently strangled him. His already inflamed lungs burned from the lack of oxygen.

Christill fought as best he could, but it was useless. The soldier was skilled in the art of killing and there were few in the world who could prevent a Primal from completing their work. Then just as he felt his consciousness slipping away, the assassin removed the wire from his neck and let him fall to the ground. Christill's hands covered his throat as he coughed painfully and his enemy drew a long dagger and placed it at his throat.

"Don't make a sound or you and your precious Queen will die a horrible death. Do you understand?" he asked menacingly.

Christill nodded and the assassin backed off. He turned and moved back to the mountain trail that led down to the Dargonian camp. From the trail came another figure, one that Christill remembered.

The red robed disciple walked calmly up to Christill and laughed. "Well look at this," he said. "It seems like someone has brought you back from the dead."

Christill studied the man's face and remembered the gaunt, heartless features. His eyes were an unnatural dark blue that unsettled him. Are all men in Dargon such cold blooded animals?, he wondered.

"Tell me, was it that Karmanian that fought so valiantly? Or should I say foolishly...Or do you possess some magical powers of your own?"

Christill spat at him.

"Feisty, I like that," said the Disciple, playfully. A fiendish smile graced his face. "I think introductions are in order. I am Novokai. Who might you be?"

Christill stared defiantly into Novokai's eyes. He would not give this man anything he wanted. Christill had born enough torture in his life. "You will get no answer from me you foul wretch of a man," he yelled.

The Primal stepped back up with his dagger held ready, but was held back by Novokai. "No Rhucia, don't worry. Whatever allies he might have waiting in the hills will be no match for me."

Christill stood up. He was close to six feet away from Novokai and Rhucia, but knew that any attempt to flee would be useless.

"As you have most likely realized, there is no hope of escape. Not even Dievu can help you this time," said Novokai.

Christill's face reflected the surprise at hearing Dievu's name and Novokai smiled. "Oh, what's wrong? Didn't you realize that I was well aware that you had been following us from the very day that poor excuse for a disciple brought you back to this plane?" Novokai shook his head. "You are truly naive. But I will say that I respect your loyalty to your Queen. She is indeed worth fighting for."

Christill's eyes flared with anger. "I swear if you have harmed her in any way, I will-"

"What?" interrupted Novokai. "What exactly will you do to me? Do you alone have the power to stop me?"

Christill stared him down, but his resolve was faltering.

"I didn't think so. Now tell me who you are, and why the Queen is so important to you that you would throw away your life to save her."

"I will not answer anything," replied Christill.

"Very well," sighed Novokai. "I'll just have to find out for myself then." He raised his hand and summoned forth a stream of magic. Christill watched in horror as Novokai's eyes burned red and the magic drew closer to him. It enveloped Christill's body and began to swirl rapidly around his head.

"Now for a little insight," called Novokai. He then moved his wrist, commanding the magic to enter Christill's ears and as it did Christill fell to the floor in tremendous pain. His hands reached for his head and he began to claw at his face, trying to get the magic out.

A loud voice shouted, "Stop this at once, Novokai!"

The pain disappeared and Christill looked up to see Novokai staring, with one raised eyebrow, up the mountain. He turned and saw Dievu standing upon the crest, pure rage burning in his features.

"So nice of you to finally make an appearance, Dievu. What has it been...twenty years, since the battle of Hiethris? My how you've changed."

"Do not talk to me of Hiethris. There was no battle there, only a massacre," Dievu shot back.

"Poor, poor Dievu. Still caught up in the events of the past. Can't we forgive and forget?" said Novokai in a teasing tone. "And in any case, just before I killed your precious wife I probed her mind and trust me, she wasn't the most loyal of women in Karmena."

Dievu clenched his fists tightly, biting his lip to hold back his anger. "One day you will pay greatly for the woman and children that your students killed in Hiethris."

"We shall see," replied Novokai calmly.

Rhucia sprang to action as soon as Novokai had finished and unleashed a handful of needles at Dievu. Waving his hand across his chest, Dievu formed a barrier that stopped the deadly missiles.

"You will have to try better than that you fool," shouted Dievu.

"I tire of this game. Rhucia, take the boy," ordered Novokai. "I will finish what I should have a long time ago."

Rhucia moved with incredible speed at Christill. Dievu raised both hands and unleashed a ball of Nyrune's magic that headed for the assassin, but he wasn't quick enough. Rhucia tackled Christill, grabbing him around the stomach and dragged him down the trail. Dievu's ball struck the ground where Christill had been standing and exploded into a pile of green sludge that, had it hit, would have held Rhucia to the ground for hours.

Christill struggled to free himself from Rhucia's grip but he knew it was hopeless. The last thing he noticed before lapsing into unconsciousness was Rhucia's fingers pressing hard into his neck.

"It ends now, Dievu," yelled Novokai as Gushkall's magic flowed through him, causing his entire body to glow red. The ground beneath them trembled from the power coming from his body.

Dievu summoned his own magic which sizzled in the air around him. He knew that he could not win this fight. Novokai was a much stronger disciple than he, and the restrictions of Nyrune's magic would not allow him to directly kill another man with her powers. He knew that there was no hope of saving the Queen and Christill by himself and decided his best option was to try to reach help. Quickly glancing around for a way to escape, he saw a small ridge that led down to the trail behind them. He closed his eyes and allowed Nyrune's magic to enter his muscles. Amplified by the energy in his legs, he sped off towards the ridge.

To the normal eye Dievu would have simply been a lightning fast blur. But Novokai, whose own powers allowed him to see the world differently, saw each step that Dievu made. He raised his palm and unleashed a bolt of magic that struck Dievu in the arm.

Before Dievu had even hit the ground from the impact, a second bolt had struck him. The onslaught continued and Novokai unleashed strike after strike of burning hot magic at him.

Only Dievu's own magical barrier prevented him from being melted into a heap, but the barrier was not enough to stop the powerful impact of the blows and soon Dievu was on his back, crying in pain.

He knew that he only had one last chance to escape so he raised his palm and unleashed a ball of mist into the air that exploded in a blinding flash of white light. Novokai closed his eyes, but was a fraction too late. The light burned into his pupils, blinding him.

Dievu summoned up all of his remaining magic. It was risky, but he was left with no other choice. He willed his power to teleport himself to safety. Novokai unleashed bolts of magic in all directions that charred, sizzled and tore up the mountain side. Luckily none of them found Dievu as Nyrune's magic consumed his body and brought it to another place.

When the blindness had finally passed Novokai looked up and realized that Dievu had escaped. "Very well, Dievu," he cried out. "You may run today, but we will meet again."

Dievu opened his eyes and screamed. He saw the last thing that he had been thinking of when he had willed the magic to teleport him. Vithanu, still tied to the tree, trotted over to Dievu and affectionately prodded him with his nose. Dievu tried to sit up, but could not move. His head spun violently. He coughed deeply for several moments and could taste the foul tang of his own blood in his mouth. The strain of the teleportation had damaged his body severely. Had he tried to travel any further than the base of the Ranges, he would have likely arrived at his destination as a corpse.

He could not recall how long he lay there, but finally Dievu managed to gather up enough strength to stand. He untied Vithanu and then walked over to Polthus who was drinking from the shallow stream that flowed down from the mountain. He stroked the horse's neck and thought of Christill. "I will not fail you. Help will come," he said aloud. He then forced himself up onto the saddle, and with Polthus at his side began the journey to the City of Skiye.

The soldier turned his head towards the door he was guarding. The stone entryway to the Tomb of the Moon was sealed completely shut, and had not been opened since the funeral of Azbaar Ingel. He leaned his ear closer, trying to hear inside of the tomb. Had he actually heard a noise from inside? Impossible, he convinced himself. Nothing in the Tomb of the Moon was alive. It was sealed so tightly that not even the vermin that inhabited every inch of Precedin could penetrate its shell. The soldier shook the silly thoughts out of his head and returned to his post, looking out upon the mighty city.

Since the appearance of the bridge of bone over Lake Moonsong, Precedin had changed. There was not a single soul that had slept peacefully since the storm, knowing that the armies of Dargon were likely on the move. The citizens had fled the city by the thousands, clogging the gates and streets with carriages and horses, leaving their homes behind for Dargon to claim. Only those stubborn or brave enough to fight, had stayed in the city. The army barracks were full of soldiers and militia, but others would be needed to bring medical aid and supplies to the front lines, and to quench the many fires that would consume the city when a siege began in earnest.

A great sigh escaped the soldier's mouth. How he longed to be one of the men leaving the city with their family, heading for the safer western cities. Alas, duty would keep him at his post for the remainder of his life, for a guardian of the Tomb of the Moon was bound to its protection until death claimed him or another took his place. He suddenly turned his head again. Was his imagination betraying him or had he actually heard something from behind the large stone door? This was the only entrance to the dark chambers of the tomb, and it had not been opened since Azbaar's death. Impossible, he convinced himself once more and then returned to his post.

Zephra Hermagoras laughed inside the Tomb, amongst the rotten and long forgotten corpses of the great men of Feldom. "Such fools," he muttered to himself. He walked past the bodies of the kings and generals of the past, through to the one thing that he was looking for.

Since the storm, word of the failed attempt on the Maloreichar had reached him, but this did not bother him too greatly. He had achieved what he had wanted to and there was no power in this world strong enough to stop him now. His eyes, which had turned pitch black since his return from the Third Plane, spotted his target.

Azbaar's body lay on a stone slab, surrounded by the decaying flowers that had been scattered around him during the funeral. Zephra walked up to the body and smiled, at least his men had managed one thing. He heaved the body off the stone slab and, using all of his might, lifted it onto his shoulder. Zephra then closed his eyes, allowing a cloud of black mist to surround him. In an instant he was gone and the Tomb of the Moon was once again devoid of life.

Zephra opened his eyes and smiled smugly as he saw the onyx altar of the Dungeon of Kahnustus. He would have never imagined teleportation over such a distance to be possible. But that was before he returned.

He walked over and placed Azbaar's body onto the altar. Without delay he walked over to the fountain below the shrine and scooped up a bowlful of the murky water. The floor surrounding the altar was still stained with the congealed blood of the four disciples who had died during his experiment. He returned to the altar and poured the water into Azbaar's mouth. Then, holding his hands over Azbaar's chest, Zephra began to pour magic into Azbaar's body, causing it to convulse with spasms.

The magic coursed through the lifeless veins in Azbaar's body, replacing the dried blood and once again bringing life to his heart and brain. On the outside, Azbaar's skin began to bubble and melt, deforming his features and melding his armour to his body. A loud scream escaped his lips as he returned to Fellarrnur, pleasing Zephra. Boils and wounds began to appear on his face and his body expanded with each pulse of magic. His muscles grew to great proportions, stretching the hard metal of his armour and breaking it in several parts. After one final pulse, Zephra let go of Azbaar's body and it lay still on the altar.

Slowly Azbaar began to breathe hoarsely, his deformed chest rising and dropping heavily. "Arise, my new servant," commanded Zephra, his eyes watching wickedly.

Azbaar's eyes opened and stared at Zephra. His original eyes were gone, now completely black and dead. He rose from the altar and stood, towering over Zephra. What was once a proud and regal Feldonian was now a twisted and horrifying monster of a man. His suit of armour had been joined to his body as the magic had burned his skin and was now an extension of the former man. His face, though still recognizable, was mangled and terrifying to look upon.

"Zephra," he said in a deep and foreboding voice that echoed through the shrine room.

"Master!" replied Zephra.

Azbaar nodded and dropped to one knee. He bowed low to the ground in front of Zephra and then raised his head. "Master."

Zephra laughed gleefully. "Excellent," he mused.

* * *

The city of Vladistov was busier than it had ever been. Aptly named 'The Heart of Dargon', the streets were filled with thousands of soldiers making ready for the war. Men ran around moving supplies back and forth through the three sections of the city, working tirelessly so that the army would be ready for the King's arrival. The smiths and armourers kept their forges burning without pause as the demand for their labour increased beyond their capacity. But no one would question King Zephra's demands.

The soldiers from Bultan, Arkhorn and the lesser cities where now joined into one army that had marshalled itself in Aldan Hermagoras's city. Only Vladistov's armies would not march to Feldom and though this displeased the King, Aldan believed that his choice would not be questioned by his cousin.

The city itself was split into sections that were separated by three walls. The first and outermost wall was made of timber and, though not heavily fortified, did provide sufficient protection to those who lived in the outer limits. The second wall, a thirty foot high stone barricade, separated the outer township from the city's business district. Only three entrances to the inner city lay in the second wall and each was so heavily guarded that an army would be needed to storm through those gates. The third and final wall, which formed a perfect square around the centre of Vladistov, was made from black stone and protected the noble families and Duke's residences from the common citizens.

From the balcony of his four story estate, Villa Estire, Aldan could see the entire city, up to the far western gate in the timber wall. He laid his hands upon the white marble railing that was carved into a spectacular design. No expense had been spared when Villa Estire was built. The Duke of Vladistov could claim one thing that could not be challenged in Dargon, and that was that his estate was by far the grandest in the land.

Master builders and craftsmen from all corners of Dargon had worked without rest for four years to complete the mansion that contained over two hundred rooms, eighty handcrafted balconies, fifteen different gardens and a plethora of exquisite features such as fountains and stained glass windows.

A forced cough caused him to fall out of his trance and he turned around. "Ah Friedrich, I was wondering when you would turn up. Been off seducing some of the servant girls with Vrill again?"

"No, Father," replied Friedrich in a boisterous voice. "Though I'm not so sure about Vrill."

Aldan smiled. His son was the only joy that he had left in this doomed world. His wife had lost her fight with the scarlet rash that had spread like wildfire over Dargon seven years back, leaving Aldan to raise Friedrich by himself. He studied his boy, now nineteen summers old, and felt pride.

Trimmed black hair fell over boyish features that made him look younger than he truly was. His body, though not bulky, displayed the strength that came from a life of training in the martial arts.

He looks so much like his grandfather, Aldan thought. Zephra had murdered that man and taken the throne for himself. Aldan had thought it right to name the boy after his late father, to not only honour his memory, but to remind Zephra of the challenge to his throne. The more he thought on it though, the less he wished for Friedrich to live such a life. His son deserved more than the danger and constant troubles that rulership of a Dargonian province brought.

"Father, what did you call me here for?" asked Friedrich trying his best not to sound impatient.

"Yes, what did you ask us here for?" asked another voice from behind Friedrich.

Aldan looked past his son to see a tall and well-dressed boy with almost perfectly smooth dark hair and a stylish thin beard. "Vrill, I don't remember asking you to meet me here," said Aldan trying to talk with a superior tone, but failing due to the sheepish grin on his face.

"Ah Uncle, you know that nothing passes my ears unnoticed in this place," he replied in his quick, run together accent that was distinctive of the people of Yulistov to the north.

"Vrill, you'd best behave yourself, another uncle of yours is going to be here at any moment," continued Aldan.

Vrill's expression turned sour. "Zephra's coming?" he asked nervously. When Aldan nodded, Vrill suddenly disappeared into the shadows. Not one to usually avoid meetings, Vrill was dreadfully afraid of Zephra. He was the only man that Vrill had yet met that he could not charm. Vrill's uncanny ability to bring a smile to anyone's face was completely lost when Zephra was near and so he tried his best to avoid his intimidating uncle.

Friedrich turned back to his father and asked, "Did you summon me here, or did he?"

Aldan sighed. "He did."

"Why does he insist on me being here for every meeting that you two ever have?" asked Friedrich in frustration.

"Because he fears you, Son," replied Aldan. "He wants you here so that I do not spread lies to you about what he has been saying. He thinks that by having you here he can manipulate you against me."

"He could never shift my loyalties. I will not bow down to Zephra as my grandfather did. One day the throne will be mine."

Aldan smiled, though inside he felt regret at the position that his son was in. He had brought Friedrich up well and was sure that he would become a righteous king. And as Zephra was still without wife or son, Friedrich was next in the line of succession.

Aldan then shook his head. This would never be. Zephra would never allow that to happen. Even if he did not father an heir, Zephra would ensure that Aldan's line would be wiped off the face of the world, purely out of spite.

Footsteps from the nearby hallway brought Aldan back from his thoughts. He composed himself and stood up straight, then motioned for Friedrich to come and stand next to him. The footsteps drew nearer and then just short of the entryway to the balcony they stopped. Friedrich looked at his father in confusion and Aldan replied with the shrug of his shoulders.

Moments later Zephra appeared in the doorway wearing a dark grey robe, trimmed with silver inscriptions. It was draped over a black shirt that was made of a fabric that glistened in the sunlight. By his side was a walking staff made from dark oak that held a round sapphire at its top.

"Zephra, your eyes..." mumbled Aldan as he saw Zephra's face in the sunlight. The King's eyes had turned pitch black.

"A side effect of my most recent work," said Zephra with a wave of his hand to dismiss the issue. "Friedrich," he greeted with a smile that looked unwelcome on his face.

"Uncle, it's been too long since your last visit," replied Friedrich unconvincingly.

"I have been busy planning a war. I haven't enough time for pleasantries," replied Zephra with another forced smile.

"I hope that you appreciate the work my people have been doing to ensure your army is ready for war," said Aldan.

"It is satisfactory, though not as much as I had hoped for," replied Zephra coolly. His tone indicated that he placed little worth on Aldan's comments. He walked up to the balcony railing and peered down to the city below.

They waited in silence and Aldan found his concern growing. There was something different about his cousin, other than the ghastly change to his eyes. His bearing portrayed a new confidence that scared Aldan. In the past Zephra had been careful to make sure that they stayed on civil terms. Yet the way in which he was acting suggested that he no longer cared.

"Well, what news do you bring?" asked Aldan

"The army will march tonight," Zephra announced almost absentmindedly, not taking his eyes from the city.

Aldan was completely taken by surprise. "Are you mad? They're not ready yet. You need at least two more weeks."

"That is not necessary," replied Zephra. "Word must have reached you by now of the bridge."

"Yes, but even with the crossing we will lose thousands upon thousands scaling the wall," reasoned Aldan.

"We will not need to scale the wall. I will ensure that the gates will be open."

Friedrich raised his brow at this. "How?"

Zephra laughed. "Let us just say that the armies of Dargon will not fight alone."

Aldan lowered his head. He did not know what was meant by that but was not willing to push the matter. "And who will lead the united armies of Dargon? General Dithus of Carnaic?"

"No," said Zephra. Then he looked towards the doorway and said, "Come in."

Aldan and Friedrich, as well as Vrill who was watching the meeting from a balcony two floors up, staggered when they saw the mammoth figure enter the doorway.

From the hallway came Azbaar Ingel, formerly of the Maloreichar, now a twisted monster of a man and commander of the united armies of Dargon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

### DILEMMA

Thibalt walked down the sunlit corridor nervously. He laughed as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. The last time he was this anxious was the night of the hunt in Miirvk. His anxiety seemed to increase every time he made this trip.

He passed the fourteenth door and then stopped at the next one. Yes, this was the door. He recognised the minor flaws in the timber. He had memorised them during the many times he had waited in front of the room, building up the courage to knock. He took his hands from of his pockets, a nervous habit, and composed himself. He then knocked gently three times. A few seconds later the door swung inwards and Thibalt was embraced in a warm hug.

Thibalt was taken completely by surprise, but was delighted by the show of affection. He wrapped his own arms around the girl that he had come to adore and rested his head on her shoulder. "What would you have done if someone else was at the door?" asked Thibalt.

Miera giggled and drew away from Thibalt. "I would have embraced my new lover with an open heart, and taken him for a walk," she answered playfully.

Thibalt laughed as he always did in her company, which since their first meeting had been frequent. Miera and her family had been invited to stay in the Bastion estate after the skeletal bridge had appeared over Lake Moonsong. Estallion had at first claimed that the invitation was purely out of gentlemanly courtesy, but they all knew he had done it specifically to give him an excuse to see Miera. And no one was more grateful than Thibalt when Miera brought her mother and three younger brothers with her to the gates of Estallion's home. From that day Thibalt had spent every spare moment in her presence and when away from her, his mind was filled only with the thought of seeing her again.

"What shall we do today?" asked Miera.

Before Thibalt could answer an elderly woman replied, "Get married and finally be done with this game."

Thibalt swallowed through a lump in his throat as Miera's mother, Evelyn, appeared in the room behind. She was wearing a simple brown dress and had her greying hair tied back behind her head. Her face bore the mark of many years of hard work, but still held a warm smile that made Thibalt feel at ease. In her eyes he could see the same spark that shone in Miera's own, and he imagined that in her youth she would have looked almost identical to her daughter.

"Young Thibalt, when are you going to marry my daughter and place the mind of a troubled mother at ease?" she asked with a stern look, causing Thibalt to blush.

"Mother, you embarrass him so," laughed Miera.

"Off with you two then, and you best be betrothed when you return," replied Evelyn with a wave of her hand.

Thibalt and Miera hurried off up the corridor before Evelyn could get in another comment. They rushed through the building, down several levels and outside into a small garden of flowers they had spent most of their days in. Thibalt lay down on the grassy carpet and Miera followed by laying her head on his chest.

They lay in peaceful silence watching the clouds drift by on the cold eastern breeze. The sun slowly arched over them bringing temporary bouts of warmth to their skin and Thibalt smiled. In the time that he had spent with Miera he had become smitten and now he found himself dreading moments without her.

She was unlike any girl he had met. In Miera he had found someone to whom he could open his heart. He found no hesitation in expressing to her the feelings that he had always held locked up inside. They had relaxed amongst the estate's many gardens and strolled through the city together, sharing secrets and talking of their pasts. Not even the chaotic state of the people fleeing the city had brought concern to their minds as they walked at a leisurely pace through the streets. When they were together the problems of world around them seemed to fade away.

After several moments Miera broke the peaceful silence. "So are you going marry me, Thibalt Steelfist?" she asked with a childish grin.

Thibalt again felt the lump rising in his throat but then embraced her hand in his own. He knew that the only answer was yes, but he had never been good with words. "There is nothing that could stop me from marrying you," he replied.

"Then let us marry tomorrow," said Miera excitedly.

Thibalt looked up into the blue sky and smiled. Despite the turmoil in the city around him, he was joyful. Nothing other than his beloved Miera mattered anymore.

In the Guardhouse of Oril a group of men sat drearily amongst the wooden benches of the council room. The amphitheatre was dimly lit by a brazier which also provided some warmth for the men making plans for the coming days.

"The entire outer village is now cleared. No one remains between the eastern wall and the lake... other than our patrols," announced General de Lamina.

Errollan, sitting next to Mandigal on the second level of the amphitheatre, nodded in satisfaction. He had spent some time as General of the Feldonian army, after his time as a Royal Guard and then, many years later the Honour Guard, and knew that Guthrum was taking the necessary steps to make the city safe. "Have you increased the patrols on the wall?"

Another man, Guard Captain Harrinus, second in command to the General, answered, "The watch has been doubled, but we dare not increase it any more. The men need to be rested in case of a sudden attack. Even the fresh militia that I brought with me from Lundron are exhausted. That bridge is sapping the morale of our men."

"You are right, Harrinus," added Ludvic, who was standing above the large map of Feldom on the floor of the theatre. "I have seen too many of the men walking around with drawn faces and unfocused eyes. Fatigued men will do us no good in a fight. Make sure that each man is given ample rest and good meals."

"What news from Karmena?" asked the General.

Harrinus, who had just returned from the Lundron, brushed his hand through his brown hair, absentmindedly running over the place where his left ear had been. The Guard Captain had lost it several years ago to a wolf in the woods near Entshore and had found his hand reaching for the lost ear ever since. He replied, "The messages claim that the attacks have lessened, but Nyrune's barrier remains weakened. To date there have only been minor skirmishes on the brink of the forest, but they fear that soon our enemies will march an army into Hiethris."

The last person in the room, Estallion, stood from his seat and walked over to the map next to Ludvic. "Well, I guess we are next then. Where will the attacks on Feldom come from?" he asked.

Ludvic pointed at two passes through the Beon Ranges. "These are the two easiest paths through the Ranges. East of Polthney and just shy of Twinhelm, near the Dargonian city of Dishov. But the bridge over Lake Moonsong points to their main assault heading here."

"Maybe the bridge is a ruse. They could be trying to draw our forces into Precedin in the hope of making an easy entry to the north," posed Harrinus.

"No!" said Mandigal, his voice causing instant silence as always. "I know Zephra well enough to assure you he will attack Precedin. He knows that it is the quickest path into Feldom and the quickest path to the City of Skiye. His eagerness and arrogance will bring him to assault us here. He also knows that if he can capture Precedin he will have the support of every single Dargonian for his campaign...Long has the City of War cast a shadow over the east, and Zephra's people would love nothing more than to see it burn."

General de Lamina interrupted. "This is not our only problem." The General's uneasy tone gained their full attention. "King Castaneda has been holding council with the Ambassador from Auldney. As we could expect the meetings have taken an ill turn, no doubt because of Dieter's own hatred of the northern cities. The last council ended with an outright threat from Dieter to the King of Auldney."

The others shook their heads.

"King Baldoroff now speaks strongly of independence. He has convinced the Dukes of Larthstone and Polthney to separate from Feldom, to become their own nation. Baldoroff speaks of the nation of Durraas," finished the General, closing his eyes.

Ludvic cringed at the mention of this. Torgan Durraas had been the most infamous duke in Feldom's long history. He had fought a civil war against the King of Feldom hundreds of years ago. And after a bitter struggle he had won the right to kingship of his own city. From that day forth the city of Auldney had been ruled by a king, not a duke. And the current king, Afhill Baldoroff, was no less of a tyrant than Torgan Durraas himself.

The nation of Durraas that the General spoke of was a dream that King Durraas had fought for during his troublesome life. He strived to unite the northern cities into their own separately governed state, with no ties to Feldom whatsoever. Were it not for his assassination at the hands of the Honour Guard, that dream would have likely been realized. Now it seemed that the threat had been born anew.

"Has Baldoroff lost all reason?" asked Harrinus. "He cannot expect to be allowed to commit this treason."

"He was always mad," replied Ludvic gruffly. Growing up in Auldney, Ludvic had been present the day Baldoroff was inaugurated as King. He had always known that only trouble would come from Baldoroff's appointment. "He is doing this because he is afraid of Zephra," he continued. "He will try to unite the North in the hope that he can ally with Zephra and save his city, not to mention his own arse."

"Traitors, all of them," spat Errollan. "If he goes ahead with this we will have more trouble than we know. We will be fighting a civil war and an invading army at the same time. This will only aid Zephra."

"If the North becomes a separatist nation, we will lose a third of our army," said the General sullenly.

"You all seem to be missing the crucial point here," said Estallion loudly. "Ludvic, you just told me that the two best entrances through the Beon Ranges are at Polthney and Dishov." Ludvic nodded. "Well then if Baldoroff manages to create the nation of Durraas, and then allies with Zephra, won't the Dargonians have a free entryway into Feldom?" he finished.

General de Lamina and Harrinus walked over to where Estallion was standing and looked down at the map. "The fool is right," breathed the General.

"I'll take that as a complement," mumbled Estallion.

Errollan dropped his head into his hands. He could not take it anymore. Each day it seemed that something would come out of the darkness to crush their spirits. "Why do the gods torment us like this?"

"It is not the gods that torment us," replied Mandigal. "It is the fools like Zephra and Baldoroff. Those that would sacrifice innocent lives to better their own. That is why people like us fight to stop them."

"And who will fight them when we are gone," returned Errollan bitterly. "Had the fight in the Ranges turned slightly against us, Ludvic and I could be dead."

"There are always men and women who will pick up the sword once it has fallen, to continue the fight," returned Mandigal. "Even when it seems that there is no possible solution, we must not lose hope."

"We most of all," said Errollan, with a distant voice. "The Maloreichar; protectors of justice and freedom for the people of Feldom." He looked Mandigal in the eyes. "But tell me old friend, what happens when there are no more men and women left to pick up that sword? When the armies of Dargon have murdered and tortured every man, woman and child in our land. Who will fight?"

Mandigal was silent. He did not have a response to the question, and knew that Errollan was still fighting with the demons of Azbaar's death. They realised that Errollan felt personally responsible for the old warrior's death and despite their best efforts they could not convince him otherwise.

"Something must be done to convince Baldoroff to stay this madness," said the General.

The others nodded their agreement just as the door to the amphitheatre opened. Guard Marshal Coppercloud walked in, followed closely by a Karmanian soldier. The Marshal lowered his head in a courteous and completely unnecessary bow and then cleared his throat. "May I present Kilthies Numinites, Captain of the Thaldun Blades. He comes with urgent news from the Council of Elders."

The gathered men all showed their surprise. Kilthies Numinites and his men were legend throughout Kovi. They were the prize of the Karmanian army. Outstandingly skilled warriors and magic users that had served the Alliance for many years. For Kilthies to personally bring news from the Elders, rather than remaining on the frontline, meant that it was of the utmost importance.

Kilthies stepped down to the second level and nodded his greetings. He was taller than any man in the room and had a body that was shaped from a life of hard fighting. His eyes, which were an extraordinary shade of bright green and yellow, seemed to change colour as he shifted his vision. His long black hair was tied in five tails behind his head and fell down onto the famous golden green armour of the Thaldun Blades.

He paused and studied the men in the room and then spoke in a powerful voice. "My lords, I bring terrible news from the Karmanian Council of Elders."

"Then be welcome Kilthies," greeted Errollan. "It is an honour to see you again. Please relay your message."

Kilthies inclined his head slightly and continued, "A few days past we received word that the caravan in which your Queen was travelling was attacked." The group let out a series of shocked gasps. "They were set upon by a large group of Primals and though I am sure that her guards fought valiantly, they were all killed save for the Karmanian Emissary and three others. The assassins escaped with the Queen as their prisoner."

"Who survived?" Estallion burst out hastily, his voice showing an uncharacteristic concern.

"Silence!" called Errollan, scowling at Estallion. "This is not the time for your rambling." Estallion's brow shot up and he held his tongue, yet the impatience in his manner remained and he began to pace the room.

"How did this happen?" asked Ludvic.

"A message from Dievu Ilphuki reached the Council. From his account he barely escaped with his own life and was in a dire state before he contacted the Elders. He was however able to follow the Primals and told us where they were moving. They are taking the Queen through the main pass in the Ranges north of the River of Ice. It is an obvious choice in their desire to remain discreet, however the mountains in that region are treacherous. They will take some time to make the journey into Dargon."

"How is it that you made it here so swiftly?" queried Errollan.

"By chance my men and I were posted at the Yaerun outpost. Once we were contacted by the Elders, we used the gifts of Nyrune to travel here with great haste," replied Kilthies. "That is not important though. You must act quickly if you are to catch them before they can reach a safe city."

"Have you lost your wits?" blurted Ludvic. "This is not a matter of simply marching into Dargon, dancing down to the mountain pass and casually strolling back home with the Queen."

"There is no need for ridicule, Lord Hammerfell," said Kilthies in a steady voice. "I know that the deed sounds impossible, but would you not agree that an attempt must be made. We cannot abandon Queen Triel."

"He is right," said General de Lamina. "But how do we know that this is no ruse like the message that led Azbaar to his death? We rushed blindly into that trap and paid dearly for our error in judgement."

"I have to agree with Guthrum," said Errollan, standing up and moving around the amphitheatre.

"There is no lie in what I tell you now," said Kilthies. "The death of Azbaar Ingel is one that saddens me greatly, but you must believe me when I tell you that the Queen is in dire need. I swear it on Nyrune's great spirit."

"He is not lying," interjected Mandigal. The others new enough of Mandigal's powers to trust in his assumptions. "Tell me Kilthies, what advice does the Council of Elders give?"

Kilthies looked from Mandigal to Errollan and then back. "They advise that you take what men you can into Dargon and attempt to rescue the Queen, before the Primals take her too far into their homeland." He paused for a moment, casting his eyes down, as though unsure of his next words and then said, "They insisted that the Maloreichar accompany the rescue party."

Errollan began to laugh. "Insist. Who are they to order us? Do they wish us all out of the city so that our armies are leaderless?"

"Errollan!" shouted Mandigal. "Watch your words. The Council has a wisdom beyond that of most men on this world. If they see cause for us all to go, then we should heed this advice. There has always been reason behind their decisions."

"This is a great risk," said Ludvic with a shake of his head. "We know the danger in travelling into Dargonian territory. There is a very high chance that we will not make it back."

"I must be honest," interrupted Kilthies. "When I was given this order I questioned the Council's motive behind sending the Maloreichar on such a dangerous quest. If the Alliance were to lose you it would be a savage blow to our chances of defeating Zephra...Yet there are no disciples on Kovi with a greater gift of foresight than the Elders. There is always sense in their actions and they have never made a decision without careful consideration."

"And the city will not be leaderless," commented General de Lamina. "I will be here to ensure that it stands for your return."

"Errollan," called Mandigal. "You all know that I have some skill in prophecy. Yet my skills are insignificant to that of Kiril Poth and the other Elders. Nyrune's magic is a completely different beast. We should not take lightly their suggestion."

Errollan let out an aggrieved breath and finally nodded. He turned to Kilthies. "How many Primals can we expect?"

"Dievu suggested several, possibly two dozen," answered Kilthies. "But that isn't all. Dievu sent two messages." The men listened carefully. "The first was sent after he had caught up with the assassins. The next was sent hours later, after he had escaped an attack by the leader of the Dargonians."

"Who was it?" asked Harrinus eagerly.

"A disciple of Gushkall by the name of Novokai," replied Kilthies with spite in his tone.

Mandigal let out a loud groan. "This will not be an easy task."

"We thought him dead," said Ludvic.

"I am not sure that he can die," said Mandigal. "Novokai was old when our parents were born. His magic has given him a long life and because of this he has been able to learn more of the magical arts than most disciples in our world. He has been able to do things with Gushkall's magic that none would have thought possible. There are only a handful of disciples who can match his power. And only one man I know who has a darker heart than he."

"Luschia," said Errollan, and Mandigal simply nodded.

"If he is so skilled, then why is he not the King of Dargon," queried Harrinus.

"Because Zephra is still more powerful than he," answered Mandigal. "And Novokai does not crave rulership. His mind hungers for more perverse things."

"We cannot change who we need to fight, or how strong he is," said Ludvic in a restless tone. "We are wasting our time talking. Let's move out as quickly as possible."

Errollan nodded. "Harrinus, summon forty of your most reliable men. We will need sturdy mounts, weapons and provisions for the journey."

Harrinus saluted and moved up the steps to the exit.

"So many men will not be necessary, Lord Dune," interrupted Kilthies. "I have brought the Thaldun Blades with me. And we would be honoured to fight by your side. I am sure that you could use our skills, and in any case a smaller group will have greater chance of passing into Dargon unnoticed."

Errollan couldn't believe what he had just heard. "All fifteen of you are here?" he asked. This was a great gesture of faith in the Alliance from the Council of Elders.

"They await us outside. Your Queen is held in high regard in our land, and by all of my warriors. We could not stand by and do nothing to help her."

"How many men shall I summon?" asked Harrinus.

"Twenty of your finest," replied Errollan, now more hopeful than before. "Very well. Guthrum, I entrust the defence of this city to you. The Honour Guard and Guard Captain Harrinus will travel into Dargon and rescue Queen Triel from these savages. Keep the city standing until we return."

"Dievu Ilphuki had one last request in his message," mentioned Kilthies. "It seems that a young man that was travelling with him was also taken by the assassins. He was of great importance to Dievu, and it is his wish that we do all in our power to save him."

"Christill!" cried out Estallion loudly, causing the others to jump. He had kept his mouth shut, but could no longer hold it in. "Is it Christill?"

"How did you know?" asked Kilthies.

"I was trying to ask before," said Estallion, raising his hands into the air dramatically. "He is alive?"

"He is," replied Kilthies.

"Christill is Thibalt's brother," said Estallion, his voice filled with unease.

"You best go tell him, lad," replied Ludvic softly.

Estallion turned without a second thought and bolted up the stairs.

Dievu lowered himself down into the cushioned chair and let out a long yawn. He was so exhausted. The trip to the City of Skiye had been a long and painful one. He had tried to rest as little as possible and it showed. Dark bags loomed under his eyes and the pale skin on his face was drawn over his cheeks. Most of the serious damage caused by Novokai's attack had healed, but his body still ached immensely.

Upon arriving in the capital he had gone straight to see the King. However Dieter had shown little sympathy and asked Dievu to talk with his advisors. Dievu had been so outraged at Dieter's lack of concern for his own wife that he had been on the brink of a physical outburst when the King had excused himself. So now he sat in the room of one of the King's advisors, waiting for her arrival.

The door to the small room opened and a tall lady entered. She was wearing elegant robes of blue, black and white, marked at several spots with the symbol of Skiye. Though close to her fortieth summer on this world, she still carried with her a grace that could enchant most men. She held her light brown and blonde hair in a series of bundles behind her head, with one section flowing freely down her back from within the bundles. Dievu stared at the intricate detail in her dress and hair and shook his head. He could only imagine how long it would have taken her to prepare herself.

"Dievu Ilphuki...it has been too long," she said in a kind voice.

Dievu stood up and embraced her in a gentle hug. "A single day away from you is too long, Thee."

Elephtheria Oliseh, member of the first and highest order of the disciples of Skiye and advisor to the King, smiled and sat down in a chair facing Dievu. The room was small but well decorated, with fine silks hanging on the walls and lush cushions scattered on the floor. It was meant to be a council room, but had been converted by Elephtheria into a room to entertain her guests in.

She poured two glasses of scented wine from a small bottle sitting on a table next to her and handed one to Dievu. Dievu drank and closed his eyes as he felt the satisfying flavours caress his tongue. He looked at Elephtheria and remembered the days that they had spent together in the past, learning, discussing and simply enjoying each other's company. Both had been top students in their academies and had quickly become friends after Dievu's appointment as the Karmanian emissary.

"You must be exhausted. You have been riding for days," said Elephtheria, with genuine concern in her voice.

"It was not as bad as it could have been. After I left the Ranges I managed to contact the Elders in Duathnin. Once I was assured that they would call for help I used what power I had to heal myself and reach the river," he replied. "I was lucky to find a ferry that was heading downriver. It carried me here much more swiftly than I had envisioned. But I must ask you, Thee, has a rescue party been sent?"

"I am sure that it has been. I believe Kilthies has taken his Blades to Precedin."

Dievu sighed with great relief. "I am glad that the Council sent Kilthies to aid the Honour Guard."

"On the contrary," said Elephtheria. "Kilthies took his men against the Council's wishes. He was supposed to relay the message and return to his duties, but instead he left and took the Blades with him."

Dievu placed his wine glass on the table next to him. "That is interesting news. Why would Kilthies go against the wishes of the Elders? He holds more authority with them than even I... But that is not important now. As long as a rescue is under way, I can rest slightly more assured."

Elephtheria smiled. "You look like you need it. Yet I wish to talk with you before you take your much needed rest."

"Of course, Thee."

Elephtheria's face turned grim. "Some days ago you must have seen the storm that covered our world?"

"Yes, I not only saw but felt its great power," replied Dievu.

"The storm was no natural event, you would know this. We all felt a strange force within it, but have no knowledge of how it came to be." She turned her gaze away and took a sip from her glass. "I do not know whether you know, but on the night of the storm a vast bridge rose from the ground of Lake Moonsong... a vile creation made of bone."

Dievu's hand went to his head. "I knew something had happened. I could feel it. I can still feel it."

"We can all feel it, Dievu. But there is something beyond that ghastly bridge that has changed. We have talked with Skiye but we have not gained any understanding from her. She has begun to speak in riddles."

"I also had trouble contacting Nyrune after the storm," commented Dievu.

Elephtheria nodded. "We will continue to talk with Skiye to find some answers, but the bridge remains our biggest concern at the moment. We have tried everything that we can think of to destroy it, but there is a foul magic that holds it together. All attempts have failed." Her voice faltered as she finished.

"What is it?" asked Dievu softly, recognizing the anguish in his friend's face.

"On the night of the storm our disciples launched an attack on the bridge. The attempt failed and they were all killed by the bridge's own power," Elephtheria began to cry. Dievu walked over to her and held her in his arms. Through a muffled voice she added, "My brother was amongst them."

The sun had just begun to descend from its zenith when Estallion burst into the garden. Thibalt and Miera both jumped up with fright.

"What's wrong?" asked Thibalt.

Estallion dropped his hands to his knees and began to breathe heavily. He held his left hand up for a moment of silence and then stood up. "Sorry about that," he said in between breaths. "Just ran all the way from the Guardhouse."

"Must be important news," said Miera.

Estallion nodded to Miera then turned to Thibalt. "The Queen has been kidnapped by Dargonian assassins. They were led by a disciple, named Novokai...or something like that." He paused with an apprehensive look and Thibalt felt a sinking feeling rise in his stomach.

Miera let out a cry. "Will they attempt a rescue?" she asked.

"The Honour Guard are preparing to leave as we speak. Thibalt...," said Estallion his tone becoming grave.

"Tell me," Thibalt said, closing his eyes.

"He is with the Queen," replied Estallion. "But take heart in the fact that he still lives."

Thibalt's face quickly drained of its colour and he began to sway. Miera and Estallion helped him sit back down and then he looked up at Estallion. "You are sure of this?"

Estallion nodded quickly. "He was accompanying the Karmanian Emissary and was captured along with the Queen."

Thibalt did not want to believe this. His little brother captured by the Dargonians. He suddenly felt angry at himself. He never should have let him go off by himself. Christill had always relied on his protection.

"The Honour Guard are leaving any moment, Thibalt," hurried Estallion.

Thibalt turned to Miera. "I must go," he said, though there was reluctance in his voice.

She nodded and tried to hold back the tears that were welling in her eyes. "Go and bring back your brother. That way he will be here for our wedding."

"Wedding!" whistled Estallion, though they ignored him.

Thibalt embraced her in one last hug. "I want you to take your family to the City of Skiye. Find yourself some shelter and keep them safe. You will find money in a small chest under my bed. It should be enough for food and transport."

"Will you meet us there?" she asked, worriedly.

"When I return I will find you there," replied Thibalt, though he doubted whether he would be returning at all.

Miera rubbed her eyes and ran out of the garden weeping. She knew that the likelihood of Thibalt's return was low, but she had to hold onto hope.

Estallion lowered his hand to help Thibalt up and said, "We need to go now. We can meet them at the southern gate."

Thibalt followed Estallion around the house to the stable. They mounted Esree and Falgo and then rode back to the house. They both quickly gathered what they would need from their rooms. Thibalt took his short sword, a gift from Estallion, and a small mace that he had won in a game of chance. Estallion grabbed his sword and dirk and also packed his hand crossbow. They then left the house, riding down to the southern gate of the city.

They arrived at the small gate which opened up to a thin path in the mountains and found Ludvic waiting for them.

"Come on, the others have already left," called Ludvic.

As they approached him Estallion replied, "Why Ludvic how nice of you to wait for us. I never knew you cared."

Ludvic took a swing at Estallion with his hand but missed. He then spurred his horse on and moved through the gate, followed closely by Thibalt and Estallion.

Thibalt's stern eyes betrayed his troubled thoughts as they rode. I will find you, Brother, he reassured himself.

Christill opened his eyes, but his vision was too blurry to make out much. He didn't think that it was possible to have such a terrible ache in his mind. Even the slightest movement sent a shock of pain through his head making him nauseous. When his vision slowly returned he could make out the Dargonian camp. Several fires burned low in the miserably cold wind and the Primals sat together in groups, eating what little rations they had left. He tried to move his hands but found that they were bound tightly behind his back, as were his feet. He struggled to move into a sitting position and then fell back down when he saw Novokai sitting casually on a flattened boulder a few feet away.

"I'm surprised to see you stirring so soon," said Novokai, with a hint of pleasure in his tone. "Your body took quite a beating this morning."

Christill looked around and noticed that they were still deep in the Beon Ranges. The dark, snow-capped mountainside reflected the rays of sunlight down on them as the day reached its peak. He then shifted his gaze over to Novokai and saw that Queen Triel was lying at his feet, unconscious. He glared into Novokai's eyes furiously. "What have you done to her?" he demanded.

"Nothing that I haven't done to you," replied Novokai, letting out a snide laugh as he toyed with Christill.

Christill looked down at his chest which was bare and saw fresh cuts and bruises along his body. His trousers were tattered and mud-caked and in several places torn from what appeared to be whip marks. He could not remember what had happened since his capture, but the scarring on his body indicated that he had been with the Dargonians for a few days. The Queen was in no better condition. Bloody scabs covered her face and her eyes and lips were dark blue from prolonged exposure to the cold.

"Tell me, how is your head?" asked Novokai.

"Why should I tell you anything, you pig!" replied Christill, spitting at Novokai.

Novokai began to laugh then opened his hands in a peaceful gesture. "It is up to you whether you give me the information that I want willingly. I can take it by force if I want, Christill."

Christill's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"I know much about you Christill Greyspell. Born in Feldom, stolen by the Miirvkin and then returned to your homeland, only to be captured by the Dargonians," he laughed cruelly.

"You read my mind," said Christill, realizing why his head hurt so much.

Novokai nodded slightly. "I did what I needed, but I could not find all of the information that I was seeking. I found it exceptionally hard to probe your mind...but rest assured that I can try harder." A vicious smile appeared on Novokai's face, showing that he was clearly enjoying himself. "Let me ask you something. Tell me why you think that Dievu was so willing to risk his life to save you?"

"Dievu wasn't trying to save me, fool. He was here to rescue the Queen," said Christill. His hatred of Novokai was growing with every word.

"You are wrong," argued Novokai. "Dievu knew that he had no chance of rescuing the Queen and was willing to leave after finding our location. But once he saw you in danger he was willing to risk his own life to save you. Despite the importance in getting his knowledge of the Queen's whereabouts to the Feldonians. He obviously held you in high worth."

Christill thought about it and had to admit that it was strange that Dievu would risk the Queen's life just for him. "This is a ruse," he replied. "You are trying to trick me."

"You are one of the Children Valerious, Christill."

Christill stared at Novokai with a frown.

"The ones disciples refer to as the Valiant," continued Novokai and when Christill still seemed confused he asked, "Did Dievu not tell you? Oh my, how very interesting," chuckled Novokai. He slowly shook his head in a mocking fashion. "It's strange that he would keep this from you. He obviously saw this when he first probed your mind...Why do you think he allowed you to join the Queen's company so easily?"

Christill had no idea what he was being told. "What lies are you trying to convince me of now?"

"Let me educate you," said Novokai. "The Children Valerious, the Valiant, are the children of Teefarrnur, Christill. Every few years a child is born with a gift from the gods. We call it the Be'Ruchta. It means that you are meant to be a disciple. You are meant to wield the power of the gods on this world. You are one of their champions, Christill. A true child of the guardian gods."

"Why should I believe any of this? I have never heard of such a thing," replied Christill, still fixing an angry gaze on Novokai.

"Of course you have not heard of it. What would the Miirvkin know of the magical world?" Novokai replied. "You have the essence of the gods within you, Christill. The Be'Ruchta is a part of your body that was once part of the gods themselves. You have been chosen by them to be a disciple."

"Stop lying!" screamed Christill.

"You may be one of the Valiant but you are still a fool," said Novokai with a look of disgust. "Do you ever recall anything in your life that you could not explain? Something that happened which you later struggled to understand."

Christill tried to think back. He then recalled the time that he had leapt from the stone whilst being chased by the Irian. It had seemed as though the world around him had slowed. That seemed so long ago now, yet the feeling remained etched into his mind. Then he recalled the dream he had experienced after they had been attacked by Cathan outside the Arcein Arena. The dream had been so vivid. And that voice, it had called something out to him as he followed the figure up the grassy hill. The word came back to Christill. "Valerious," he whispered, his eyes betraying his alarm.

Novokai smiled. "All of the great disciples are Children Valerious. As am I," said Novokai proudly. "We at the Academy of Gushkall spend decades searching for the Valiant amongst the children of Dargon. Most of those few that are born with the Be'Ruchta will never come to realise that they were chosen. It is a rare thing indeed that one is found. That is why Dievu risked his life to save you."

Christill's head began to spin. How could this be? He was just a simple boy that had never done anything special. He had never worshipped any of the gods in his life. "You are lying," he said defiantly, though his words were less confident. "You are just trying to fill my head with nonsense."

"Believe what you will," said Novokai calmly. "I sensed it when I probed your mind. That was why I found it so difficult to get through to your memory. Your body uses the Be'Ruchta to protect you from magic. Why do you think that Dievu was able to bring you back to Fellarrnur?" Christill's eyes suddenly widened in surprise. Novokai noticed and was pleased that he had made a mark. "Oh...did Dievu not mention that it is near impossible to bring someone back from death? Only the Valiant possess the ability to return, and even then, it is an extremely rare occurrence. The power within you must be strong indeed for you to have returned from the Third Plane."

This was too much. Christill's shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes in resignation. As much as he did not want to believe Novokai, it explained many things. He should have known that Dievu would not allow a simple youth to join the Queen's company. And to offer to take him to Duathnin, to train in the Academy of Nyrune, he must have known all along. He had been holding back so many times that they had spoken. But what did it matter now?

He looked back up at Novokai. "So then what do you intend to do with me and the Queen?"

"The Queen will be kept alive. Zephra wishes to learn her secrets. But I haven't decided what I will do with you yet," replied Novokai with a grin.

"What could the Queen possibly know that could help you?"

"The Queen is the true ruler of Feldom, Christill. With her out of the picture and Zephra ensuring the assassination of the Honour Guard, there will be no one to hold Feldom together when Dargon sweeps in."

"The Honour Guard are dead?" asked Christill. Though Dievu had only told him a little of the Maloreichar, he knew enough of their importance to the Alliance.

"I assume that they are. There shouldn't have been too many difficulties."

Christill's head dropped. He had thought he had finally found a home in Feldom, and now it seemed that everything was once again falling apart. He was not even sure whether he could trust Dievu anymore. What had he done to deserve a life of torment and failure?

Novokai stood up and smiled. "Well I have enjoyed our little conversation, but I have more important matters to deal with. The Queen still has some answers to give me," he said, motioning to one of the Primals nearby. The assassin walked over and picked up the unconscious Queen.

Christill tried to move to help her but was answered with a powerful strike to the back of his head that caused his vision to spin. He hit the ground hard and saw stars when he opened his eyes. He glanced behind and saw the Primal named Rhucia standing over him with a club in one hand and a long whip in the other.

"Don't kill him, but have a little fun," said Novokai as he walked off to torture the Queen.

Rhucia smiled sadistically and uncoiled his whip. He then struck out at Christill's chest. The other assassins watched happily as Rhucia lashed out again and again, opening long gashes in Christill's body. The pain was unbearable and soon Christill couldn't even manage to scream. He huddled into a ball as Rhucia continued to whip heartlessly, until the pain became too much to handle and he slipped into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

### THE CITY OF WAR

Guthrum de Lamina unhooked the last latch from his breastplate and let it fall with a loud clang to the floor of his house. He stretched out his muscles and dropped heavily into his favourite chair. The weight of his rank was wearing him thin. For so many years he had served his country, watching friends and family fall in what seemed a never ending struggle. And now that war was once more imminent, further turmoil and death loomed on the horizon.

The General rubbed his aching eyes and poured himself a glass of his favourite spirit. He sipped at it but found that his mind was too troubled to fully enjoy the exotic taste this bottle had to offer. Guard Marshal Coppercloud had been left in charge of the watch and, though he hated to leave the city's defence to that arrogant fool, he could not carry on much longer without a solid night's rest.

The last few days had been spent finishing the defences at Lake Moonsong. Guthrum had overseen the construction of a thick stone wall at the base of the skeletal bridge that would hopefully delay large siege weapons from being brought within range of the city wall. His soldiers had then erected a wooden barricade at the base of the lake that spanned its entire length. Arrow slots were cut into this for the city's bowman. It wasn't a formidable defence, but Guthrum was satisfied that it would serve its purpose. The city's troops would need enough time to reach the wall before the enemy forces could.

In the room behind him he could hear the soft breathing of his wife, Nallia. He had tried everything in his power to get her out of the city, but she was just as stubborn as he was. Taking another sip of his drink, Guthrum began to tap his fingers against the finely carved arm of his chair. It was a habit that he had developed which helped to calm his mind. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and for a moment tried to forget about the city's defence.

Slowly the General began to drift into sleep, his hand falling from the chair's arm. He was only roused out of his sleep when he noticed that he could still hear the rhythmic tapping that his fingers had been making. He looked down and, when he saw that his hands were lying in his lap, stood up. The noise was getting louder. Listening carefully, he realised it was coming from outside. He walked to the front door and opened it. Poking his head outside, he saw several other men standing in their doorways, heads turned to the east. The noise was coming from Lake Moonsong. He turned his ear to make out the noise, then came to realize what he was hearing. It was the rhythmic beating of drums.

A loud horn blew two shrill notes into the night.

The colour drained from Guthrum's face and several of the men in the street dropped the cups that they had been holding. They had all known that this day would come, yet they had held some small hope that it wouldn't.

Moments later the horn sounded again, this time even louder. The world began to spin around Guthrum. This was it. The horn of Precedin sounded for one thing only; an attack on the city.

The General ran back into his house to find his wife standing in the room. "Did I just hear the call to arms?" she asked, white with worry.

Guthrum could only nod. He ran over to his breastplate and picked it up. Nallia watched as he rushed around the room and whispered, "I need to go to the surgeons, they will need my help."

Guthrum nodded once more and moved to embrace his wife in a tight and meaningful hug. There was no need to say what was on their minds.

As she left the room, Guthrum ran into his bedroom and opened a large wooden cabinet. From it he pulled the rest of his armour. A suit of mail, plated gold to match his breastplate, with ornate bracers and greaves to cover his arms and shins. Finally he reached for his helmet, designed to resemble a swooping raven which left his face visible. He then moved to a chest and found the red scabbard that held his family's sword. The hilt was encrusted with rubies and was fashioned with a pommel in the shape of raven's spread wings.

Grabbing his black cloak, he stormed out of the house, finding the city in chaos. The soldiers that had been out were running back to their quarters to gather their equipment. Those who were ready to fight were tackling their way through the crowd, trying to reach the wall. He moved as quickly as possible down the packed streets and could see that the hundreds of men climbing the stairs to the top of the eastern wall wore looks of horror.

Guthrum reached the wall and looked back to the city. His soldiers were swarming from their homes. Slowly, with a discipline inherent to their training, the city's forces were organizing themselves.

He climbed the narrow stairs to the top of the wall and then began to look for Guard Marshal Coppercloud. He spotted the Marshal leaning against the battlements, head turned towards the lake. Guthrum moved over to him, noticing that the Marshal had his hand on the hilt of his sword. He had never seen the Marshal use that sword and was confident that when the battle began in earnest he would not be of much help.

The Marshal jumped when Guthrum's hand clasped his shoulder. "Oh, General, thank the gods," he breathed.

Guthrum did not reply. He stepped up against the barricade that rose up to his chest and peered into the distance. What he saw shattered all hope that he had held of keeping his city safe. On the far shore of Lake Moonsong stood the army of Dargon, gathered together from all corners of the cold nation. Now united under the banner of Zephra Hermagoras. The pale skinned cousins of Feldom had finally come to take the City of War.

The common infantry that stood at the front wore a mix of dark black leather and hardened hide. All wore helms, cast in menacing expressions. Behind them stood the elites, each unit of five hundred men trained for a unique purpose. Despite the dull moonlight, the General saw the glint of light on sharpened axes, swords and spears. Heavily armoured men, covered in plated steel stood beside the shock infantry who wore dyed black chain byrnies.

Looking down upon the army standing in strict ranks sapped the spirit of every man on the wall. The horizon was awash with enemies and, amongst the standing soldiers, drummers were beating their slow, dreadful song, filling the night air with a rhythmic tune.

Guthrum turned to the Marshal and was speechless.

After a few seconds Coppercloud asked, "What are your orders, General?"

The General kept his eyes on the Marshal without blinking and asked, "How many men do we have by the lake?"

"Three hundred, maybe twenty more. They are mainly militia archers."

Guthrum looked back out at the Dargonian army. In the far distance more soldiers came into view. Cavalry formed up on the back of the army in the hundreds, soon the army would number close to twenty thousand, and yet he knew that it was still not the entire might of Dargon. This would not be the only attack on Feldonian ground. Other cities to the north and south would soon feel the force of Zephra's strike. To the right he spotted carriages moving towards the bridge. "Ladders," he muttered.

Guard Marshal Coppercloud cast his gaze out and saw the carriages holding the ladders that would soon carry the first lines of troops up and into the fray as they struck the high eastern wall. He turned and counted how many men stood on the wall. Close to two thousand were already assembled and another three thousand would be ready soon. Yet too many of his men were militia. Even with the strength of Precedin's mighty wall, what could they do against twenty thousand battle-hardened Dargonians? It would be near impossible to hold out forever.

As if reading his mind, the General turned to Coppercloud and said, "How can it be that there are so many? I did not think that we would ever face an army so vast!"

The Marshal shook his head. "Never would I have thought it possible for Zephra to amass such a force."

"Had we known, we would have done more. We would have summoned more men," added the General in despair.

"At least I see no siege engines," commented the Marshal.

"They will come," returned the General with a resigned nod. "They cannot expect to take the city without breaching this wall."

Several shouts came from the soldiers and the General looked out to see what was stirring his men. From the midst of the Dargonian ranks came boats. Square in shape, they would carry close to fifty soldiers each, and had high sides and fronts to provide cover.

"Should I call back the militia from the lake?" asked the Marshal.

"No," replied the General. "Send the bowmen from Dunhelm to the fortifications at the base of the water. Order them to target the boats as they cross the lake. They are to pull back into the city before the Dargonians reach our shores."

The Marshal saluted and turned to carry out his orders. Guthrum peered down to the base of the lake and spotted some of the militia archers setting up at the wooden barricade. With the bridge over the lake, they would serve little but to delay the Dargonians for a time. Yet once the enemy had taken the fishing village the true battle would begin. They had to hold them at the wall. If the fighting entered the streets of Precedin there would be no way to conduct a strategic defence. Not even the city's own soldiers would be able to navigate the labyrinth of streets in the midst of battle. There was only one chance to outlast this battle, and that was to ensure that the enemy did not breach the wall.

Guthrum pushed away from the ramparts and ran north looking for a soldier of rank. He found a man he recognised, wearing a blue cape that signified his rank as Sergeant. "Sergeant Hanlit," called Guthrum.

The Sergeant turned quickly and standing upright said, "Yes General."

"I'm putting you in charge of the gate," said the General. "I want you to close it once the crossbowmen from Dunhelm pass through. It is to only open once more after that, and that is to let those soldiers back into the city. After that you will guard that gate with your life and if the enemy manages to get through it I will personally find you in the Third Plane."

Hanlit saluted and moved to climb down the wall. The men near the General stood awkwardly next to him, fear etched into their expressions.

"What are you all doing?" he roared at the top of his voice, catching the attention of the men close by. "I want every bow and arrow in this city brought up here in the next hour. You will all take positions and stand ready. If I don't see every one of you at the wall with some form of weapon you will be sent into the fishing village to join the men at the lake."

The soldiers instantly moved, now more afraid of the General than the opposing army. Half of the soldiers ran back to the city to retrieve weapons whilst those remaining took up positions along the battlements.

A soldier wearing a red cape ran up to the General and saluted. "What is it, Commander?" asked the General.

"The ballistae have been hoisted to the wall, Sir."

"Good," replied the General. "Set them up at regular intervals." The Commander saluted and was about to walk off when the General clasped him on the shoulder. "One more thing. When you are done, I want you to move along this wall and make sure that there is an officer within earshot of every soldier. These men are going to need encouragement in the next few hours. Do you understand me?"

The Commander nodded and moved off to help unpack the ballistae.

Guthrum let out a long breath. This was going to be his hardest test yet, and he wasn't about to make it easy for Zephra. Of the men under his command, over two thousand were untrained militia who would need the support of the officers to keep them fighting. He had enough trained officers in the city, yet he knew that too many of them were incompetent in the heat of battle. He could rely on his captains and sergeants who had gained their ranks through deed, but the counsel officers, such as the marshals and commanders, were all spoilt nobles that had achieved their positions through political power. Such was the army of Feldom.

The General sighed. Was there hope? He had to believe. Then for a moment Guthrum silently wished that Errollan was here to help him.

Catching himself, he quickly turned and began shouting orders.

Sergeant Hanlit brought his horse to a stop just behind the stone wall at the foot of the bridge. The only spot that he could see through was at a small opening in the middle, designed to allow a few archers room to fire through the wall. He looked back to the high eastern wall and saw the entire army watching him, hoping that through some turn of luck he would manage to succeed in deterring the enemy.

"Why me?" he whispered to himself. He had never done anything special to be worthy of this task. Though now that he thought on it, it wasn't a task one needed to be worthy of. He was just a Sergeant, the second lowest rank in the army. Now, he had been chosen by the General to listen to Dargon's terms. When the order had reached him at the gate of Precedin's famous wall, he had almost fainted.

Hanlit lowered himself from the saddle and walked nervously up to the opening in the wall. Peering through, he could see a rider approaching from the other side. The rider wore a scarlet robe, marked with the eight pointed star of Gushkall and held a white banner over his shoulder. He slowly made his way to the wall and slid from his horse. Hanlit studied the man's face, it was as pale as the snow that covered the Dargonian nation.

The man bowed lightly and then spoke with a loud voice, "My General is pleased that you would meet to discuss the terms of your surrender." The tone he used showed no sign of ridicule. He believed that the Feldonians had no choice but to give up.

"My General has sent me to hear your terms," replied Hanlit, trying to sound strong.

This comment brought a slight smirk to the Messenger's face. "Our Lord demands that your army leave the city and that your General hand himself over to us, to be justly punished for his crimes against Dargon."

"And what crimes has our General committed?" he asked aggressively.

"King Zephra has judged that any officers standing in the way of his armies are to be tortured and publicly executed for their insolence."

"Your King must think himself great indeed to believe that he has already won this war," replied Hanlit, enraged. "Tell your General that the City of War has never fallen into Dargonian hands, and as long as a single soldier lives, it shall remain that way."

The messenger began to laugh. "Excellent," he said. He then walked back to his horse and tossed the white banner into Lake Moonsong. A great cheer erupted from the Dargonian army and they began to chant. Soon the city was filled with the song of battle from the hungry troops on the other side of the lake. Hanlit's heart sank as he moved to the fortifications on the lake, to take his new position in command of the Militia archers.

He had just started the war.

"Let loose!" screamed Hanlit.

The sky became awash with arrows as the bowmen released their first volley. The Dargonians in the boats ducked and raised their shields, but many fell to the floor screaming as the falling arrows found holes in their defences. Hanlit peered out at the lake and was unsure of what to do. There were too many boats crossing the water and he severely lacked the power to restrain them.

"Second volley," he commanded and the archers drew and unleashed another round of arrows onto the closest ships. He could see men moving over the bridge by the hundreds and behind them came the siege engines that would soon rain fire down upon the city. His orders had been to fire on the boats so he decided to stop worrying about the bridge.

"Light arrows," he yelled at the top of his voice. The archers notched their arrows and waited as a few men ran around with torches setting fire to their ammunition.

"Let loose!" Hanlit commanded once more. The flaming arrows lit up the night sky and then plummeted into the enemy transports. "Fire on the boats until I give the order to retreat," he yelled and the archers began to firing at their own pace. The constant bombardment struck many of the closest Dargonian soldiers, but it was still a minor dent. Hanlit jumped up onto his horse and hurried to where the crossbowmen were waiting.

"Take your positions, and fire at my mark," he called. The crossbowmen from Dunhelm moved up against the wall and readied their weapons through the arrow slits in the barricade. The Sergeant waited until the boats were close enough then lowered his hand. Instantly the well trained soldiers from Dunhelm fired their crossbows. The bolts darted through the air and tore into the Dargonian soldiers in the front of the boats.

"Keep firing," shouted Hanlit. The advancing boats were now being assaulted by fiery arrows from above and bone crunching bolts from the front. As the Dargonians ran around the boats they were struck by the bolts that were propelled with such force that many tore through the front of the boats, striking the men stooping inside.

Hanlit was pleased to see that the Dargonians were finally taking heavy casualties. He turned his mount and then suddenly found himself falling to the ground as his horse fell dead. He stood up rubbing his head and saw a crossbow bolt protruding from the mount's neck. He heard another bolt fly pass his head and ran to the barricade for cover. The Dargonians had raised their own heavy crossbows and were firing upon the defenders. Far more powerful than the Feldonian equivalents, the enemy crossbows released volley upon volley at Hanlit's men. There was little cover from the strong bolts that cut through the wooden wall with ease.

Soon the defenders side of the lake was filled with the groans and screams of the dying. Hanlit risked a glance out to the lake and saw that the boats were drawing close. His own men weren't doing enough damage and were taking heavy casualties. "Pull back to the wall," he shouted as loudly as he could. "The village is lost."

* * *

The General watched the smoke rise to the sky with dispirited eyes. Soot rained down slowly from above, covering those standing on the wall in a fine layer of ash. A few days after claiming the fishing village as their own, the Dargonians had set the entire area alight. Now nothing was left of what was once one of the liveliest areas of Feldom. The charred frames and chimneys were all that remained, and slowly as the days passed more and more troops crossed the lake.

The Dargonians had not begun their attack yet and so far had kept their distance from the wall. Then this morning Guthrum had seen what he feared most. Over the bridge came the great engines of war that the Dargonians had worked tirelessly on. Machines of such power and efficiency that they could tear down buildings in moments.

Guthrum smiled. This was one wall that the enemy could not break. Feldom's finest craftsmen had spent lifetimes designing and building the eastern wall of Precedin. It was an unmatched wonder of engineering. The unbreakable stone, mined in the quarries near Darkwater, formed the base of the wall. Iron plating and bluestone then covered the wall with a second layer of strength. For hundreds of years the city had survived the engines of Dargon and Guthrum was confident that history would prevail.

"Sir!"

The General turned and saw the Guard Marshal standing next to him. "What is it Coppercloud?"

"The horses have been moved out of the city. Only a few of the fastest have been left for runners," Coppercloud replied.

Guthrum nodded his approval. He had ordered the healthy horses out of the city. They would be of no use in the battle and he did not want the Dargonians getting their hands on any of them if the worst were to occur. He peered back over the wall and saw the Dargonian crewmen moving their siege weapons into position. He turned to Coppercloud and said, "I'm placing you in charge of the volunteers. Make your way into the city and make sure that any fire that breaks out is stopped before it becomes too dangerous."

The Guard Marshal saluted then walked off. Guthrum then thought of Nallia and called out once more to the Guard Marshal. "And Coppercloud, if you are near the surgeons look out for Nallia."

Coppercloud nodded and continued on his way to the stairs. He understood how hard it was for the General to have his wife in the city, whilst a bloodthirsty army was breathing down his neck. He had only respect for Guthrum, as did most men, yet he knew that the General did not have a high opinion of him. He would however make sure that Nallia was safe. Even if it meant putting himself in danger. That much he promised himself.

Guthrum moved from his position along the wall and began to bark orders at the officers standing amongst the regular troops. Every company that he passed felt slightly better when the General was near and he realised he would need to remain focused in the coming hours to ensure that these men did not break and run.

He spotted Sergeant Hanlit standing next to some of the survivors from the defence of the village and walked over to him. Hanlit saluted and the General waved allowing the man to relax. He looked past the Sergeant and saw that the Dargonians had already begun setting up the catapults and mangonels that would in moments rain fire and stone down upon the city.

"They are just out of arrow range, Sir," commented Hanlit.

"That is expected," sighed the General. "They don't intend to fire on the wall as it stands. They will attack the inner city.

"I fear that even if they do not destroy the wall with their hellish devices, the damage that they cause will be overwhelming. We will not be able to control the fires that will break out," said Hanlit reluctantly.

"Do not worry about the fires, Sergeant. Your job is to keep them on their side of the wall," replied the General, pointing to the mass of soldiers waiting behind the siege engines.

In between their ranks, the enemy crewmen began to unpack their most powerful weapons. Giant trebuchets that would propel enormous boulders over great distances using counterweights. The General knew that this was it. Once the siege began, there would be little order, only the hellish chaos that came with battle. He moved away from Hanlit, gripping the Sergeant's shoulder one last time just before he left, and jumped up onto a crate that had just been unloaded.

"My fellow soldiers," he called out, raising his voice to its peak. The men on the wall, hearing the call loudly on the crisp night air, turned to see the General standing tall in the middle of the long expanse, and were inspired. He stood out as a beacon in the night sky, a golden warrior giving his warning to those who would dare challenge him.

"It has finally come to the time that we have long dreaded," the General continued. "Soon the war will begin in earnest. When the weapons of Dargon begin firing and the city that we love so dearly begins to burn, we will know that this time is truly upon us. But it is the time for us to stand proud and ever vigilant against those most hated. Those who would dare threaten our lives and the lives of those we love by waging this eternal struggle. So when the enemy swarms upon this wall and all hope seems lost, remember that we fight for the freedom of our people, and most of all for Feldom!"

The soldiers raised their weapons high into the air and cried out in the dark, "For Feldom!"

Those not on the wall heard the chant carry over the city. Though not as great in number, the Feldonian cheer had matched that of the Dargonians.

When the echo subsided a dead silence came over the city. Doors creaked and banners rustled in the wind. All that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the nervous defenders.

After the silence had settled in, it began.

In unison, the war engines of Dargon unleashed a barrage onto the city. Rocks and containers of fiery oil flew right over the wall and came crashing down on the inner city. Roofs crumbled and buildings collapsed as the chunks of stone launched by the trebuchets rained down. And all over Precedin fiery containers of oil exploded, setting the streets alight.

The General ran to his ballistae and ordered them to fire upon the trebuchets. Giant arrows, the size of a man, flew from the city wall striking with deadly accuracy and tearing apart the wooden frames of the enemy's weapons. The Feldonians cheered as the ballistae destroyed many of the closest weapons, but the General knew that they were doing little real damage. Every moment more weapons were set up, adding to the already vast number of devices bringing destruction to the city.

Then the next assault came. Mangonels began to fire sacks of smaller rocks onto the eastern wall. The projectiles came down upon the defenders quickly and took many men before they could even look up. The General grabbed his shield and raised it above his head. He soon felt the rocks pound strongly against the shield and struggled to hold it steadily. Around him he saw men fall to the floor in agony as they were crushed from above.

Suddenly the ground around him exploded as a container of oil struck the wall. Men quickly ran to the General and doused the flames that were ravaging his body. They helped him up and he pushed them away. He had taken several burns to his body, but nothing he couldn't handle. The helpers lingered until the General shouted, "Don't worry about me. Go stop those fires!"

The men ran off to help the many other soldiers that were rolling around in agony as the fire scorched their bodies.

Along the wall more explosions erupted and those who were not avoiding the fire were being assaulted by the deadly rocks from above. The General put his hands to his face and felt his skin peeling. This was worse than he had imagined. His men were suffering tremendously and there was little that he could do to aid them. Next to him one of the ballistae fell off the wall as it was struck by a large boulder which also took the two men operating it. He ducked low as another fiery container struck the wall near him and almost felt like giving up. There were just too many machines to stop.

He ran over to the inner side of the wall and looked down into the city streets. Volunteers moved hastily with buckets of water and sand, doing what they could to stop the fires from spreading, but it was hopeless. The sheer number of missiles flying over the wall could not be contained. Each fire that was doused was replaced by three or four new ones.

"Great Skiye, what can we do?" prayed the General as another ballista fell from the wall, its crew engulfed in burning oil.

The Guard Marshal rounded the corner and gasped when he saw that the Surgeon's building was already on fire. He swore to himself for taking so long and ran to the entrance. The small merchant's hall had been converted to serve as a hospital. The stalls and tables that had once housed the merchants and guildsmen of Precedin were gone, now replaced with curtained beds that lined the long walls of the main room. As he approached he could see the panicked sick and wounded running out of the building in terror. The right side of the building was completely engulfed in flames and the fire was spreading rapidly through the wooden roof. He would only have a few minutes to get the rest of the people out of there.

He ran inside, pushing his way past those trying to get out, and froze in shock when he saw how many people still remained. At least ninety of the infirm remained in the hospital. The Marshal spotted Nallia standing by a bed in a blood soaked apron. He ran over to her and grabbed her arm. "These people need to get out of here right now!" he yelled over the screams of the panic stricken.

Nallia looked at Coppercloud and shook her head. "Most of them can't walk. We need more time."

"More time!" he replied frantically. "This place is about to be consumed." As he spoke a support beam fell from the roof, crushing an elderly man in his bed. Nallia ran over to the man and Coppercloud followed.

The beam, still on fire, was too large to move and the man's screams filled the hall. Nallia looked down and found a young girl and boy standing next to the bed completely terror stricken. The girl turned to Nallia and screamed, "Help him!"

Nallia pulled the girl and boy to her and cast a desperate look at the Marshal. "You know what to do," she said through her tears. She then took the two children away.

Coppercloud stared at the man under the beam and pulled out his sword. He quickly moved up to the bed and gave him a quick death. He stood there for a moment. The blood of that poor man was smeared along his sword and it was almost too much to bear. He was shaken out of his trance as one of the hospital windows burst. He ran to Nallia and grabbed her arm. "We are leaving now," he yelled.

"But what about all of these people?" she wailed.

Coppercloud's tone turned cold. "In a few seconds the entire roof is going to collapse and then we will all be dead. There is no hope for them now." He then forced Nallia, who was dragging the young boy and girl, out of the building.

They had just exited the doorway when the main beam of the roof snapped, causing the building to collapse in on itself. As it crashed into a thousand pieces, fiery debris showered those outside.

"Those poor souls," wept Nallia, as she tried to comfort the children.

The Guard Marshal let out a frustrated breath. War was man's grimmest deed and he knew that this was just the beginning. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by the people that had made it out of the hospital alive. Most walked with crutches or could barely stand and looked to the Marshal for guidance.

Boulders and other projectiles still rained down on them, and it wouldn't be long until fire ran through every street. The thick smoke was already sucking the air from the city, making it hard to breathe in the cramped streets. What would he do next?

"What are they to do now?" asked Nallia.

"Leave the city. Make for the northern gate and escape as quickly as possible," urged Coppercloud. He looked at Nallia as the sick and wounded began to head north. He was not going to forget his promise to the General. He motioned for her to follow him and though reluctant she agreed. They made their way with the two children west through the city.

As they rounded a corner Coppercloud stopped and held his hand up, halting Nallia.

"What is it?" she whispered.

Coppercloud abruptly turned and pushed her and the children through the door of the corner shop without a word. He put his finger to his mouth for silence and drew his sword. Nallia noticed that his hand was shaking uncontrollably. She crept slowly around the Marshal to catch a glimpse out of the window and began to hear several thuds on the street outside. Strange footsteps then made their way down the street. Coppercloud moved further back into the room and pushed the children into an area where they would not be able to see outside. He then grabbed Nallia and as silently as he could dragged her away.

Just before the window disappeared from view, Nallia lost her breath as she saw several grey, winged beasts walk past the shop.

They waited in silence and the Marshal held Nallia tightly to keep her from screaming in horror. When he thought it safe, he peered outside and saw that they were gone.

"What in Skiye's name?" said Nallia softly.

"I don't know, but they are headed for the gate," replied the Marshal in a fearful tone.

"Ladders!" shouted one of the officers standing by the battlements. The General turned and ran to the wall to see the huge ladders being carried forward by Dargonian soldiers.

"Archers ready," ordered the General.

The defending soldiers ran to the edge of the wall and readied their bows. Moments before, the siege engines had stopped firing directly at the wall and the soldiers knew what this meant. Behind the hundreds of ladders being heaved to the wall came the first line of soldiers to enter the fighting. The General knew that these would be Zephra's most expendable troops. Most would likely not even reach the battlements.

The archers began to unleash their arrows from the wall. The front lines of enemy troops fell to the floor as they were pinned down by multiple shafts and the General was pleased to see that for the first time the Feldonians were inflicting substantial casualties. He laughed momentarily to himself. This was Feldom's turn to strike back.

Then the first ladders struck the top of the wall and the enemy began to climb.

"Ready the oil," yelled the General, causing several soldier to bring up big pots of boiling oil that had been bubbling away for hours. Those first men climbing the ladders screamed in terror as the defenders poured the hot oil down the battlements. Crossbowmen ran to the ladders and picked off the remaining climbers, making the scaling of the wall an almost impossible task.

As the battle wore on even more ladders struck the wall and soon there were too many to hold back. Sergeant Hanlit, standing on the northern half of the wall, knew that this was his time to act. He pulled out a small horn and blew a long note into the air. With strict precision half of the archers aligning the wall dropped their bows and ran to the many caches of shields on the wall to prepare for hand to hand combat. The Sergeant ran along the wall making sure that enough of the defenders were ready for the wave of soldiers that would soon reach the top of the wall.

Finally, in several spots they broke through the defences. Attackers rushed up the ladders with a savage frenzy, striking down defenders and making the ladders safe for their fellow soldiers. Hanlit could see that too many of the ladders were being made safe and realized that the wall would be overrun with the black armoured Dargonians. He drew his own sword and ran into one of the Dargonian attackers pushing him off the wall. Instantly, he was set upon by three others and was forced to move back. He parried the first attacker's sword and narrowly missed a high slice from the second. To his relief he was quickly aided by his fellow soldiers.

Further south, Guthrum pulled his sword from the chest of a dead attacker and in one swift move severed the head from the next one. The Dargonians were drawn to him because of his golden armour, but few could match his skills. As they approached he struck them down with quick strikes. Next to him stood several of the city's finest soldiers, who had been ordered by Coppercloud to protect the General.

With more of the ladders being secured, the regular infantry were able to reach the top of the wall. Amongst these, elites carrying the deadly Dargonian shields and short swords. The General cursed when he saw them jump from the ladders.

He peered over the wall and saw a large contingent of heavily armoured footmen carrying axes. "So many," he muttered under his breath. He noticed that the axemen were standing directly in front of the gate and laughed. They cannot expect to see the mighty gate open. The gate of the eastern wall was unbreakable. Once the locks were in place, the only way to open it was from the inside.

The defenders were slowly pushed away from the edge and were forced to fight in the middle of the wall, allowing even more of the Dargonians to reach the top. Guthrum sidestepped the sword of an attacker and cut into the man's back, sending him to the floor. He then raised his shield to stop a second attacker's sharp sword. A Feldonian soldier ran the man through with his own sword, but was struck from behind as two more attackers leapt up. Guthrum charged at them furiously and killed the first with a blow to the head before he could raise his shield. The second Dargonian acted quickly and brought his shield across the General's face, striking him in the helm and almost cutting through his skull with the sharp edge of the shield. The General then felt hot metal run through his arm as the attacker thrust out with his short sword. Guthrum fell back and another defender took his place.

He checked his wound and was relieved to see that the blade hadn't pierced too deeply. Sergeant Hanlit appeared and saw the blood showing through the General's helmet and bracer. "Are you alright, Sir?"

"I'm fine," roared the General. "How is the northern section holding up?"

"Not good, Sir. They overwhelm us. We will not be able to stop them from reaching the stairs to the city for too much longer."

The General already knew that, but there was nothing else that they could do. As long as they held them away from the gate they would be able to inflict as much damage as possible. "Return to your post and make sure that your men stand fast, Sergeant."

Hanlit nodded and replied, "Skiye be with you General."

The General ran back to the line of defenders and pushed an attacker back with his shield. The defenders around him were having great difficulty stopping the Dargonians and all over the wall injured soldiers moaned and cried out for help. He struck out at the nearest foe, taking the man's arm from his body and then swung around in a wide arc with his sword, hitting several attackers. The General's wild swings gave the attackers caution in approaching. Enemies fell to the General's blade and the defenders were given courage to fight harder.

Fighting alongside his guards the General managed to make his way back to the edge of the wall. He raised his sword and plunged it deep into an Elite's chest. He then looked over the edge. Peering down upon the Dargonian army, he let his sword fall to his side. The group of axemen were making their way to the city wall and passing into the city. The mighty gate, bearing the symbols of Nyrune and Skiye, had been opened.

A loud scream erupted from the street behind them and the Guard Marshal knew it would be mere minutes until the enemy soldiers caught up to them. They ran along the tightly packed streets and ducked into doorways whenever soldiers passed. They had narrowly avoided confrontation countless times and they came to realise that there was little chance of them making it to the western gate. Coppercloud's original plan had been to get Nallia and the children onto a fast horse and send them out of the city through the southern gate, but as they had approached the stables, word had reached them that the gate in the eastern wall had been opened and that the enemy was inside the city.

A fleeing soldier had then warned them that the southern gate had been taken by strange creatures and Coppercloud could only assume that he had been talking of the flying beasts that they had seen earlier. So, with no other option left, Coppercloud chose to take them through the city centre to try to reach one of the western exits. Unfortunately nothing had gone right.

Shortly after leaving the overrun stables the young boy had overturned his ankle and was now being carried by the Guard Marshal. The enemy soldiers had caught up to them, making the travelling too difficult. Judging by the time they had already spent lurking in the shadows, Coppercloud believed that the enemy would likely have already blocked off all of the exits.

"I hear footsteps down the street," said Nallia, her voice tainted with fear. The Guard Marshal looked ahead and saw a group of Dargonians walking their way. The leader spotted them and they began to run towards them.

"Damn the gods!" shouted the Marshal as he turned. They were about to flee back down the street when he saw more soldiers heading their way, blocking off their retreat. He moved to the nearest door and kicked it open. Nallia followed him inside and closed the door behind them. "Check for a way out," he called frantically.

Nallia raced through the building and came back shaking her head miserably. Coppercloud spotted a stairway leading up and pushed the children towards it. He followed after Nallia and could hear the Dargonians drawing near. Upstairs he found a short corridor with one room on both sides and a door at the end. He hurried to the door and opened it, finding what appeared to be a sewing room for the servants of the house. There was a small window, high on the right wall, but it wasn't big enough to climb through. The room was full of bundles of cloth and half-finished dresses. The Marshal motioned for Nallia to take the children and hide behind a spinning wheel in the corner and moved to close the door.

The sound of the front door being kicked in carried through to the upper level and slowly the creaking footsteps drew up the steps to the small corridor. Coppercloud knew that there was no chance of escape and only hoped that the attackers would show Nallia and the children some sympathy. Voices outside signalled that they had checked the two rooms and were now heading for their location. The Marshal drew his sword and took a deep breath. His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to steady the hilt and he felt his stomach cramp.

The door to the room burst open and the young boy and girl began to cry. Four of the Dargonian elites entered the room carrying large, already blood stained, axes. They looked at the Marshal through the thin slits in their visored helmets and then spotted Nallia and the children in the corner. One of the Elites moved towards them and Coppercloud moved to block his passage. "Stay away from them," he warned.

He poised his sword in front of him and ran as fast as he could towards the man, but stopped just short as he felt a tremendous blow to his chest. The Marshal fell to the floor, as the Elite that had struck him removed the axe from his chest. Before the Marshal passed into darkness he thought only of the innocent children.

The call for retreat sounded and the defenders on the wall rushed to the stairs leading into the city. Some ran so suddenly that they were carved up from behind by the attackers that they had left unattended. On the bottom of the wall those running down the stairs were met with vigorous resistance. Most of those fleeing did not even reach the city streets before being assaulted by the horde of enemies storming through the open gate.

Guthrum watched as his fellow soldiers broke the thin line of defence, allowing the Dargonians free access to the wall, and felt like lying down to die. Never had he thought it possible for Precedin, the City of War, to fall so quickly into enemy hands. He had done all that was in his power to try to stop them, but it had not been enough. Now that he saw his own men being slaughtered by the attackers that covered the wall, he had come to understand that this was the end. But he would die fighting.

He turned and charged into a group of footmen who were beating a dying defender and fought them off his body. Facing overwhelming odds, he was quickly struck across the back and fell to the floor. He felt the blood drain from his body and knew he would not recover from this wound. An attacker moved over him with an evil smile upon his face and raised a spiked mace above his head. The mace came down directed at the General's head, but struck a bloodied sword instead.

Hanlit pushed the attacker's mace back with his own weapon and punched the man in the face, breaking his nose. "Get away from him!" screamed Hanlit violently as two other soldiers ran at him. He fought them back, unleashing a flurry of blows fuelled by his rage. The few remaining defenders rallied to him and helped to hold back the attackers. Hanlit fell back and moved to the dying General to kneel beside him.

"Come on General, I'll get you out of here."

Guthrum, who could feel the life leaving his body, reached up and placed his hand upon Hanlit's head. "I have one final request of you," he spoke softly. Hanlit moved closer and the General said, "Get on the fastest horse that you can find and ride for the Citadel. Tell the King that Baldoroff must make peace. You must relay this message for me."

Hanlit's eyes widened. "What about you?" he asked.

"Hand me my sword and leave," commanded Guthrum.

Hanlit nodded and placed the General's sword in his hand. He then stood up and ran from the wall, fighting his way through the throng of enemies. Guthrum managed to sit up and saw a group of enemies heading his way. He stared defiantly into their hate filled eyes and spat on the ground. Then it came to pass that Guthrum de Lamina, General of the armies of Feldom, left Fellarrnur and began his journey to the Third Plane.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

### TROUBLED TIMES

Thibalt smiled as best as he could. Amusing as Estallion's joke was, he was distracted by troubled thoughts. The company had been riding hard along the Dargonian edge of the Beon Ranges. By Errollan's judgement they were but one day's ride from where Dievu believed the Primals would be. Yet as they drew nearer, the group's mood grew darker. Since leaving Precedin a shadow had haunted Thibalt's mind. He was losing faith in the likely success of their mission.

Ludvic, riding besides Errollan, noticed Thibalt's depression and slowed his mount to come up next to Esree. "Do not dwell on troubled thoughts, Thibalt. You must hope," he said.

"But how much hope is there really, Ludvic?" Thibalt replied, his voice dull.

Ludvic led his horse down the sudden dip in the rocky trail and moved back next to Thibalt. "There is always hope. You must not give up."

Thibalt nodded. "I just wish we could get there faster. The waiting is driving me to madness."

"Patience is a virtue, Thibalt. And much more powerful than hope," answered Mandigal, who had overheard the conversation from behind.

Thibalt glanced briefly at Mandigal and then returned his gaze to the trail. He did not believe that he would ever be able to speak with Mandigal as he could to Ludvic. The mysterious man held too many hidden secrets and sent bumps over Thibalt's skin whenever he spoke. He rode slightly ahead so as to keep distance from Mandigal. "How did it come to be that he was made an Honour Guard?" Thibalt asked softly.

Ludvic let out a faint chuckle. "We hear this a lot," he replied. "All you need to know is that there are few men better suited for the Maloreichar. When Mandigal came to Feldom, he was thrown in prison for two long and difficult years. Most men would have died under the conditions he was forced to endure in the King's dungeons. Eventually, with the help of the King's advisors, he was set free. He was to prove himself to the Alliance. Soon enough he did that very thing and became a valuable spy for the Kingdom. His intelligence prevented the sacking of Desfall and alerted us to a vast fleet of ships sailing up the Karmanian Ocean."

"He betrayed his own people?" asked Thibalt.

"Aye...that he did," replied Ludvic, in a more sombre tone. "By that stage Mandigal had forsaken his homeland and sworn allegiance to Feldom." Ludvic pointed a finger at Thibalt and lowered his right eyebrow. "But don't you think he didn't have a hard time doing it. It would have been a horrid torture for him to have caused the death of so many of his brethren. Many say it is the reason he is such a bitter man today."

"So why did he do it?"

Ludvic shrugged his shoulders. "What choice did he have? All I know is that soon it became evident to us that he no longer held any love for his former homeland. After countless years in service to the King he was given a spot amongst the King's own advisors. Then, three years ago, after the death of the Garous Heldun, Mandigal was allowed a spot in our ranks."

It was astonishing to Thibalt that Mandigal had been given a rank of such power given his heritage.

Ludvic read his thoughts and added, "Believe me Thibalt, though you may not understand or trust Mandigal, there is no man on this world more worthy of the position than he."

"I understand," accepted Thibalt.

They continued on along the trail and Thibalt spent his time with his head facing left, where the icy expanse of Dargon stretched over the horizon. Dargon was a cold and dank land, covered in thick forests of pine and riddled with swamps. The decay of Nyrune's frosty climate did not allow pretty flowers or vibrant grass to grow. Only those plants hardy enough to survive the constant winter flourished in the mountainous land. Yet there was something oddly familiar about the rise and fall of the open country. Thibalt let out a faint laugh.

"What is it?" asked Estallion who had brought Falgo up to join Thibalt and Ludvic.

"I was just thinking that, were it not for the terrible weather, it would be difficult to separate Dargon and Feldom."

"Precisely, Thibalt. I've heard a lot of people say that... I've also heard a lot of people say that I have a boyish charm about me. But that doesn't really influence your thought," replied Estallion with a smile.

Thibalt rubbed his weary eyes and said, "I worry about you, Estallion."

Estallion's grin grew even wider. "It pleases me ever so to know that you care."

Errollan, who was up front with Guard Captain Harrinus and Kilthies, signalled for the company to halt. "We will rest for an hour and ride on at dusk."

Thibalt looked up at the sun and saw that the day had passed much quicker than he had expected. The Thaldun Blades slid from their mounts and began to set up small fires. Thibalt and Estallion marvelled at the sight of the gold and green armoured warriors moving about the makeshift camp. Their very movement was full of grace and they performed every task with perfect efficiency. Thibalt had quickly noted that each and every one of the Blades carried varied weapons. They fought in their own unique style, unlike most armed companies, but this unpredictability only made them more dangerous.

He led Esree to the other mounts and upon returning found Estallion and Ludvic sitting by a small green fire, next to two of the Blades. Other small fires burnt throughout the camp and Thibalt knew they had all been conjured by Karmanian warriors. In addition to their martial prowess, each of the Blades was a disciple of Nyrune and an expert at using her magic.

Errollan sat in deep discussion with Kilthies and nodded to Thibalt as he walked by. Ludvic motioned for Thibalt to sit down and he picked a spot in between the two Blades. He had spoken with these two before, since they had departed Precedin. To his right sat Fliethu Ki, second in command of the Blades. His head was completely shaven, something highly uncommon amongst Karmanians, and he held decorative tattoos that snaked over his face and head. On his other side was the stunning Luss Ophio. The very moment that Estallion had spotted her amongst the Thaldun Blades, he had been smitten. Her golden hair was tied tightly behind her in two long tails and she held the most mesmerizing eyes that Thibalt had ever seen. Her exotic beauty was accentuated by her sharp features and even Estallion found himself stuttering in her presence.

"Not long now, Thibalt," Ludvic pointed out.

"I know," replied Thibalt, frustration showing in his tone. He felt a gentle hand touch his back and turned to see Luss's sparkling blue and purple eyes staring at him.

"You must calm yourself. There will be a terrible fight when we find them. Of that there is no doubt. And if Dievu was correct there will be no room for error. You will not be able to afford a troubled mind," she said.

Estallion who was also staring into her eyes added, "I agree wholeheartedly. She is a wise lady... Smart and beautiful, a rare flower in this gloomy world."

Ludvic nudged Estallion's shoulder. "Stop gawking you fool."

Estallion quickly took his eyes from Luss and blushed, causing the others to laugh. For several moments they sat in silence until Thibalt, trying to take his mind off Christill, asked, "Ludvic you've never told me how you joined the Honour Guard?"

Ludvic suddenly turned and waved away the question. "Oh it is a boring story."

"Please allow us the privilege. It will help take our minds off the coming fight," encouraged Fliethu, in a voice thick with an accent Thibalt had never heard.

Ludvic shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. It is no worthy tale."

Estallion knew just what to say to get Ludvic talking. "He is just ashamed because it was his mother who got him the job. She needed to get him out of the house one way or another."

Ludvic's face flushed red in an instant. "Why I never...I spent three years fighting the Miirvkin separatists that attacked Andron to get my position. That's why I am an Honour Guard. Nothing more and nothing less."

"On the contrary...," butted in Guard Captain Harrinus who had just joined the group. The second in command of Precedin's forces sat down on the ground and once again ran his hand over his missing ear. "Back when the soldiers from Numukh declared war on Andron for taking control of the fishing in the North Sea, General Hammerfell single-handedly drove them back to Miirvk. I believe you were the most decorated General to ever serve in Auldney. Am I right?"

Ludvic cast a meaningful glare at Harrinus, causing the others to smile. It was well known that Ludvic was not fond of talking of his days as the General of the North, and therefore a select few insisted on bringing it up as often as possible.

"You should be proud of your achievements, Ludvic," said Luss.

"Self-boasting is a weak and childlike activity and I'll have no part of it," replied Ludvic.

They were interrupted by Kilthies who stood up to address the company. Once he was sure that he had everyone's attention he spoke. "Soldiers of Feldom and my loyal Blades. We are but hours away from those whom we have pursued. We will ride soon and do what we can to save Queen Triel. Remember what you are fighting for. Queen Triel must be rescued," he paused, turning his eyes to Fliethu. "It is possible many of us will die tonight...We will not let fear take our courage. I do not need to tell you that no enemy can be left alive, for if we are to make it back to Feldom we cannot suffer a Dargonian shadow. I urge you to get as much rest as you can."

Kilthies sat back down and was clasped on the shoulder by another Blade named Utith. Mandigal approached the spot from where Kilthies had spoken and also addressed the company. "Listen carefully. There is one amongst those that we hunt named Novokai." A few of the Blades cringed at the mention of his name, having encountered him in the battle of Hiethris many years ago. "He is a powerful disciple of Gushkall and you would do well to steer clear of him. His powers are beyond any of you. I ask that you leave him to Kilthies and myself. Do not attempt to face him alone." Mandigal then moved back to his own private campfire, leaving the men shaken.

The company sat in silence for several minutes until Estallion once again spoke. "Well I'm about ready for a story. How about the rest of you? I've got an excellent one about my exploits in Lundron. It's a terrific tale in which I managed to get my way out of being hanged by the local guards."

Several voices shouted in unison, "No!" cutting him off quickly and Estallion let out a large puff of disappointment.

Ludvic looked at Estallion and shook his fist. "I think we have all heard about enough of your adventures. Especially the ones in which you are running from the law."

Estallion smiled and patted Ludvic on the back. "I can't help it if other people can't keep their hands off me."

The Blade named Utith lowered himself flat on the floor beside Kilthies and let out a long yawn. "Please grace us with one of your verses, Fliethu," he called out.

Fliethu stared at the long haired Karmanian who had requested the performance and inclined his head. He stood up and waited for complete silence. He then bowed to his crowd and began a musical verse.

By the marshes so dour

Lay a lad and his fiddle

In the forest so lull

Lay the flute bearing maiden

It began with a tune

That wend among mountains

That travel downstream

T' was whistled by many

Lonely finch who was soaring

Caught sight of the fiddler

And perched down on his shoulder

Finch harkened to dreary hymn

The song from the marshes

Was the tune from a boy

Who was lonely and orphaned

Whom no one remembered

As the finch sat and listened

The lad finished playing

A breath of sorrow escaped

And he lay down to sleep

The marshes tore asunder

And swallowed him neath

And there was no fine music

Only finch who had listened

To the sky he then flew

To a forest he came

Where a girl sat alone

With no music to play

So the finch sang the song

Of a boy who was lonely

And in time through the forest

Was a flute playing peacefully

The girl played a tune

That wend among mountains

That travel downstream

T' was whistled by many

No longer was a lad

Who lies lost in the marshes

Forgotten and lonely

Born forth hence in melody

Thibalt let out a long breath and spread himself down on the rocky ground. He began humming the calming tune of Fliethu's song and noticed many others were doing the same. For a brief moment they could try to forget their worries.

Friedrich Hermagoras III rolled the die one more time, watching anxiously for the result that would determine his mood for the remainder of the night. Vrill stood over his shoulder smiling with anticipation as the die slowed and finally rested on the middle of the table. The men participating in the game roared their disappointment as six black dots appeared at the top of the stationary die.

"Well done," said Vrill patting Friedrich on the back. "You just bought me my next drink."

Friedrich allowed his body to relax. The other participants handed Friedrich the money they owed him for besting their rolls and grumpily left the table. He counted his winnings and was happy to see that he had finished the round with three times what he had started with. He then shook his head. Why did he even care? If he wanted money he could simply take it from the treasury.

"Hurry up," yelled Vrill, who had already moved to the bar. "My mouth is dry and I have no ale to quench it with."

"Then buy your own," demanded Friedrich, casting an annoyed look at Vrill.

"I would, but you won all my money," laughed Vrill.

Friedrich couldn't help but laugh. He stood up and placed his winnings in a pocket behind the breast of his tunic. The tavern was a squalid and filthy affair, with very little light and an unsavoury crowd. It was aptly named the Muddy Boot and was the establishment that Vrill and Friedrich had decided to make their own. Though the city of Vladistov provided many fine taprooms, far more pleasing to the eye and nose, the two had always preferred to keep away from the other nobles in the city.

As he approached the bar, Friedrich noticed two seated men staring at him. They were dressed in baggy clothes that likely concealed their weapons underneath. He knew exactly why these men were here and why they were watching him. He tapped Vrill on the arm and motioned in their direction. Vrill slowly turned his head, so as not to draw suspicion, and then returned his attention to his cousin.

"Looks like Zephra intends to know exactly what we are up to these days," Vrill smiled.

Friedrich nodded. "He has had his men following us all week. Father fears that Zephra might go so far as to try to kill me and you."

"Why me?" asked Vrill suddenly. "You I can understand. I haven't done anything to him."

"You know too much about our family for him to risk keeping you alive."

Vrill motioned for the man behind the bar to pour two mugs of beer and the man eyed them suspiciously. Friedrich placed four coins on the bar and the man poured the drinks.

"So what do you think we should do?" asked Vrill, eagerly watching the froth rise to the top of the wooden mug.

Friedrich thought to himself for a moment and then answered, "We need to ensure we have the means for a quick escape out of the city if we need one. Somewhere we can hide from Zephra's men."

Vrill clasped the mug and took a long drag. A young girl, wearing a distinctly revealing dress, approached Vrill and began to play with his ears. "Not now," he said, pushing her away. The girl threw Vrill an angry look and stormed away to find another potential customer.

"I don't think we have much time," said Friedrich.

"I think you're right," replied Vrill. "Your idea doesn't sound too bad, and I think that we are in the right place to secure such an escape."

Friedrich knew of what Vrill spoke. The Muddy Boot was renowned amongst the more shady and unlawful members of the city for being the headquarters for the city's largest society of crooks, Clandestine Vitiate. The group was responsible for most of the underhand and illegal activities in Vladistov and held far reaching branches from Galdovan to Bultan and even as far down as Vurnal.

The leader of the underhand society was not known to many outside of the group, but Vrill and Friedrich had come across his identity during a game of cards several months back. A young man had mistakenly made reference to a man named Allen Shade as the leader of Clandestine Vitiate during the game. They had not seen the young man since.

A few months later they had caught a glimpse of Allen Shade in the Muddy Boot and had come to accept that he did indeed run the gang. At first they had expected to see a powerful and well-dressed man at the head of the group, thus they were surprised to find Allen a skinny and pockmarked man who wore simple clothes and was beginning to lose his hair.

"Do you think we should contact them now?" queried Friedrich.

"Undoubtedly," answered Vrill. "Since Zephra left Vladistov, his men have been watching our every move. I think it would be in our best interest to have a way out of this city as soon as possible."

"Then we will go to him tonight," said Friedrich, taking a large gulp from his mug, but failing to enjoy the taste.

They waited by the bar, ordering a few more ales as the time drifted by. Once the main crowd of customers had grown large enough for them to move without attracting attention, Friedrich and Vrill stepped to the back of the room to a misshapen wooden door and knocked. After several moments of silence the door creaked open on its rusty hinges and a man with a scrunched up nose and large boil on his cheek popped his head around the frame.

"What do you want?"

"We want to speak with Allen Shade," Friedrich said clearly.

"There's no one here by that name," replied the man sharply and he began to shut the door.

Vrill placed his hand against the door and pushed it back. "Don't take us for fools. We have business with your master and you would do well to let us pass," he said.

Friedrich noted that Vrill was showing the man a handful of gold coins he had pulled from his pocket and reminded himself to make Vrill pay for their drinks the next time.

The man examined the gold for a while then slowly opened the door fully. He let them pass and pointed down the thin corridor that led to a storage room in the back of the tavern. Candles flickered through the corridor and cast a foreboding glow throughout the passage.

The corridor brought them to an office. Shelves of books and scrolls lined the walls, except for the area in which a cushioned chair stood before an open fireplace. The cluttered desk in the middle of the room was littered with documents and various trinkets left in a state of chaos. The aroma of scented candles still lingered in the air, leaving evidence that someone had been working here recently.

Vrill motioned for Friedrich to stop as they entered the room. They then heard a calm voice from behind say, "Please sit down so that I may hear what business you have to discuss."

They turned and saw Allen Shade standing in the corridor with a blue cloak wrapped tightly around him. At his side were two large and very muscular men carrying wooden clubs and dressed in identical red tunics and brown leggings. The head of a society as furtive as Clandestine Vitiate had his own secret entrances to his office.

Allen, who noticed their startled expressions, smiled slightly. "Do not worry, my lord, my companions are merely a precaution. One can never be too careful in times like these." He moved to his desk and took a seat whilst his body guards took up the space behind him.

Friedrich and Vrill sat down in the chairs facing Allen and noticed that they were of the highest quality. "I find it strange that a man of such high regard would keep a desk as cluttered and disorganized as this," commented Friedrich as he motioned to the mess in front of him.

"You may think it disorganized, but to me it is perfect."

"Suit yourself," muttered Vrill.

Allen's brow lowered, showing his displeasure towards Vrill's disrespectful tone. Friedrich took note and decided to speak. "We seek to do business with you."

"Speak," replied Allen, folding his hands together on the desk.

"We would like you to arrange a safe house where we can avoid detection for a while."

"There are many factors to take into account here," commented Allen. "I must know more of your situation."

Vrill cast an unsure look at Friedrich, but finally shrugged his shoulders saying, "We are in trouble either way."

Friedrich agreed. "We have reason to believe that our lives are in danger if we stay in Vladistov. We need to be able to leave the city completely unseen and be taken somewhere where no one would be able to find us for at least a few months."

Allen's eyes widened showing his surprise. "And who is it that would threaten the life of the Duke's own son?"

Friedrich hesitated with his answer. He had no idea how trustworthy this man was and did not want to tumble into further trouble. "A man of great importance. That is all you need to know. We will require the safe house within the next two weeks. Sooner if possible."

Allen slowly opened a thin draw on his table and withdrew a long pipe. After filling it with tobacco and lighting it, he took a long breath from the tip and blew out the smoke with a satisfying grunt. Friedrich and Vrill both instantly smelt the unique, pungent and rich odour of Karmanian tobacco and knew that he was smoking an expensive and very rare commodity. "I will need to know exactly who is threatening you before I come to a decision," he pressed.

"Zephra," blurted out Vrill without a second thought. Friedrich looked at his cousin bewildered. Vrill shrugged off Friedrich's gaze and continued to talk with Allen. "Now you know why discretion is of the utmost importance."

"What you ask of me is more difficult than you can imagine. Zephra has eyes and ears in every corner of this nation. Even several of my highest ranking members are Zephra's spies," said Allen.

"Then how do you still conduct your business?" asked Friedrich.

"I have helped our King out on many occasions. I am sure he feels that we are of some use to him. Worthy of being kept in business no doubt."

Friedrich chewed his lip as he considered their position. "What would you require?" he questioned.

"For something like this I will require three thousand gold coins," said Allen, his tone perfectly steady.

Vrill began to choke on his own spit as he tried to come to grips with the unreasonable amount. "That is more than any honest merchant would earn in a lifetime," he cried.

"Who here is honest? We are all rich men. What you ask of me could put my people in danger and would also be extremely costly. You should be grateful that I am even willing to help you," replied Allen coolly.

"I demand you lower the price," said Friedrich in a raised voice.

Allen suddenly pulled a dagger from his belt and slammed it into the table. "Do not forget who you are talking to!" Allen screamed back, his eyes aflame. "Here I rule, not you. The price is three thousand gold. Now do you want Vitiate's help or not?"

Friedrich paused and gazed at Vrill. The look in his cousin's eyes was one of resentment, yet he could think of no other option. "Very well. When will you be ready?"

"Three weeks. Bring the gold when I call for you," replied Allen, clasping his hands in front of his face.

* * *

A crisp wind caused Christill to shiver. He opened his eyes and saw a long valley sweeping into the distance, spotted with groups of dark green trees. Once again his head was clouded with pain. Once again he could not remember what had happened the night before. Each and every day had been the same. He would awake in tremendous pain and be forced to trek through the Ranges until night. Then the questioning would begin, followed by the torture. Christill swore that he would get his revenge on Rhucia one day, but every moment that passed made it seem less likely. It was after the beatings that Christill lost his memory. He suspected that Novokai had a hand in that which only swelled his detestation of the disciple.

He rolled into a sitting position and, taking notice of his surroundings, suddenly felt his heart sink. Behind him loomed the peaks of the Southern Beon Ranges and in front of him the valley that he had just spotted marked the beginning of Dargon. Sometime during the night they had left the inner Ranges and were now camped at the very border of the two nations. The sight of Dargon's harsh wilderness disheartened Christill more than he would have thought possible. All hope that he had harboured disappeared and a harsh reality began to sink in. There was no rescue party.

He was stirred by Novokai's voice off to his left. Although faint, he could make out the disciple talking with whom Christill assumed to be Rhucia.

"That is not the point. As long as he believes that Dievu was out to harm him, we might be able to sway him to our cause," said Novokai.

"I don't see why you want to waste your time on him," replied Rhucia.

"A Valiant is no common thing you fool," said Novokai harshly. "If I can manipulate his mind enough, I will have him under my control. He would prove a valuable weapon when I finally take the throne from Zephra."

Christill heard what sounded like a sigh from Rhucia.

"You are foolish to challenge him, Master," replied Rhucia cautiously.

"Mind your opinions you insolent rat," commanded Novokai. "I know what I am doing and once a proper chance arises you will bow down to me as your king, not that fraud Zephra."

Christill was surprised at what he was hearing. Novokai was planning to claim the throne of Galdovan. Though he did not know much about Zephra, he knew enough to realize that Novokai could not overpower Zephra by himself. But what help could he possibly provide? That didn't matter. He would never allow Novokai to manipulate him. He was drawn from his thoughts as they continued to speak.

"And the Queen. Have you extracted all of the information that Zephra asked for?" asked Rhucia.

Novokai laughed smugly. "Yes I have the information. But Zephra will not get it."

Rhucia's tone betrayed his confusion. "What do you intend to do?"

"By the time that I am through with the Queen, she will be as simple minded as you, Rhucia." Novokai answered. "Zephra will not be able to get a speck of information out of her damaged mind and I will simply claim that I was unable to retrieve any."

"That is extremely risky," pointed out Rhucia.

"Zephra will not question me. He knows that I still have enough powerful allies to threaten him."

The conversation stopped as Christill heard their footsteps approaching. He quickly dropped back to the ground and closed his eyes. Novokai and Rhucia walked passed him, seemingly unaware that he was awake. Once Christill was sure that they had passed out of sight he opened his eyes and scanned the camp. It did not take him long to find what he was looking for.

Queen Triel was sprawled on the floor in a terrible state and was being watched over by an assassin who had his back turned to her, busy eating a bowl of steaming stew. Christill looked to the west and noticed that Novokai and Rhucia had left the camp. With luck he could make it over to the Queen without catching any of the Primals' attention. He waited until the moment seemed right then began to move towards her. Crawling slowly amongst the rocks, Christill reached the spot where the Queen lay, certain that he had remained unseen. Lying as flat as possible, he nudged the Queen with his shoulder. At first she did not reply, but a second nudge caused her to turn her head slightly and open her eyes.

"Christill!" she breathed, the shock clearly registering in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He moved as close as he could to her and whispered, "I was captured a few days ago. Though how many...I cannot tell. That is not important right now. We need to get out of here."

Christill noticed moisture forming in the Queen's eyes and could see her utter desperation. "There is no escape for me," she solemnly whispered. "I cannot move my legs."

Gazing down at the Queen's legs, Christill cringed. Large dark blue and red bruises marked the points were her knees had been broken.

"You must do something for me," she said softly, as tears began to stream down her cheek. "The pain is so great. I wish it all to end. Will you help me?"

"You cannot mean that," Christill objected.

"I will not endure the torture that has been dealt out by that man any longer. Help me, Christill. End my life now while I still have a shred of dignity left."

He shook his head. "You cannot mean that," he repeated, his voice faltering. "I will not do it whilst there is still a chance to escape."

"There is no chance," said the Queen.

"Dievu will come for us," he tried to reassure her. "He will not leave us to a tortured death." Christill spoke the words, but knew there was little truth in them. Dievu had likely not survived the fight with Novokai, and that meant that there was little hope of a rescue.

The Queen's eyes closed as she tried to fight back her tears. As she moved her head, Christill could see that even the slightest movement caused her unbearable pain. He could only imagine the horror that she had been put through since her capture. Yet he could not do what she was asking.

"Then leave, Christill. Whilst you still can, make your escape," urged the Queen.

"I will not leave you," he replied. He turned as he heard footsteps from behind and before he got a good look at who it was, he was kicked in the face, causing him to scream in agony.

As fresh blood flowed rapidly from his nose, Christill saw Rhucia pull the whip from his belt and uncoil it. "Well, what have we here?" he chuckled arrogantly.

* * *

Errollan crawled silently along the rough ground, his sword held out in front of him and shield on his back. Small streams of smoke were rising into the air from the trail below his position. Fourteen Feldonian soldiers came with him up the northern side of the mountain trail. If their information was correct, the Dargonian camp would be just twelve feet below them. Despite the drop from the incline to the trail being a sheer vertical plunge of near ten feet, Errollan was confident that his men could safely make the jump and take the Primals by surprise. To the east Mandigal would be readying the remaining troops to storm the camp from within Dargonian territory. They would make their enemy think the attack was coming from the north which would hopefully send them fleeing to their homeland in the east, where Mandigal would be waiting to cut off their retreat.

Errollan reached the edge of the ledge and waited for his men to get into position. Several moments passed and they waited in silence. No sounds came from the trail below, though campfire smoke still filled the air. A faint bird call filled the air, coming from the east. Kilthies's men were ready. Raising his hands, Errollan signalled for the men to leap down onto the trail. In unison the fifteen men jumped from the ledge and landed on the rocky trail with their swords ready. He moved his shield in front of his body, but moments later let it fall to his side. Except for a few low burning campfires and some discarded gear, the camp was empty.

"Be wary, they may still be near," he whispered to his command.

The men spread out to search the campsite in groups, keeping their guard up and making as little noise as possible. It was clear that the area had been used recently as a camp, as the trail was spotted with food scraps and the stink of human excrement. Errollan studied the ground and found that the footprints led off to the east. "They have been here and gone," he said with chagrin.

A rush of footsteps announced the arrival of the rest of the company from the east. They moved into view from a thick clump of trees and headed for Errollan and his men.

"What happened?" asked Ludvic as he reached them.

"We have missed them," answered Errollan. "We must have waited too long before we attacked."

Thibalt, who had come up with Ludvic, kicked the nearest rock sending it crashing into the wall. "Damn the gods!" he yelled.

Estallion moved up to him and placed his hand reassuringly on his back. "It's not over, Thibalt."

"There is always something in my way," he said angrily. "When I find these assassins there will be no mercy."

Fliethu let out a sigh and walked over to Kilthies. "What do you see?"

Kilthies dropped low to the ground and studied the footprints. "Freshly trodden...They cannot be far away. These marks are no longer than half a day old."

"Then we must make haste, and catch them before they travel too far inland," pressed Mandigal. "They are on foot, so we should be able to cut them off."

"What is their most likely route?" asked Errollan.

Mandigal looked out to his former homeland and tried to remember the landscape. Directly east lay the beginning of the Leadfoot Marshes, a series of swamps and murky lakes that made the land uninhabitable to all but the lowest of life forms. South was the path to the city of Sastine, but the road was almost as perilous as the mountain pass during this time of year, with strong winds and heavy rains turning the ground to muck. "There is a forest just north of here that they will likely enter," he finally said. "It is the least treacherous route to a safe city. I suspect they will move for Vladistov. Long ago there was a large temple located in the forest. It was abandoned and is now but a broken shell. If we hurry we could catch them before they reach it."

"Then we shall ride our horses into the ground," said Errollan. He signalled for the men to return to where they had left their mounts and the company left the abandoned camp.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

### THE RUINS OF GASTONILE

The company had been riding hard through the dark forest. It was unlike those Thibalt had encountered in Feldom. The old pines were clumped together densely and covered in thick, dark moss and overgrowth that gave the entire area a moist outer shell. A thick stagnant mist hovered above their heads and far into the distance, obscuring much of their vision, but Kilthies and Fliethu were riding ahead to ensure they did not run into any unwanted surprises.

Despite the moon's dazzling light, the intense darkness of the forest caused Thibalt's hairs to stand on edge. He sat huddled on Esree's back with his cloak wrapped around his body and his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword underneath.

Estallion slowed Falgo down to allow Thibalt catch up to him. "Luss tells me that Fliethu has picked up their trail. We are headed the right way," he voiced softly.

Thibalt also kept his voice low. "How does she know? He must be at least a mile ahead of us."

"Their powers allow them to send their thoughts over vast distances. She has been in contact with Kilthies," answered Estallion.

"Well...good. I don't wish to spend any longer in this forest," commented Thibalt. "The shadows seem to be closing in around us, as though reaching out to choke our very throats."

"I have to agree with you. This hideous place has taken the cheer out of this party." He glanced around at the Feldonian soldiers. "Look at them. They appear as though spectres are haunting their steps. Their nerves will not hold much longer."

Thibalt agreed as he saw the state of the riders around him. Pale and drawn faces were noticeable on all but the Thaldun Blades, who rode determined and alert, ever vigilant despite the haunting forest. "I just hope that Christill is alive."

Estallion paused for a moment as they rode onwards amongst the towering trees. After a while he said, "Life is complicated, Thibalt."

"What drives you to that thought?" asked Thibalt, noticing a change in Estallion's usually playful tone.

"Death...It is so utterly uncontrollable. Were it that we all lived out a certain length of years and then died, life would be simpler. Never would a parent outlive their child. Never would disease or a blade take a loved one from you. But as it is, the gods have chosen to make life complicated," Estallion finished.

"I see little that we can do to change that," replied Thibalt honestly.

Estallion inclined his head. "Exactly my point." He let out a deep breath. "When my father died I thought it was the end of my life. I had no hope...no reason to live. There was nothing left for me as my mother and I were never very close. I thought my life was at an end. I was only a young lad back then."

Thibalt felt as though he should say something reassuring, but was at a loss. Estallion had only ever mentioned the loss of his father fleetingly. Any talk on such personal topics had always been laced with an overtone of humour. Yet now he could sense the emotion in his friend's words.

"As you know I'm still here," he added with a chuckle. "I decided I had no right to cause my mother any further grief. So I locked away my troubles and hid them behind a mischievous personality."

"The loss of someone you love can change you forever," commented Thibalt, feeling a newfound respect for Estallion.

Estallion paused for a moment, looking down and continued. "I was not always like I am today. I used to be a shy and most would say boring lad. I guess I just began acting foolishly in an attempt to forget my father's death. The real reason I rant on about useless things is to avoid having these conversations with people. Mainly because I am afraid to tell anyone my true feelings."

"I am no stranger to such habits. I have never been good at talking to people either. In Miirvk I had few friends, and those that did show me some kindness did it only due to my skills in the forge," said Thibalt, cringing noticeable at the thought of his former home.

"I guess what I am trying to get at here is that you cannot always control the situations that you are faced with in life," Estallion said with a smile. "And when things go wrong you have to move on. There is no use lingering on the past."

Thibalt shifted the reins in his hands and replied, "You can be foolish, but there is some wisdom in there. I am glad you shared that with me."

"To be quite honest I have never truly had a friend, Thibalt. You are the first man, that isn't part of the local authorities, that has ever talked to me for longer than an hour."

Thibalt smiled. "Then let us make an oath." He raised his left hand in an open gesture and clasped Estallion's wrist with his right. "Whenever we are in trouble, we will look out for one another. Watch my back and I will watch yours. Let's make sure our friendship lasts."

Estallion took Thibalt's hand in his and clasped his friend's wrist in the same fashion. "As long as I have legs to run and arms to fight, no harm will come to you," he replied with a wink.

Thibalt released his grip and they returned their attention to the path.

Up ahead, at the head of the column, Errollan rode besides Ludvic.

"We cannot be too far behind them. Though they have the advantage of knowing the area, they are on foot which will slow them down," pointed out Ludvic. Errollan who was lingering on his own thoughts simply nodded. Years of friendship gave Ludvic the ability to tell when Errollan was dwelling on concerns. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

Errollan blinked and turned to Ludvic. "Everything, old friend. The world seems to be crumbling underneath our feet."

"I know what you mean," replied Ludvic, sensing despair in Errollan's voice. "Things keep moving from bad to worse."

Errollan rubbed his neck. "We have a war to win and then this happens. To add to our troubles a bridge rises from Lake Moonsong, for which no man can provide an answer, providing our enemy with a clear path into our land. And now Baldoroff threatens to form his own nation, stripping us of men that we so desperately need."

"We will get through it."

"Will we?" posed Errollan. "Can you see us fixing all of these problems?"

"Well it is our job, and I'll be damned if I just sit around and let things get worse," replied Ludvic adamantly.

"I understand...I am just tired old friend, that is all."

Ludvic shook his head. "We are all tired."

From the mist ahead they could hear a rider approaching. Errollan raised his fist to signal a halt and drew his sword.

One of the Blades riding to his left motioned for him to lower his sword. "It is Kilthies," he told Errollan.

The leader of the Thaldun Blades popped into view soon after, with a harsh look on his face. In a sombre voice he called out, "We have found them."

Christill sat up and drank from the cup. The much needed water soothed his dry throat. The assassin took the cup away and threw a small bit of bread onto the ground next to him. He picked it up and ate it quickly, despite its rotten state.

Novokai, who was watching from behind, walked up and stood next to Christill. "How are you faring?" he asked.

Christill could tell from his tone that there was no hint of concern in the question, merely curiosity. "I am fine, thank you," replied Christill mockingly.

Novokai gave out a frightening laugh that Christill had come to hate so strongly. "I have been thinking, Christill...," he said in a lighter tone.

"That must have been difficult," returned Christill, only causing Novokai's smile to widen.

"You have the potential to become something great. That wretch Dievu saw it in you, but he was going to try to use you for his own purposes. The Karmanians have a history of doing that."

Christill remained silent, an angry gaze fixed on Novokai.

"There is no doubting that I am the most gifted disciple to ever grace this world," continued Novokai, merely stating his belief. "I could teach you wondrous things."

Christill realized that what he had overheard hours before was indeed true. Novokai was trying to manipulate him to further his own cause. But why? "Why would you wish to teach me anything? What could you possibly gain from this?" Christill asked.

"I have learnt from what I saw in your mind that you are not so different than I was at your age. Mind you that was a long, long time ago," said Novokai with a grin. "You have the same craving for power and strength that I once did. It would be a shame to let a Valiant such as you go to waste."

"After what you have done to the Queen, you think that I would join with you," said Christill harshly.

"Forget the Queen. What has Feldom ever done for you, Christill? You owe them no more loyalty than you do the Miirvkin. Remain loyal to me and you will have power. You will rise to greatness."

Christill had heard enough. He would no longer let Novokai think that he had him under his spell. "Don't try to fill my head with lies you swine," he yelled. "I know what you seek to do with me. You would use me as an instrument to claim Dargon for yourself. Your hateful backstabbing race is no greater than the barbaric Miirvkin themselves."

Novokai's eyes opened wide at this retaliation. "Well, well. It looks like you have been eavesdropping in on our conversations."

Christill sneered. "You thought you had it all planned out. Thought that you could lull me into your trap and manipulate me. You forget that I swore an oath to stay true to myself. I will never allow anyone like you to take me from where my loyalties lie. I was born in Feldom and there my heart will remain for the rest of my life."

Novokai laughed once more. "A brave speech. You truly are something unique, Christill. You could have become a god amongst men if you had taken my advice. But alas, it is now too late. I will use you as my pawn whether you like it or not. Once I have erased the Queen's mind, you will be next. When I am through with you, you will be a shell of a man, fully loyal to Dargon and fully obedient to me. My own personal slave."

Christill's gaze lowered and his heart sank. He knew he was powerless to stop Novokai. The more he thought on it, the more he realized that a fate worse than death awaited him.

Kilthies placed his foot on the bole of the mighty tree and sprang silently into the air. He landed nimbly on a well hidden branch, halfway up the massive hundred foot pine. Taking slow steps to conceal his movement, he made his way closer towards the trunk to the spot where Fliethu sat holding a small black device to his left eye. The device was Feldonian by make and allowed the user to see things in the distance magnified to twice their true size.

From their perch they could see down to the Dargonian camp. No scouts would normally risk moving so near to the camp, but the Thaldun Blades, who could mask their appearance and sounds through their magic, were no ordinary scouts. Kilthies concentrated and sent his thoughts to his lifelong friend.

Fliethu instantly received Kilthies's words as though he had just spoken them aloud. "Have they settled for the rest of the night?"

" _They will camp here for at least a few hours by the look of it," Fliethu replied, sending back his own thoughts._

" _How many are left?"_

"It is hard to tell. I would say twenty, maybe more. They will put up little resistance against our men. Yet He is still among them," replied Fliethu.

Kilthies knew who Fliethu referred to. With Novokai in their midst, the Primals held a chance of winning this fight. He leaned slightly forwards and peered down through the mass of branches. The assassins had travelled further than anticipated and were camped in the clearing that held the ruins of the old temple Mandigal had spoken of earlier. Kilthies recalled Mandigal referring to it as the temple of Gastonile. All that remained of the building was a rough square wall, broken and crumbling in most places, and a few shells of former rooms that once branched off to the sides of the temple. Some of the stone balconies on the main wall remained intact allowing the Primals walkways for their sentries. Kilthies looked over the camp position again and again, trying to memorize each section of wall. If they were going to succeed they would need to know exactly where to strike.

"The southern wall is the most damaged and would allow most of Errollan's men through," pointed out Fliethu.

" _But it has two sentries on it, whereas the east wall has only one."_

Fliethu glanced over to the eastern wall which was by far the most intact, with only one large opening on its left half. "That is a risky point to assault from. If they can get men into that gap in the wall and stop us from entering the inner square, they can use the stone walkway still attached to the inside of the wall to fire down upon us."

Kilthies shook his head. The main force was inside the large square and had enough cover from which to hold a decent defence. They would need to make it through the wall and into the centre of the camp to inflict the most damage.

"The Blades can make it into the square without any trouble," said Fliethu.

Kilthies said, "We will still need the Feldonians though. We cannot risk fighting the Primals as well as Novokai. We must ensure Errollan and the others are not held outside the wall."

Fliethu agreed and then signalled to his commander that they should return to the others. Kilthies leapt from the branch and landed on the moist ground without a sound. Seconds later he saw Fliethu fall from the forty foot height to land next to him. Together they ran through the forest to the spot where the rest of the company waited, southwest of the Gastonile ruins.

Mandigal waited at the head of the company, an impatient look on his face. "You have been gone for almost half an hour," he complained.

Kilthies simply waved the complaint away, feeling no need to explain himself. He motioned for Errollan, Guard Captain Harrinus and Ludvic to join them. They walked over and Kilthies told them of the area that the Dargonians were camped in. Once they all had a clear image of the camp in their head the discussion began.

"Where is the Queen being held?" asked Harrinus.

"In the very centre," replied Fliethu. "She is not heavily guarded."

"And what of Thibalt's brother?" asked Harrinus.

"He is being kept with Triel. From what we could make out he is in bad shape, but still alive," said Fliethu, loud enough for Thibalt to hear.

Thibalt felt his resolve rise at the news that Christill was still alive and he was now more eager than ever to storm the Dargonian camp and rescue his brother. He could feel the blood warming in his arms as they ached to move. His skin began to tingle as a shiver ran down his body. The anticipation was growing. It was not long now.

"What do you think?" Kilthies asked Errollan.

The former General of Feldom's armies took a moment to consider. "Our strategy must be flawless. We cannot just attack them blindly if they hold such a covered position. We must make our plan of attack and strike as soon as we can."

"Can't you simply use your magic to teleport into the camp, grab the Queen and the boy and zap yourselves back here," asked Harrinus, in a hopeful voice.

"Under normal circumstances we might have been able to pull that off," answered Mandigal. "But if we tried that now Novokai would be upon us in seconds. He is not foolish enough to have left the Queen alone, without sufficient wards to warn him of magical presence near her. And if we used our magic to teleport the Queen out of there, we would leave ourselves unprotected against Novokai's wrath. I would not like our chances of leaving there alive."

"That is why it is essential that you and I keep him busy, Mandigal," said Kilthies.

"He's damned right," said Ludvic. "We will be unable to defend ourselves from his attacks. If you can keep him from attacking us, we can take care of the Primals and get the Queen out of there."

"It will not be an easy task, but we will try our best," replied Mandigal.

"Very well, from what you have told us I believe that the main assault should come from the south, given that we can get the most men through the wall there," said Errollan. The others nodded their agreement. "The two sentries will alert the rest of the camp of our attack, which will most likely cause most of them to run to the wall. Our one advantage is that they do not know how many of us there are."

"And they do not know that the Thaldun Blades are amongst us," added Ludvic optimistically.

"My point exactly," nodded Errollan. "We must use this to our advantage. If we are the only ones to attack from the south, the enemy will assume that they are being attacked by a large company of Feldonian troops. They will have no indication that the Karmanians have a hand in this rescue."

"That is why we will strike from the east," said Kilthies, seeing Errollan's plan.

"Yes," replied Errollan. "But from the north as well. The northern wall is closest to the tree line. Am I not correct?" Fliethu and Kilthies both confirmed the point. "Therefore Mandigal and Kilthies will take half of the Blades to the east and Fliethu and Luss will command the others in an attack from the north."

"And you and I will charge head first into the southern wall with the soldiers from Precedin," said Ludvic with a smile. "I like the sound of that."

Kilthies' look showed that he approved of the plan. "Tell the men," he motioned to Harrinus. "And may Nyrune watch over us all."

"And Skiye guide our swords," replied Errollan.

Thibalt strapped on his leather vest and grieves and tied a pair of metal plated bracers to his arms. He watched as Estallion buttoned his shirt over a thin suit of chain mail and said, "I will have to get one of those."

Estallion smirked. "I would rather one of those suits," he said, pointing at the full body, golden green armour that Utith was checking. Thibalt glanced at the Blades who were preparing themselves. Some carried long spears and others readied bows and exotic blades. He saw Utith strap a huge sheath to his back from which a hilt, big enough for at least three hands protruded, and found it hard to believe that such a large weapon was wieldable.

Fliethu walked past him, holding a long red staff, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Stay composed. I will be watching you out there young man," he said. He walked off to join Luss who hoisted a quiver of arrows across her shoulder.

Thibalt found Fliethu's last words slightly strange, but thought better than to worry about them. He would need to stay focused and alert. With his sword in his right hand and a mace in his left he set off behind Errollan and Ludvic. The time had finally come.

Thibalt lay on the mossy ground just behind a fallen tree trunk that was slick with forest overgrowth. Next to him lay Estallion and Harrinus, and behind them the remaining Feldonian soldiers. The air was thick with moisture that coated them in a slimy layer of grime and made the night unbearably cold. They could see the camp ahead of them, just beyond the tree line, and as far as they could tell the two sentries who were watching the forest with tired eyes had not spotted them.

The clearing was well lit by the combination of the moon's white glow and the many fires scattered throughout the Primals camp. Thibalt scanned the camp through the broken wall and saw Christill lying with his back against a pile of broken rubble. His little brother sat gazing into the distance with a faraway look. Thibalt did not need to look twice to see that he was in a dire state. His blood caked, battered head swayed as he sat with his hands bound behind him. His body had been stripped of clothing, but for his filthy trousers. A rage unlike anything he had ever felt swelled in Thibalt as he saw the many cuts and bruises marking Christill's body. He could feel his wrath rising with each passing second.

Errollan, lying to the left of Estallion, was waiting for Kilthies to send him the signal to attack. He suddenly heard Kilthies's voice in his head. "Attack the camp when the moon reaches the tree line." Errollan looked to the sky and saw that the moon was not far from this point. He turned to Harrinus and said, "We move in fifteen minutes. Spread the word." Harrinus nodded and conveyed the message to the soldier next to him.

Thibalt forced himself to fight the yearning inside of him that was urging him to charge into the camp right now and free his brother. Estallion noticed the anxiousness in Thibalt's features and placed his arm around him. Thibalt felt his friend's arm pin him to the ground and was slightly shaken out of his trance. Though he could not speak for fear of alerting the assassins, Estallion's shaking head clearly conveyed his message to Thibalt. Thibalt simply nodded and let his muscles relax slightly. In fifteen minutes he would have his chance.

* * *

Novokai paced the camp slowly, rubbing his chin as he thought. It would not be long until he would erase the Queen's mind. Then he could begin working on Christill. He just needed to learn a few more things from the Queen before he disposed of her. He glanced to his left and saw Christill staring vacantly into the forest and frowned slightly. He would have to talk with Rhucia about the severity of his torture. Although the assassin's work delighted Novokai, he wanted Christill alive, and at this rate there would not be much of him left by the time they reached Vladistov. As though summoned, Rhucia approached and greeted his master.

"When are we moving on?" he asked in a tone that clearly portrayed his displeasure of this place.

"Sunrise," replied Novokai blankly. "We are quite safe here and there is no need to risk losing more men by pushing them too hard."

"We are Primals, Master," said Rhucia proudly. "We require no special treatment. We will march without rest if need be, and those who would fall along the way are not worthy of their title."

Novokai closed his eyes. "Spare me your inanity, Rhucia. You are men just like all others and require rest to function. We are in the middle of Dargon. You can sleep with your eyes closed tonight."

Rhucia seemed ready to reply then stopped when he saw Novokai's face change. The disciple turned his head to the south, then to the north and suddenly his face grew fierce. "How could this be?" he said angrily.

"What is it?" asked Rhucia, sensing the distress in his master's words.

Novokai raised his hand to silence Rhucia then closed his eyes. Rhucia could feel the magic pulsating out of Novokai's body as he concentrated. After several moments of silence, Novokai opened his eyes and the look of anger was replaced with one of pure hatred. "Mandigal!" spat Novokai furiously.

"What about him?" asked Rhucia.

"He is in the forest with the Thaldun Blades to the east of here. There are Feldonian soldiers lying in wait to the south and even more Karmanians readying an attack from the north."

Rhucia's face betrayed his sudden panic. "Are you sure?"

"Yes I am sure! I just heard a message from one of the Karmanians. He instructed the Feldonian commander to attack once the moon hits the tree line," replied Novokai. He then paused and closed his eyes again. "Curse them all!" he yelled.

"What?"

"Errollan Dune and that infernal Hammerfell are here as well. The assassination was a failure," roared Novokai. He cursed himself for failing to notice their approach. He had been so preoccupied with his plans to claim the throne from Zephra that he had let something so important slip. His overconfidence had betrayed him.

Rhucia turned and was about to alert the rest of the assassins when Novokai grabbed his arm. "No! Do not let them know we are aware of their presence," he said softly. "If you want to get out of here alive, follow my orders." Rhucia nodded and Novokai continued. "The moon will not reach the tree line for at least ten minutes. This gives us some time to set up a counter attack. Make your way through the camp and ensure that your men know what is about to happen. Nobody is to signal our knowledge of their presence. Have your men ready a strong defence for the south wall and then send half of them north. They are to keep the attackers outside of this temple."

"What of the east?" asked Rhucia.

"I will take care of Mandigal and his men," said Novokai, his voice full of hate.

Rhucia nodded and walked towards the nearest Primal as fast as he could without drawing too much attention. He passed by Christill and kicked him to make his passing look authentic. Christill fell forwards from the impact to his stomach and looked up and spat at Rhucia. Rhucia stopped with a snarl as the spit struck his face.

Novokai sat down on the broken remnants of a wall and tried to calm his mind. He would need to prepare himself to face the Thaldun Blades. He was certain that most of the Primals would die in this fight, but that was unimportant. All he needed to do was plan his own escape and take Triel with him. But first he would finish what the Dargonian elites could not and kill the Honour Guard. He thanked Gushkall that he still had a few minutes before they would attack. As he devised his plan, Novokai thought that he could hear the crack of a whip.

* * *

Thibalt watched the moon make its way closer to the tree line and tightened his grip on his weapons anxiously. The last minutes had been the longest of his life. His body shivered as a cold droplet of water hit the back of his neck and he tried to stretch out his cramped muscles. Thibalt felt like a different person, as though his body had been taken over by something else; a menacing presence that willed him to let his anger run wild. Every inch of his body pulsed with anticipation and his head was filled only with thoughts of sweet revenge. There was no fear in his heart, only blind hatred and a lust for violence.

As Thibalt's breathing grew more rapid, Estallion began to fear for his companion. He turned to Errollan and moved as close as he could. Trying to speak as softly as humanly possible he whispered, "Thibalt is entering a state of frenzy. He looks like he is about to go berserk."

Errollan peered past Estallion and saw the bloodlust in Thibalt's unblinking eyes. He bit his lip, then whispered, "He has battle rage in his eyes." Errollan had seen this behaviour before. The crazed state of mind that certain soldiers had been known to enter in times of great stress was a powerful weapon if used properly, but could just as easily turn into a catastrophe if allowed to run wild. "Try and settle him!"

Thibalt stared once more at his brother and noticed an assassin walking up to him. The assassin paused for a moment then kicked Christill in the stomach sending him to the floor. Thibalt's eyes flared wide open and he almost pierced his skin gripping the handles of his weapons. Christill defiantly raised his head and spat at the assassin's face. The assassin reached to his back and pulled out a barbed black whip. Seconds later the crack of the leather striking Christill's neck rang through the air. Thibalt's emotions erupted in a fury so powerful that he lost control of his mind. He screamed.

Before Estallion and Harrinus could stop him, Thibalt leapt up to his feet and was charging out of the trees with a roar that echoed through the forest. Estallion jumped up a second later, screaming Thibalt's name, and ran after him towards the Dargonian camp. It took several moments before anyone realised what was happening and by that time Thibalt had already reached the southern wall with Estallion hard on his heels. Errollan, realizing that his was their only chance, jumped up and sounded the charge. The Feldonian soldiers streamed out of the forest, followed soon by the shouts from the Thaldun Blades emerging from their positions to the north and east.

The Primals in the camp, whom Rhucia had failed to warn, sat stunned for several seconds before they realized what was happening. They then sprang to life and moved for the separate sections of the wall. A howl of frustration filled the air as Novokai came out of his reverie and realised that the Feldonians had managed to gain the element of surprise.

Thibalt ran straight towards the main gap in the southern wall and soon found crossbow bolts soaring past his ears. He felt a strange sting on his arm and noticed a thin needle sticking through his armour. He felt another sting, this time on the side of his neck but shrugged them away. As he reached the wall a Primal jumped over it towards him with a curved sword held ready to strike. Thibalt swung out with his left hand, knocking the man senseless with his mace before he even landed, and then continued over the wall.

One of the sentries on the wall raised his crossbow and aimed for Thibalt's back. Estallion spotted the man and quickly fired his own hand crossbow, knocking the man from the wall with a bolt in the neck. He hurried over the gap in the wall and saw that Thibalt was approaching the bulk of the assassins by himself. He said a quick prayer to Skiye and then charged after Thibalt with his sword and dirk drawn.

Errollan and Ludvic were next to reach the wall and leapt over quickly, avoiding the missile fire from the sentries on higher ground. Harrinus ordered his own men to fire upon the sentries and soon they were off the walls, seeking shelter from the Feldonian crossbows. The remaining soldiers breached the wall and were met by the Primals. The first line of soldiers fell quickly to the assassins' swift strikes. But the Feldonians forced the assassins to fight a retreating battle.

Ludvic swung wildly in the centre of the pack, keeping the assassins at a distance and allowing his archers to pick off the retreating enemies. However he was sent flying backwards as a wave of energy struck the Feldonian soldiers, sending them back against the wall. The brawny Honour Guard sprang up quickly and ducked just in time to avoid a ball of fire sent towards him by Novokai. The fireball struck the wall behind him, engulfing an unfortunate Feldonian soldier and reducing him to ashes.

Thibalt, who had reached the main group of Primals, had only one thing on his mind, getting to his brother. He ran past assassins who could not believe that Thibalt was storming through the centre of the camp by himself. Several of the Primals' sabres flashed out and caught Thibalt's arms and back as he sped towards his brother, but he did not feel the pain. Those who chose to block his frenzied charge soon found their heads crushed in or cold steel running through their bodies. Thibalt had never fought like this. He struck down every Dargonian that crossed his path with ferociously powerful blows. These were the men who had harmed his little brother, and not one of them would leave this place alive.

Estallion, not far behind, ducked a wide swipe and stabbed the assassin in the side with his sword. His dirk came up and cut the enemy's throat to finish him off. Within seconds, Estallion was heading deeper into the camp after his friend. He noticed that the Thaldun Blades had begun to breach the northern and eastern walls, many using their magic to leap over the barrier, and prayed that they would reach Thibalt and him before they were overcome.

Then a thunderous blast of energy turned the eastern wall into rubble and through the gap came Mandigal holding a large hilt with a blade of bright blue flames. He spotted Novokai and ran towards him with his hand stretched out.

Novokai raised his own hands and sent forth a stream of magic. The red rays of energy coiled through the air striking men and inflicting agonizing pain as they headed for Mandigal. Just inches before his body the rays were deflected into the sky by Mandigal's protective barrier. The impact of Novokai's attack halted Mandigal's charge and a nearby assassin came running towards him, trying to press an advantage. He stopped short as a pair of blades struck him in the stomach. The assassin looked down and saw that the two blades were attached to a metal handle and were being held by a tall Karmanian soldier with his black hair tied in five tails.

Novokai watched as Kilthies removed his weapon from the man's stomach and screamed in frustration. The Primals were dying too quickly. The exhausting trek through the Ranges had weakened them. The Thaldun Blades, who were now well into the camp, were overpowering them with ease. Some Primals fell, not even seeing the Karmanians as they sped past, striking out with deadly blows.

Novokai sent his hands skyward and formed an immense cloud of energy above his head. Mandigal watched in horror as the powerful invocation came to a close. The cloud returned to ground level at Novokai's command and spread out, seeping into the bodies of the soldiers fighting around him. They fell to the floor as the strong magic tore apart their bodies from the inside and within a moment twelve of the Feldonian soldiers and two of the Thaldun Blades had succumbed to the severe magic.

Kilthies cried out in anger at the sight of his men dying and charged at Novokai. He reached the spiteful disciple and struck out with his double bladed punching dagger. A red shimmer of energy passed in front of Novokai and Kilthies's blow collided heavily with the magical barrier, sending the Karmanian backwards onto the ground. Utith came up from behind Kilthies and swung his massive two handed sword at the magical barrier. The sheer force of Utith's strike sent Novokai backwards, giving Mandigal a chance to catch up to them.

Nearby, Thibalt stopped in his tracks as two assassins closed in on him. The closest one moved quickly to Thibalt's left and drew a long dagger. The second assassin moved to his right and readied his sabre for an attack. Thibalt recognised the move. The second assassin was going to feign an attack, allowing the man to his left to strike Thibalt in the back. He would have to do something unexpected.

He ran straight at the man to his right, using his body to push the assassin several meters back, and then sent his head forward to break the assassin's nose. This gave him enough time to turn and parry the dagger that was headed for his side.

Yet the second strike never came as the attacker fell to the floor with an arrow in his chest. Thibalt swung around and watched the Primal with the broken nose fall to a heap as Fliethu's long staff struck out and broke his neck.

Estallion reached Thibalt and tried to catch his breath. "What in the world is wrong with you? It has been sheer luck that we have survived until now," he gasped.

"Watch your back and do not rush into battle by yourself!" scolded Fliethu. He then turned and ran off to the aid of Luss who was locked in combat, using her bow to block an attacker's sword.

Thibalt did not have time to worry about his actions. "We need to save Christill," he pleaded with Estallion.

Estallion motioned forwards and they moved towards the spot where Christill was bound. When they reached the area, Thibalt spotted the Primal who had whipped Christill. His rage blazed once more and, despite Estallion's calls for him to stop, Thibalt charged off again, headed for Rhucia.

Ludvic and Errollan caught up to them and created a defensive barrier around the Queen and Christill.

In the northern half of the camp Mandigal and the Blades had taken care of the Primals facing them. However Novokai's wrath continued to slow their advance as he sent magical attacks in all directions. Mandigal ran to face the last assassin in the area and attacked him with an overhead slice. The Primal moved his sword to deflect the strike but Mandigal's magical blade of energy cut through the weapon and straight into his shoulder. The man fell to the floor and Mandigal sprinted to join Kilthies and Utith who were desperately trying keeping Novokai at bay.

Novokai spread his hands in an outward arc, sending a ripple through the earth that sent the Blades near him into the air violently. Shards of rock flew from the ground as the earth around Novokai exploded in a forceful eruption. Cries rang out as the Karmanians hit the ground, pierced by the shower of jagged rocks. Novokai knew that this was his last chance to escape before Mandigal and the other Blades could form a unified attack. He glanced over to where the unconscious Queen lay and saw the Honour Guard protecting her. Summoning up his power, he rose into the air and swooped down upon Errollan and Ludvic.

The Honour Guard's did not look up in time and were struck down by a blast of red lightning sent forth from Novokai's outstretched hand. Errollan and Ludvic screamed as the magic assaulted their bodies. Ludvic managed to peer up to see Novokai pick Triel up and disappear in a surge of red magic. He screamed out to Mandigal who saw Novokai teleport.

Estallion also heard Ludvic's cry and ran to the Honour Guard's side. Blood streamed from his mouth and his breathing was course and irregular. He found Errollan lying a few meters away in the same state and knew that they would not survive much longer. He jumped up and scanned the battle. The Primals were all but defeated. In the outer parts of the camp the remaining Feldonian soldiers had blocked off any escape routes. He spotted Fliethu and Luss standing over one of their fallen comrades and called out to them. They reached Estallion as fast as they could and quickly began to use Nyrune's magic to heal the Maloreichars' wounds.

In the centre of the camp two assassins were all that remained. One of them was the Primal commander Rhucia. Thibalt approached him and quickly sent his mace flying towards Rhucia's face. The Assassin's curved sword came up and parried Thibalt's attack. In a swift slice the blade came around Thibalt's arm and struck him in the side.

Thibalt's hand reached for his side and he recoiled, seeing fresh blood oozing from the wound. This assassin was more skilled than he. Rhucia knew that his time was up and had only one thing on his mind. He turned and dashed off towards Christill, who was still bound and unconscious on the floor. Thibalt knew that Rhucia was heading to finish off his brother and bolted after him.

Mandigal approached Errollan and Ludvic. Once he was sure that Fliethu and Luss had the situation under control, he closed his eyes to trace Novokai's direction. Sensing his presence to the north, Mandigal called out to Kilthies who nodded. In a flash they were both gone.

Rhucia sprinted up to Christill and found Guard Captain Harrinus in his way. Rhucia ducked low and came up with a deadly swift slash. Harrinus received the blow on his side and fell to his knees in pain. Rhucia then halted at Christill's body and raised his sword to strike a finishing blow.

Before the blade fell, Thibalt's body struck the Primal commander from behind. They fell to the floor and Thibalt scrambled to action. He struck out with his mace and struck Rhucia's head, felling him instantly. Thibalt's eyes were still aflame and he struck out again and again, spraying blood onto his own face and body. Estallion came up from behind and grabbed Thibalt's hand, bringing a stop to the horrible display.

"Calm down, Thibalt. It's over!"

Thibalt heard his friend's voice and forced himself to slow his breathing. He let his weapons fall to the ground and looked down at his hands that were stained red with blood. Around him lay the bodies of the many men who had fallen in the fight. Of the Feldonian soldiers only four remained, and in the savage battle two of the Thaldun Blades, Junn Fielre and Oeroph Niim, had fallen to Novokai's powerful magic.

Thibalt knew that the death of a Thaldun Blade was an immensely devastating blow to the Karmanians and felt a great sadness in seeing the remaining Blades standing over their fallen brethren. He then realized that in the haze of battle he had forgotten Christill. He jumped up and moved to his brother. Thibalt picked Christill up in his arms and felt tears forming in his eyes as he saw his brother's condition up close.

Christill's eyes opened slowly and as his vision cleared he regarded the man holding him. He blinked away the cloudiness, then struggled for breath as he saw his brother above him. Thibalt was covered in blood, cuts and scrapes. "Is it really you?" he asked through a lifeless voice.

Thibalt broke down as Christill stared into his eyes. "Yes, little brother. You are safe. I am going to look after you." Christill smiled and let out a shallow breath. He then closed his eyes and fell into sleep. Thibalt felt a hand on his back.

"Let me have a look at him, Thibalt," requested Luss.

Thibalt moved to allow Luss to check Christill's wounds. She raised her hand over his chest and began to let Nyrune's magic flow into his body. After several minutes she removed her hand and smiled. "He will be alright, Thibalt. He will need a great deal of rest though." Thibalt closed his eyes and felt the rage and anger leave his body. He thanked Luss and then sat down next to Christill, holding his head in his lap. "Sleep, little brother. I will get you home."

Novokai moved through the forest and stopped to catch his breath. The battle had taken its toll on his body and the teleportation had only caused him further fatigue. Alone, escape would have proven effortless, but teleporting with the Queen in his arms had required a great deal of magic and strength. Had he risked travelling any further he might have arrived unconscious. He gathered the Queen in his arms and began to walk northwards. He stopped as a voice called out his name. Turning, he found Kilthies standing behind him.

"Let her go, Novokai," commanded another voice. Mandigal stepped out from behind a decaying pine tree, holding his flaming sword at his side.

Novokai frowned at this inconvenience and placed the Queen on the ground. He then raised his hands up with his palms forward to show his peaceful intent. "Very well, Mandigal. I will not argue with you."

Kilthies's face did not hide his lust for revenge. "You will give yourself up and accompany us back to Precedin. You will be punished for your crimes against the Alliance."

Novokai laughed loudly. "What Alliance, my dear friend? Your measly forces are not going to be able to stop the combined might of Dargon. We are a nation bred on war and it is time for us to finally show you what we are really capable of."

"History will repeat itself, Novokai. Dargon will once again fail. If you intend to continue to cheat mortality you will surrender yourself to us," Mandigal retorted.

"Your threats mean nothing to me. I could kill you right now if I wanted to," replied Novokai smugly.

Mandigal interjected, "Do not flatter yourself. You may be strong, but I can see the fear in your eyes. You know that you do not have enough strength left to win this fight."

Novokai shook his finger at Mandigal and said, "You think too highly of yourself fool." Novokai's hands then send forth a net of energy at both men. Mandigal and Kilthies raised their hands just in time to repel the sizzling nets, but by that time Novokai was gone.

Kilthies screamed out into the air. "Can you find him?" he asked Mandigal.

Mandigal closed his eyes and tried to focus on the magical trail of energy that Novokai had left behind. "He has travelled too far for me to follow," he said, shaking his head.

Kilthies moved up to the Queen and studied her wounds. "Her knees are broken, and her left shoulder is dislocated. We need to get her to Luss. She is more skilled in the healing arts than I." Mandigal nodded and they both summoned forth their magic to teleport back to the ruins of Gastonile.

Errollan opened his eyes and clutched his chest. He felt a gentle hand rest on his cheek and found Luss staring down at him with her enchanting eyes. He felt himself relax slightly at her sight. "Can you sit up?" she asked him softly. Errollan used his other hand to slowly prop himself up and saw that Ludvic was sitting next to him with his hands supporting his throbbing head.

"What happened?" asked Errollan.

"You and Ludvic were struck by one of Novokai's attacks," replied Luss. "It damaged you, but Fliethu and I managed to stop all of the bleeding."

"Thank you," said Errollan, slowly remembering the details. He took in his surroundings and noticed that the survivors had begun to gather the bodies of their fallen comrades. "How many have begun the journey?" he asked in a sombre tone.

Luss's eyes saddened at the question. "Eighteen of our companions have passed to the Third Plane. Kilthies and Mandigal are missing as well."

Errollan suddenly felt great apprehension. "Missing! Where did they go?"

Before Luss could answer Mandigal and Kilthies appeared in centre of the camp carrying the unconscious Queen Triel. Luss quickly ran towards them and examined her, whilst Kilthies dropped to the ground from exhaustion. Mandigal walked over to Errollan and sat down heavily. Guard Captain Harrinus, who was nursing the long cut on his side walked over and handed Mandigal a water skin.

After a long gulp, Mandigal moved closer to Errollan and said, "Novokai got away."

Errollan and Ludvic both uttered curses under their breath, for this meant that the entire Dargonian nation would now be looking for them.

"You need to get out of here and back to Precedin as quickly as possible. I suggest you move now," said Mandigal.

"I think you are right. It will be hard on those that are injured, but we need to get a head start on anyone who might be coming after us," replied Errollan.

"What of Novokai, can we expect another assault from him?" asked Ludvic.

"There is no doubt that he will try to find you once he has regained his strength," answered Mandigal. "Kilthies and his men will have to mask your presence constantly using their powers."

"Your magical powers must surely be superior to Kilthies's," stated Ludvic. "Why don't you create some kind of barrier for us?"

Mandigal lowered his voice and moved in closely so that the others could not overhear. "Because I am not going with you."

Errollan and Ludvic both cast confused looks at Mandigal. "What do you mean?" asked Errollan.

"The confidence that I saw in Novokai's eyes when he spoke of Dargon's invasion shocked me. I believe that he may have been correct when he claimed that the Alliance will not be able to stop Dargon this time."

"So you are going to abandon us!" blurted Ludvic, angrily.

Mandigal shot an angry glare at his friend. "No I am not going to abandon you. I will return to Feldom soon, but first I must travel to Vladistov to see an old friend. There are too many unanswered questions for which we can find no answer."

Errollan did not agree with Mandigal's choice, but could not to challenge his decision. "When do you leave?"

"Now," replied Mandigal. "Make sure that you get everyone moving within the next couple of minutes. Triel must make it back to Feldom. She is a crucial factor in our survival." Errollan and Ludvic showed their agreement on the matter. "One more thing, my friends, know that it has been an honour fighting by your sides," added Mandigal.

Ludvic and Errollan were both surprised at Mandigal's use of words. He had never been one to openly share his emotions. "What is it?" asked Errollan, sensing that Mandigal had no told them everything.

"If I do not return to Feldom within two months you must contact Aldan Hermagoras and attempt what I have failed."

"The Duke of Vladistov, why would we want to speak with that fiend?" asked Ludvic.

"Because he is my step brother," replied Mandigal softly.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

### DEADLY BARGAINS

Mandigal walked at a controlled pace through the winding streets, making his way to the inner section of the city. The chilling rain fell lightly as the morning sun rose over the waking city of Vladistov. He had avoided the guards at the first and second walls easily enough, but knew that he would not remain unnoticed if he was to gain entry to the Duke's residence, Villa Estire. Stores had already begun opening their doors to welcome the day's first clientele.

Mandigal did not stop to survey the wares for sale. The vendors displaying their goods barely noticed him pass, wrapped tightly in a sodden black cloak, and he thanked the gods that his many years in Feldom had not tanned his pale skin too strongly. As long as he kept to the shadows he wouldn't attract unwanted attention.

By the time the women and servants had begun to crowd the market square, ready to barter for the fresh produce being hauled in from the outlying farms, Mandigal had reached the mighty third wall which protected the wealthy residences of Vladistov. The immense, square barrier provided ample protection for the defenders to stop all but a vast army from reaching the inner city. Mandigal weaved his way past the horse drawn wagons travelling down the street and approached the main gate. A solid looking guard raised his halberd in front of Mandigal as another soldier, dressed in fine black leather, approached from a guard room built into the side of the wall.

"What do you want?" he said, showing his displeasure in being bothered at this hour of the day.

Mandigal moved in closely and replied in a soft voice. "Allow me to pass. I have business with the Duke."

The soldier turned to the burley guard and shared a conceited laugh. "Well I haven't got any orders about any business. So move on. Understand?" he replied smugly.

Mandigal's tone grew firm. "Bar my way any longer and you will never again see the sun set. Understood?"

The guards face screwed up tightly. "You don't scare me, stranger. I am no fool and I have my orders. No one enters this part of the city without the Duke's approval."

Mandigal raised his arm and pulled back his sleeve showing the soldier his wrist. "Is this enough approval for you?" he replied harshly.

The guard moved in closer to inspect Mandigal's wrist then drew back in shock as he saw an image etched on his wrist. It was the symbol of Gushkall with an empty circle in the centre of it. It was not known to many, but this was the mark of the Hermagoras bloodline. "I had no idea, my lord," he stuttered. The guard moved out of the way allowing Mandigal to pass and he stormed through the metal gate. Mandigal cast one last vicious gaze at the soldier, causing him to lower his head in shame.

The cobblestone walkway that made its way up the hill to the Duke's estate travelled beside the many opulent mansions owned by the businessmen of Dargon. As Mandigal walked along the path he became conscious of the fact that, had he stayed in Dargon, he would likely be living in one of these estates. As the cold wind grew lighter and the rain dulled to a measly drizzle, the Duke's manor came into view.

It crested the top of the large hill, making it the highest building in the city by far. The main building spanned across the inner city for what seemed like half a mile. Mandigal stood still for a moment to take in the spectacular sight. The morning sun gleamed off the stained glass windows that were mounted on the backdrop of white marble that was Villa Estire. More a city of its own than a villa, thought Mandigal absently.

He then made his way up to the estate and trekked through the garden to the front door, fully aware of the hidden guards watching his every step. He raised his hand and used the brass knocker to alert the mansion's servants of his arrival. The large mahogany doors swung open revealing the entrance hall and an elderly attendant motioned for Mandigal to enter.

"May I take your cloak?" asked the Attendant.

Mandigal removed his dark cloak and handed it to the man. Having hidden his gear in the forest, he was wearing the simple purple tunic and brown leggings that he had worn under his armour. At his side hung the metal hilt he used when creating his magical sword and as the servant motioned to take it, Mandigal stopped him. "That will not be necessary."

The servant simply nodded and motioned to a large carpeted stairway that led to the second level. "You will find my master on the balcony, six doors to the left."

Mandigal thanked the man then began to climb the stairs. Around him hung artworks of vibrant landscapes and exotic wildlife and above dangled a giant chandelier reflecting the light from the well placed windows into the nooks and crannies of the room. Turning left at the second floor he made his way to the sixth door and slowly opened it. He stepped out into a long balcony that stretched out over a garden of fruit trees. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the view from the balcony and was awestruck. Before him, from the highest point in the city, stretched out Vladistov in all its majesty. It had been years since Mandigal had looked upon the Walled City and, much like when he was a young boy, it spoke to him of the beauty that mankind was capable of. Vladistov was a rare sight in the dreary nation of Dargon.

Leaning against the hand carved railing, Aldan Hermagoras turned his head at the sound of the door and raised his brow as he saw Mandigal standing before him with folded arms.

"It has been a long time, Brother," began Mandigal.

"Well, it seems that you have seen just as much strife as I since we left Andron," said Christill.

Thibalt shifted in his saddle. "Not quite as much, but I have had my share of adventures," he replied. Thibalt was more than pleased to see Christill making a recovery and was also happy to see that some of his brother's liveliness was returning. "So you were really going to become a disciple?" he asked.

"I was hoping to," answered Christill. "Dievu was going to take me to Karmena and help me enter the Academy of Nyrune." Christill had not yet mentioned anything about the Children Valerious to his brother.

"You always had to be different," commented Thibalt with a taunting grin.

Christill smiled. "Hopefully Dievu will still be able to assist me when we return to Feldom," added Christill, happy to have found out that his master had survived Novokai's attack.

"I am sure you will get your chance soon enough."

Christill peered ahead and saw Estallion happily chatting away with Luss. "That Estallion seems to be an odd character."

Thibalt began to chuckle. "Yes, odd indeed, but do not look into it too much. He is a true friend."

"I am glad you have found some happiness," said Christill. "There were many nights where I found myself wondering what mischief you were getting yourself into. Though I never imagined you having a hand in saving the Honour Guard's lives."

"You should have seen the look on my face when I found out you had been kidnapped by Dargonians. I always knew you would get yourself into trouble, but I never imagined seeing you in such a grave position," replied Thibalt.

"It still surprises me to be honest."

Thibalt turned his head to peer into the dark forest at his side. A dim light shone through the canopy, casting wicked shadows on the forest floor and giving the area a sinister disguise. He gasped out aloud as he saw a silhouette flicker amongst the pine trunks, causing Christill to quickly turn his way.

"What is it?

Thibalt opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short. He waited, keeping his eyes focused on the tangled undergrowth and finally shook his head. "For a moment I thought I saw something dart out from under that bush, but I must be tired."

"What did you think it was?" asked Christill.

"It was probably just my imagination, but I thought I saw that creature that attached itself to your leg at that oasis in Miirvk."

Christill raised his brow in curiosity and felt a slight tinge of apprehension. "Well, it was probably just your imagination," he replied. "This whole thing is most likely getting to your head."

They rode on silently and in the distance the forest grew less crowded and they could see it opening up to fields of light snow ahead. Thibalt continued to peer into the forest around him, still unsure whether he had seen something or not. He relaxed slightly when the number of trees began to thin and the path opened into the outer limits of the forest. The strong scent of pine began to leave the air, replaced by the crisp breeze being carried from the freshly fallen snow on the Beon Ranges.

They were roused when a call came from the back of the company. "Flee! Ride for the fields. We are being pursued."

Thibalt turned Esree and saw Fliethu bolting up from the rear with a swarm of creatures at his heels.

Both Christill and Thibalt nearly fell from their saddles as they managed a proper look at the creatures and realized that Thibalt's imagination had not gone wild. Teeming out of the trees, in vast numbers, were small creatures akin to that which had attacked Christill during the hunt. Back then the creature had posed a small threat to Christill, but in a swarm of this number they could overpower the strongest of warriors. Around them the soldiers turned their mounts and began to flee the forest, the brothers quickly following their example. A strange gurgling sound filled the trees around them followed by a high pitched screech and Thibalt realized that the sounds were coming from the strange hound like creatures.

The company rode hard along the snow flaked path and as they sped amongst the trees more of the hounds leapt from amongst the branches onto the riders. Horses fell with their riders as the creatures attached themselves to their legs, tearing at hamstrings. Thibalt and Christill did not turn back and kept up the pace hoping to make it to safer ground. From the front of the company came Kilthies and Utith who were riding back to save those who had fallen. They bolted through the midst of the company and trampled several of the hounds as they headed back into the forest.

Thibalt finally sped past the final tree and rushed to catch up to Errollan and Harrinus who had turned their mounts ready to fight. Once he had reached them he brought Esree to a halt and drew his sword to join the line of soldiers ready to defend the Queen. Christill sped past them to Ludvic who was riding with Queen Triel in his lap. Triel looked at Christill with dazed eyes and smiled slightly, not fully aware of what was happening.

Errollan turned and shouted to Ludvic, "Keep riding. We will do what we can to keep them here." Ludvic nodded and spurred his horse. Together with Christill and three of the injured men he made his way over the frosty field towards the Beon Ranges.

At the edge of the forest the creatures stopped their pursuit, letting out screeches of frustration, and turned around to pursue Kilthies and Utith. "We must go in and help them," said Errollan, readying his mount to charge back into the forest.

"No!" yelled out Luss. "They will be fine. If we move back into there we will be more vulnerable."

So they waited on the outskirts of the forest and for several minutes nothing was forthcoming. Until, with a crash, out of the forest dashed Kilthies followed moments later by Utith who was carrying an injured comrade on his horse. They were not followed out of the forest and quickly reached Errollan and the defenders.

"They have returned to their hiding spots," panted Kilthies.

Luss moved over to the man on Utith's horse and began to mend the several bite marks covering his body. "I have never seen anything like those things. They attacked so suddenly and I was completely unaware of their presence."

"It is extremely odd," commented Fliethu. "Some foul magic has given life to these wicked beasts. Else we would have sensed them."

Thibalt moved up to the group. "I have seen an animal like this before," he announced.

Kilthies turned. "When?"

"Over a year ago, when I was in Miirvk. It attacked my brother in the desert and I killed it. We never found out where it had come from or even what it was."

"Something strange is afoot. First the creature that attacked us in the Ranges and then these," said Errollan. "We must notify Perephine and the other disciples of these beasts."

"We can worry about this later. For now we need to get back onto Feldonian soil," pointed out Kilthies. "I will continue to mask our trail and set anyone following us in a false direction."

The company agreed and set off westwards to catch up to Ludvic and the other survivors.

Mandigal clenched his fist in frustration. "This cannot be true!" he said crossly.

"Unfortunately it is," answered Aldan. He moved across the study and absently rubbed his hand against a statue of a running horse. "If Precedin has not already fallen, then it will in due time. You will not be able to stop twenty thousand soldiers from sacking the city."

"Where did all this manpower come from?" asked Mandigal, finding it hard to accept the information that Aldan was telling him.

"Zephra has been preparing for this campaign since his first day on the throne," replied Aldan. Mandigal flinched, vividly remembering his own part in Zephra's ascension to the throne.

"He is not going to move out of Precedin yet though."

Mandigal looked up. "Why not?"

"He will wait until he has amassed his full forces. He moved on Precedin simply to ensure that you were not able to bolster its defenders. Now that he has ensured that the City of War is his, he will wait for the right moment to strike out into Feldom's heart. Those twenty thousand men already in Feldom are but a part of the entire army," continued Aldan.

"Explain?"

"More men are being summoned."

"Where is he finding the supplies to support such an army? There isn't enough food in all of Dargon to feed a force that large."

"He is finding food. I know not from where it comes, but I have seen wagons full to the brim of grain and other supplies coming from Galdovan and the east. And that is not all," added Aldan softly.

Mandigal sensed that Aldan was holding something back. "I want the truth. You must be honest with me."

Aldan remained silent and moved back to his chair. The room was filled with his own collection of sculptures, paintings, tapestries and other expensive artworks that he had accumulated over his time as duke. "There are things happening in the shadows of Dargon that even I am unaware of. Strange creatures roam the land, lurking in the darkness and haunting our dreams. Storms and blizzards of immense power attack our cities, though they are not Nyrune's work. And that is not all. It seems as though the world itself has been somehow...," Aldan struggled to find a suitable word, "distorted."

"I have felt this change as well. It came after the bridge of bone rose from the depths of Lake Moonsong."

"Yes, that has something to do with it," agreed Aldan. "I have spoken with many of my wisest advisors and all are bereft of a logical answer. It is a mystery that is growing ever more puzzling. I personally believe it is the result of whatever Zephra is doing in his hidden lairs. Of late he has rarely been seen by my people, and when he does show himself he talks as if he is in a terrible rush. As if he has somewhere more important to be." Aldan began scratching nervously behind his ears. If Zephra found out that he was sharing this information with Mandigal, the punishment would be unimaginable. "The other dukes are angry, Mandigal. There are whispers amongst some of removing Zephra from the throne, but all are too afraid of his wrath to take action. Not as much of Dargon is as dedicated to this campaign as you may think. Many of our people have grown tired of the fighting and violence and seek to build a more peaceful life. A life much like that of your friends the Feldonians."

"Then the cities are not united under one banner?" asked Mandigal in a hopeful tone.

"To an extent they are," replied Aldan. "Though my city will send no soldiers to war. I have seen enough of my people die. What we need is trade, so that we may have grain and fruits and the other things we cannot grow in our frozen lands. I long for a peaceful end to all of these problems. Not a war!" Aldan paused for a moment with a sorrowful expression. "But it is clear that there is no hope for that...Fortunately Zephra's union of the Dargonian cities is treading a fine line. Many of the smaller dukedoms have been forced into the war by Zephra's threats and only the fear of his power keeps the union together. Though I have to admit that lately things have turned even worse. In his absence, Zephra has left his general in charge of things."

"Dithus of Carnaic?" queried Mandigal.

Aldan shook his head and a strange look graced his face. "Zephra has given command of his army to the late Azbaar Ingel."

Mandigal's face darkened with confusion. "Azbaar is dead. A foul beast killed him in the Beon Ranges. I watched as his body was laid to rest in the Tomb of the Moon."

"Azbaar did die, but somehow Zephra has given life to the once deceased. Azbaar walks this land once more, now a twisted and horrid shell of a man. Mutated by the corrupt magic that brought him back to this world."

Mandigal sunk back into his chair, feeling nauseous from this shocking news. "What is happening?" he breathed. "The rules that once governed this world seem to be crumbling around us. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"Azbaar has departed with the Dargonian army," interrupted Aldan. "But soon Zephra's real commander will bring his own soldiers to your borders."

Mandigal looked up from his thoughts. "Luschia!" he muttered spitefully. He winced as he remembered the time that he and Zephra had spent together with Luschia in the Academy of Gushkall. The time before Luschia's murderous outbursts had led to their banishment.

Aldan did not need to confirm Mandigal's guess. "He has not yet amassed his full forces, but I do not think you will have long before he makes his move."

"How many more?"

"Close to thirty thousand," answered Aldan.

"Great gods!" gasped Mandigal. "Such a great number of men. This is something that we cannot stop. It is an army to end this struggle once and for all." Mandigal wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "The Alliance must be warned."

Aldan cast a worried look at Mandigal. "That is another problem. Your Alliance is not what it seems...It crumbles from within."

"What do you speak of?" asked Mandigal with narrow eyes.

"It has been too easy for Zephra to bring about his war. The Alliance should have seen the signs years ago and taken action to ready themselves for the onslaught. Yet for some reason both Feldom and Karmena sat idly by and let Zephra's power amass," explained Aldan.

"We were blinded by our own arrogance and thought that we were finally rid of the rivalry between our nations," reasoned Mandigal.

Aldan shook his head. "No. Even a blind man would have heard the pound of the hammer striking the anvil as his enemies made new weapons for war. It is more than arrogance that has stopped your Alliance from seeing the truth. There are those in Feldom and Karmena who, unbeknownst to you, are working under Zephra's influence."

"That cannot be. How could Zephra's spies have such an impact on the running of the Alliance?" disagreed Mandigal, not willing to believe Aldan's accusations.

"They must be in positions of power to be able to have such an effect. Would you not agree?"

"You know who these people are?" asked Mandigal, suspecting that Aldan was hiding this from him.

"Names I do not know, Mandigal. Though I do know that the rulers of these nations have been tainted by the poisonous words of Zephra's people. Look to the Council of Elders for I know in truth that at least one amongst them is not what they seem."

Mandigal let out a deep sigh and rubbed his aching head. "This is madness, Aldan. If someone in the Council is corrupt it would be almost impossible to flush them out. I would be accused of treason, especially with my history."

"That is your problem. I cannot help you find this agent in the Council. Act as you see fit," said Aldan. "I have enough troubles of my own to deal with. My life is in great danger and even worse, so is that of my son." A look of utter grief crossed Aldan's face as he spoke.

"You have always lived in fear of death. What makes it so much more serious now?" asked Mandigal.

"This new crusade," answered Aldan. "Zephra knows that I could use this campaign against him. I could rally a large chunk of the Dargonian people to my cause if I promised to bring an end to the fighting. They would support me in my claim to the throne. He is well aware of this and will not keep me around long enough to let me take advantage of it. Friedrich is in even more trouble, for the people love him. Zephra already has his men stalking my son's every move. It will not be long until he decides that our time on this plane is up."

Mandigal sat in silence for a long time considering all of this new information. "Then you have a choice, Aldan," stated Mandigal. "Wait until your time has come, or become the King of Dargon."

Aldan peered up at Mandigal. "Are you insane? You want me to challenge Zephra for the throne of Galdovan."

Mandigal simply nodded.

"That is not far from suicide," blurted out Aldan.

"Zephra will not kill you that quickly. He would have a civil war on his hands if he does."

"He will find a way, believe me," retorted Aldan. His voice grew weak. "I cannot do it."

"If you desire peace for Dargon as your father once did, then you will cast aside your fear and accept this task that has fallen to you," said Mandigal, raising his voice. "If Zephra is allowed free reign of this world it will be the end of all things good. In his search for power he will bring about the destruction of Kovi."

"Let's not forget that it was you who helped Zephra murder my father and claim that damned throne!" retaliated Aldan harshly.

"Do not feel the need to remind me of my past failures," returned Mandigal. "I know my part in all of this and I am doing all in my power to make amends for it. What are you doing?"

"I am but one man," argued Aldan weakly.

"You are the Duke of Vladistov and the rightful heir of the Hermagoras bloodline," shot back Mandigal. "You are the only one who can do this."

Aldan rose from his chair and walked nervously to a decanter of wine. He poured himself a cup and took a long sip, letting out a weary breath afterwards. "You ask much of me," he said.

"Often those who make the biggest difference do so not because they are brave, but because it is their duty," said Mandigal softly. "As Oril Firestorm once said, there are those of us who in dire times must rise up to thwart the evil that comes upon our land, lest we all be drawn asunder by the darkness that it brings."

Aldan's eyes closed and his features revealed his conflicting emotions.

"I must go Aldan. There is much that you have told me I must see to. If there is still time before Zephra moves out of Precedin then Feldom must be made ready. And I will go to Karmena to seek answers to these riddles that plague our land."

"Do something for me before you leave," said Aldan.

"What?"

"Take Friedrich with you. Take him to Feldom and keep him safe, away from Zephra's grasp," pleaded Aldan.

Mandigal face turned grim. "Now it is you who asks much of me, Brother. I have work to do and I am headed to Duathnin not Feldom."

"If Friedrich does not leave Vladistov soon he will be killed," pressed Aldan. "You cannot just leave him here to die."

"Do not push this guilt onto me," said Mandigal angrily. "I have no responsibility to that boy, or your troubles. I am still one of the Maloreichar and my interests lie with the safekeeping of the Kingdom."

"Were it not for your help, his grandfather would still be around and he would not have to fear for his life," returned Aldan.

Mandigal let out a deep breath, full of resent and shook his head.

Aldan turned away from Mandigal peering out of his study window. "Please, Mandigal. Take him with you. For whatever love that you held for our mother, I beg you."

Mandigal sat in silence for long time and finally replied, "Where is he?"

It was past midday when Aldan and Mandigal walked into Friedrich's personal training ground, in the southern wing of Villa Estire. They passed into the second room which was lined with straw and sand filled dummies and bags that were used for martial training. Friedrich stood off to the left of the room striking at a servant who was doing his best to dodge the swift blows. His muscles flexed as he strained to release blow after blow onto the unlucky aid. In a swift move Friedrich dodged to the right and brought his foot around the aid's leg, pulling it from underneath him. The servant fell to the wooden floor with an audible crunch and Friedrich backed off.

"Well done," complemented Vrill, as he clapped his hands to show his approval. "It seems there is no one left in Vladistov who can best you in open hand fighting."

Friedrich walked over to his cousin, accepting a towel from him, and began to wipe the thick layers of sweat from his bare chest and neck. "Open hand yes, but you still best me with a sword," pointed out Friedrich. Vrill motioned towards the door and Friedrich turned to see Mandigal and Aldan waiting by it.

"Well fought, Son," greeted Aldan. "Come and meet my companion."

Friedrich walked over and stretched out his hand for Mandigal to shake. Mandigal kept his arms folded across his chest and simply nodded. "Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" asked Friedrich, feeling slightly insulted.

"This is Mandigal," announced Aldan.

Both Vrill and Friedrich jumped from their spots at hearing his name. Friedrich looked at his father in disbelief, as Vrill drew his sword from his belt.

"Vrill, put that away," commanded Aldan. "Mandigal is family."

"Only half," said Friedrich boldly.

"Your grandmother was my own mother, boy. You will treat me with the same respect you would any other uncle," said Mandigal in a firm tone.

"My grandmother was unfaithful to the King. You are the son of a servant with whom she took her pleasure. Nothing more," answered Friedrich.

"I was born long before she married the King," retorted Mandigal. "I am the son of the only man your grandmother ever truly loved."

"That is enough!" boomed Aldan. Though he knew that his late mother had indeed loved another before and even during her marriage to the King, he had still loved her deeply. "Do not speak of her like this. She was a woman full of love and compassion and she cherished all of her children. And Friedrich, you will respect Mandigal."

"He is a traitor," spat Vrill.

"You know nothing of what I have been through, Vrill, son of Tria," said Mandigal. His eyes grew thin and he stared at Vrill, causing the young man great discomfort. "I never betrayed Dargon. Dargon betrayed me. After Zephra's rise to power, this land changed. All that was good was cast from it and a nation of hate was formed. I went to Feldom because it was the only place that I could find peace. Away from the horrors that I had seen under Zephra's command."

Vrill could not bear to look at Mandigal's powerful gaze any longer and dropped his head.

"What is it you want here?" asked Friedrich.

"Times have grown dark, Friedrich. Our lives are in danger in this city," answered Aldan. He paused and looked once more at Mandigal. "I have asked Mandigal to take you with him back to Feldom."

"What?" cried both Friedrich and Vrill.

"You will find asylum there. Away from Zephra's agents. It is the only place that you can remain safe."

"They are our enemies. What makes you think they would not just hang me, or use me as a bargaining tool?" argued Friedrich.

"I will be able to convince them to keep you safe," said Mandigal.

Friedrich looked over at Vrill. Their plans with Clandestine Vitiate were under way and they were scheduled to leave the city in two days. "I don't need your help. I will be able to keep myself from harm's way, Father."

"You do not have an option!" roared Aldan, becoming frustrated with his son's arrogance. "You will do what I tell you to. Now get what you need, Mandigal is leaving."

Friedrich shot a heated look at his father, knowing he truly had no choice on the matter. One way or another Aldan would get Friedrich to leave with Mandigal. "I will not leave without Vrill."

Vrill's eyes widened. "Don't worry about me cousin. I can find somewhere to hide myself. I am resourceful enough to make sure I don't meet an untimely end."

Aldan looked at Mandigal whose face showed his displeasure. "If you must, then take him with you."

Mandigal let out a grunt of disapproval, but did not argue. "Get your things, we are leaving now."

The three hooded figures left the final gate of Vladistov and began the trek back to the copse of trees where Mandigal had left his belongings. From the top of a broken thatched roof a lone figure garbed in a light brown uniform watched the three men leave the city. Once they had passed from his view he leapt from the roof into the alley below and silently made his way through the city streets. He used the back alleys and side streets to reach his destination as he had little desire to run into the city watch. He approached the Muddy Boot, but rather than walking in through the front entrance, he dashed into the left alley and crept up to the wall. He knocked six times on a bare section of the building and from the seemingly solid stone appeared a small spy-hole.

"Who walks the alleys?" asked the deep voice behind the wall.

"Let me in, you fool," whispered the man.

With a slight clank the wall slid backwards allowing the man to pass through. He made his way into the next chamber and approached the desk where his master was waiting.

"They have left the city through the western gate. None of our agents have reported that they have paid their debts. They travel alongside a strange man with a foreign tone," he announced.

Allen Shade looked up slowly from his desk and let out a deep breath. "This show of disrespect will not be forgotten," he muttered, crunching up a piece of paper in his hand. "Spread the word to all of our agents. Friedrich and Vrill Hermagoras are now enemies of Clandestine Vitiate."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

### THE CITADEL OF KINGS

"Not long now," called Estallion as they passed the freshwater stream flowing across the trail. "We should see the walls of Precedin within moments."

Thibalt smiled and felt the anxiety wash from his mind. The final trek through the Beon Ranges had been exhausting and dangerous, but they had made the journey. He looked forward to a cold mug of ale and a warm feather down bed.

The rocky passage they travelled had long ago been paved by the founders of Precedin to hold a quick entrance into the mountains. To either side of them loomed rough walls that then joined the sides of the two small peaks, Car'thei and Derun Un.

The way began to slope upwards and Christill brought his mount up next to Esree. He nudged Thibalt and asked, "So what happens to you when we arrive in Precedin?"

Thibalt thought for a long moment. "I will see if I am needed in the city. Then I will depart for the City of Skiye," he replied.

"Why the capital?" asked Christill.

Thibalt's face blushed slightly red and he shuffled nervously in his saddle. "I am to be married."

Christill paused for a moment in shock, then shouted out a cheer and slapped his brother on the back. "That is wonderful, Thibalt. Why did you not tell me this before?"

"Well, I had other things on my mind," he responded, sheepishly. "To be honest until you asked me I had almost forgotten. Her name is Miera. You must come with me and join us for the wedding."

"I would not have it any other way," replied Christill. "And you, Estallion. Will you join us?"

Estallion looked over with a childish grin and replied, "I am not sure that I should. You might find your future wife running off with me on the night of the wedding."

Thibalt raised his brow mockingly. "More likely she will be running away from you, Estallion." They shared a chuckle and for the first time in a long while the mood in the company was elated.

At the head of the group Errollan and Ludvic rode with Kilthies. They spurred their horses to move quicker and began to head up a rise that blocked the view to the north.

"I am glad to once again hear the sound of laughter amongst our men. It has been long overdue," commented Kilthies.

"Yes, there has not been much to be merry about of late," agreed Errollan.

"At least when we get back to Precedin we will be able to rest our sore backs and feast upon some freshly roasted boar," added Ludvic, licking his lips in anticipation. "Like the feasts we used to have. Remember, Errollan?"

Errollan's lips curved into a smirk as he remembered his time as army general in Precedin. Many times they had feasted and held tournaments and banquets and balls. But that time was gone. His smile slowly disappeared as reality once again took hold.

Fliethu and Luss, who were riding with Queen Triel, stopped their horses and held up their hands. The company halted and remained completely still. Kilthies moved up to Fliethu and nodded. "I sense it as well."

"The smell of fire and ash. The stench of death," muttered Fliethu.

Luss closed her eyes to concentrate and then seconds later gasped out aloud, nearly falling from her saddle. She held her hand to her heart and tried to calm her breathing.

"What did you see?" asked Errollan.

"Precedin," she breathed.

Kilthies motioned for the company to draw their weapons. He then began to ride up the rise followed by those able to fight. Christill remained with Queen Triel and two injured Feldonians. The company raced to the top of the rise, but slammed their heels to halt at the sight before them. Most were left breathless, yet some cried out in anger and disbelief.

Errollan gazed out upon the City of War. His stomach cramped as he peered down upon the charred remains of the mighty bastion of the Feldonian army. The fishing village was no more, burnt to ashes during the start of the siege. Beyond the great eastern wall the inner city lay in ruins, with the broken shells of buildings left standing amongst a sea of blackened ash. The army of Dargon walked through the city, clad in their dark armour and even now still bearing the bodies of fallen Feldonian soldiers to a great pyre.

The bile rose in Thibalt's throat as he looked upon the pile of human bodies that the Dargonians had erected in the city centre. He turned his eyes out to the skeletal bridge that loomed ominously over Lake Moonsong and saw contingents of men marching over the bones to enter Feldom. "Even more of them enter as we watch," he whispered.

Ludvic looked out at the bridge with watery eyes and clenched his fists in anger as he watched the ranks of the Dargonian army bolster. "A great crime has been committed here. Zephra will suffer for this," he vowed.

Errollan switched his vision to the Guardhouse of Oril which still stood unscathed in the midst of Precedin. Upon its roof hung a massive banner, almost twenty foot in height, bearing a white bear upon a black and scarlet background. On the bear's forehead was a ruby carved in the image of the star of Gushkall. "Great Skiye...how did this happen?" he exhaled.

Kilthies, realising they were standing out in the open, came about and waved for them to head back down the rise. They turned and returned to Christill and the Queen. "It seems as though Dargon's army is greater than we had anticipated," indicated Kilthies. "To have taken Precedin that quickly they must have indeed fought a mighty battle. Hopefully enough people were able to flee the city before it was overrun."

"By the look of that pyre, it seems that most of our men stood and fought," said Guard Captain Harrinus sombrely.

"I cannot believe it," said Errollan softly. "Precedin has never fallen. It is the City of War. The unwavering stronghold...We should have been there."

"Don't speak nonsense," scolded Ludvic. "If Guthrum could not hold the city, we would have made no difference. We would be lying amongst the fallen on that horrid pile of bodies."

"The Council of Elders must have known that this would happen," said Errollan. "That is why they insisted that the Honour Guard join the rescue and leave Precedin."

"They may have had their suspicions, but they could not have known that the city would fall so quickly," retorted Fliethu.

"What happens now?" asked Harrinus, who felt lost now that his city had been sacked.

"We have only one choice," answered Ludvic. "We must ride to the King. From there we can make our plans. We still have to bring Triel to safety."

Kilthies agreed. "That seems the wisest choice." They turned their mounts and made their way south, following a trail that would lead them out into the fields east of Dunhelm.

Once the grasslands came into view and they had escaped the shadows of the snow-capped mountains, Kilthies called a halt. "Make your way to Dunhelm, then from there head back to the capital," he said. "Unfortunately, my friends, this is where our assistance stops. The Thaldun Blades must return to the forest, for Karmena's soldier's number few and we are much needed there. If Precedin has fallen then our borders are no doubt under siege as well."

"Then I thank you dearly for your help, Kilthies," whispered the tired Queen. "I will never forget what you and your men have done for me. Junn Fielre and Oeroph Niim will be honoured forever more," she promised, speaking of the departed Blades.

Kilthies and the other Blades bowed low in their saddles and said their goodbyes. Fliethu approached Thibalt and grabbed his hand. "Farewell Thibalt, I am glad to have met you."

"The honour is mine," replied Thibalt, feeling humbled.

"I sense an air of destiny around you and your brother. It is no coincidence that your lives have become intertwined with the fate of our Alliance. Keep safe and watch your back. I pray to Nyrune that we may meet again under less dire circumstances," finished Fliethu. riding off to join Utith who was waiting for the others.

Estallion approached Luss before she rode off to join Fliethu. "I will greatly miss one as beautiful as you," he said reaching down to kiss her hand. Luss laughed and grabbed Estallion's hand in her own.

"Never has a man won my heart Estallion, I am a warrior, I do not find the time to love," she said kindly.

"And I have always been one to enjoy a challenge," replied Estallion smugly. Luss let out a soft laugh and pulled Estallion's head to her own. She kissed him on the cheek then pulled away with a grin on her face. "Until the next time our paths cross, Estallion."

As she rode off to join the other Blades, Estallion called out hastily. "How do I know that there will be a next time?"

Luss turned in her saddle. "You will have to make sure of it," she replied.

Thibalt moved over to Estallion trying to hold back his laughter. "Well, it appears as though the charming Estallion Bastion has met his match."

"Never!" replied Estallion defiantly. "There is no women that can have power over me." Thibalt and Christill smiled as the Blades waved one final time then rode off. Estallion could not take his eyes off Luss and felt a deep regret once she had passed from his view.

Errollan addressed those remaining. "Well, let us ride. We must reach safety by nightfall."

What remained of the company then moved southwest along the Beon Ranges headed for the City of Skiye.

* * *

To Dunhelm they rode, a city of artisans and craftsmen, famed for the skill and talents of its hard working people. As they rested in Dunhelm, Errollan and Ludvic caught word that most of the women, children and a few of the soldiers had been able to make it out of Precedin alive. Having learnt that the General had not made it out of the city, Thibalt, Estallion and Christill joined Guard Captain Harrinus and the other soldiers for a much needed round of ale before a restless night's sleep.

When morning came, the Duke of Dunhelm summoned forth thirty of his finest men to escort the Queen back to the capital. Thibalt and Christill mounted up and followed the new escort out of Dunhelm and along the main highway to the City of Skiye.

"I wonder what Oswald is up to?" pondered Christill as they rode along the highway.

"No doubt causing as much trouble as he can for his stable hands," replied Thibalt. Christill nodded with a smirk, recalling their time at Steelfist Ranch.

They continued on and Thibalt found that he felt surprisingly sad when he let his thoughts dwell on Precedin. His stay there had been short, but it had felt more like a home to him than any other place he had lived. More than that he mourned the loss of the place that he had met Miera. In the time that they had been together he had been truly happy. He had envisioned a simple home where they would live together in peace. His thoughts now dwelled on a future in Precedin that would never come to pass.

His feelings then shifted to Estallion and he felt angry at himself for worrying about such petty things when his closest friend had lost everything. "Estallion," called Thibalt. "I am deeply sorry for your loss. I should have said something earlier."

Estallion faced Thibalt and smiled genially. "What I have lost is trivial. There are much more important things in this world than land and money. Those that I hold dear are still safe and that is all that truly matters. I only grieve for the loss of Guthrum de Lamina, who was a greater man than I could ever hope to be." Estallion's smile slowly faded. Thibalt knew that, despite the heated exchanges, Estallion had held the General in high regard.

The carriage in which the Queen rested kept its fast pace as they passed a large area of cultivated fields. To each side of the highway, farm hands worked tirelessly to keep the crops healthy and fruitful. They continued to work despite the knowledge that an invading army loomed at the walls of Precedin.

Once they had passed through the farmlands the landscape turned to rich rolling hills and meadows carpeted by flourishing grasses and budding flowers. The sky above was dotted here and there by fluffy clouds that occasionally blotted out the sun. Christill was happy, at least the weather looked to be improving.

After a few more days of travel, the escort reached high ground. The highway had gradually travelled uphill, until now they reached a rise which was the highest point in eastern Feldom. They approached the end of the large rise and the City of Skiye came into view.

The sprawling capital spread out along the River of Ice for miles and the city proper loomed tall in the centre with its monolithic walls and pristine buildings. The architects that had worked on the city had ensured that it remained the most advanced city in the world and up to this day their promise had been kept.

A highly advanced aqueduct and sewerage system connected every inch of the city, allowing fresh and clean water to flow to even the poorest of areas. Buildings were carved from limestone and bricks with hardly a plain one in sight. The city streets were designed in efficient squares, allowing traffic to move swiftly through the many business districts. At regular intervals in the inner walls, highly guarded gateways ensured that thieves and criminals were mostly absent from the market squares.

But the sight that caught most of their attentions was the Citadel of Kings. The elegant building rose from the centre of the city in splendid fashion with numerous spiralling towers and colourful banners. Even from a distance they could make out the white marble wall that split the two sections of the Citadel in half down the centre. To the right of the wall rose the Academy of Skiye, on top of which stood a tall, diamond shaped, silver tower. To the left of the wall lay the King's palace which was supported by black columns of stone and had three circular lookout towers crowning its roof. After a long moment, the escort resumed its journey and began to head downhill towards the outskirts of the capital.

"It is enormous," muttered Thibalt with wide eyes.

"Larger than I could have ever dreamed," agreed Christill.

The outer village that they first reached was newly founded and was, in many areas, still under construction. They rode along a wide road that pointed directly to the Citadel and the further into the city they moved the more people they saw. Word spread through the area like wildfire that Queen Triel and the Honour Guard had returned and by the time they had reached the wall to the city proper a massive crowd had gathered to cheer on the heroes. Men, women, children, the sick and the elderly all gathered around the open gate in the fifty foot high stone wall that formed a rough square around the city. At each corner of the barricade stood a mighty tower and in the centre of each wall lay a wide entrance with a pair of portcullises and iron bound gates.

The company passed under the wall to the roar of the crowd, but they shunned the praise, for they felt that they were not deserving of it. Their minds dwelled only on the loss of the City of War and the many bodies that lay on the horrid pyre erected by the Dargonians.

Upon entering the city, Thibalt and Christill were reminded of Andron with its busy streets and diverse populous. Much like their father's home, the City of Skiye was a city full of life and colour. Errollan motioned for the escort to pick up speed and they headed straight for the Citadel. Shopkeepers and patrons bartering in the streets shouted praise as they saw the Queen return to her city.

Finally, they reached an open square containing a large fountain at its centre. From the fountain rose a statue of Skiye's angel and below it stood many people saying silent prayers to their goddess. Behind the square rose one hundred and twenty steps that led to the Citadel. Estallion muttered his annoyance, but they dismounted and made their way up the long series of steps. Harrinus and Errollan helped Triel make her way up, her legs still weak from Novokai's torture.

At the top of the steps, Christill gazed at the two identical entrances to the left and right of the wall splitting the Citadel in half. Both were tall and wide archways, decorated with fine carvings. At each portal stood four guards dressed in golden armour and red trimmings, all of which held the rank of Guardian. The brothers waited until the rest of the company reached the top and then followed Errollan and Ludvic through the left arch and into the King's palace.

Errollan and Ludvic marched with heavy steps into the throne room followed by Queen Triel and Guard Captain Harrinus. Several paces behind, Christill and Thibalt walked nervously along the red carpet leading to the King's bejewelled throne. Finally, heading up the rear of the group, came Estallion who seemed indifferent to his surroundings and casually glanced here and there, admiring several of the long banners and flags that hung from the roof above.

The room was long and vaulted, with decorated columns of stone rising up to the roof at its sides. At the end of the running carpet, four steps rose to King Dieter Castaneda's seat of power, next to which stood the Queen's own chair, slightly smaller in size, but no less extravagant.

Thibalt and Christill kept silent as the many finely dressed courtiers and dignitaries in the room stopped their conversations and inspected the newcomers. The brothers marvelled at the high quality clothes worn by the people in attendance. They were in the presence of some of the most powerful people in Feldom. For what seemed an age they marched up to the throne until Errollan and Ludvic stopped and bowed low to the ground.

As the Honour Guard paid their respect to the King, the brothers caught their first glimpse of the imposing man. Sitting upon the throne and wearing a thick white and blue robe over his black clothes, the King slouched in his chair with his head resting upon his hand. Several days of stubble marked his face and his greying hair fell upon a stern look and tired eyes.

"My lords, it has been an age since you have graced us with your presence," opened King Castaneda.

Christill found the King's voice strong and overbearing, as though he talked with authority over all. Befitting a King, he mused.

Errollan moved to the side and allowed Queen Triel to move forward. "We have returned her highness to your safe keeping, my King."

The King nodded, his face showing little emotion, but he said nothing.

"The disciple Novokai was behind her kidnapping and were it not for the aid of the Thaldun Blades we would not have made it out of Dargon alive," Errollan continued.

"And did you kill Novokai?" asked the King.

"That we did not," said Ludvic grimly. "He was a mighty foe and took many of our men from this plane before he made his escape."

A frown appeared on the King's face. "I would think that with the aid of the Thaldun Blades the Honour Guard would be able to take care of one disciple. Where was Mandigal in all of this?" he asked in a critical tone.

"We did the best that we could," replied Ludvic angrily. "I did not see you rushing to save your wife from a tortured death, Dieter."

Errollan placed his hand on Ludvic's shoulder to restrain him. "Calm yourself," he whispered.

"Watch your tongue, Lord Hammerfell. You are in the presence of royalty," announced another voice.

Thibalt turned to see a man stepping out from behind the throne. He walked with a grace that was suiting of his rank, for he was the head disciple of the Academy of Skiye and the King's senior most advisor. He wore tightly fitted blue robes, on which his perfectly straight, long black hair fell. It was well known throughout Feldom that Perephine Aldehelm longed to sit on the throne, but with no royal blood in his veins he had no chance of fulfilling his dreams. Instead he had worked his way up to the highest position that a commoner could attain, and was now well in control of all of Feldom's affairs. He looked upon Errollan and Ludvic with apparent disgust. From behind him came four more of the King's advisors, among them Elephtheria Oliseh who looked especially pleased to see Queen Triel safe.

Ludvic and Errollan did not hide their revulsion of Perephine and his conniving ways and continued to address the King. "We come to you in dark times, Dieter," announced Ludvic loudly. "Precedin has fallen and you sit here and do nothing about it."

"We have discussed this matter in council and are debating on how to act," answered Perephine. "We cannot just rush into battle without considering all eventualities."

"I did not address you, Perephine," Ludvic retaliated. "Does the King no longer hold a voice in this council?"

"Perephine speaks in my interest, Ludvic. You will take his word as my own," interrupted the King in a tired voice.

Queen Triel raised her hand to stop the bickering and slowly walked up the steps to the throne. She took a seat in her own chair and Elephtheria came to her side, where they hugged for a long moment. "Precedin must be retaken," insisted Triel to the King. Christill noticed that the way in which she spoke to her husband showed she held little love for the man. "Ludvic and Errollan know more than anyone else the strategic importance of that city," she added.

"The loss of Precedin will be dealt with in due time," replied the King, waving Triel's problem away. "There are other matters that plague our nation."

Thibalt could not understand how the King could be so unconcerned about the loss of his most vital city. He gazed over at Christill who was dwelling on similar thoughts.

"What news do you have about the battle for Precedin?" asked Errollan.

"A sergeant arrived with General de Lamina's final message," answered Perephine. "I believe his name was Hanlit."

Errollan turned to a page standing strictly at the side of the room. "Summon this sergeant at once," he commanded. The page took off instantly.

Errollan and Ludvic turned and approached Thibalt and Christill. They summoned the brothers forth with Estallion trudging along behind them. "I wish to present Thibalt Steelfist, Christill Greyspell and Estallion Bastion."

King Castaneda motioned for them to come forward. "You had a part to play in the rescue of my wife?"

"You could say that we played a part," answered Estallion happily. "Christill here was a captive himself, which led me and Thibalt to join the company. Saving the beautiful Queen simply came with the job." He winked at the Queen whose lips curled into a slight grin.

The King looked upon Estallion with a lowered brow, displaying his annoyance at Estallion's informal tone. "As you have done a service for me. I will do something for you. A good King rewards his loyal subjects. Tell me what would you ask of me?"

Thibalt and Christill stared nervously at the King whilst Estallion rubbed his chin. "A new saddle for my wayward friend Falgo and a suit of fine mail for both Thibalt and his brother," replied Estallion.

"You will have it," nodded the King.

The sound of hurried steps echoed from behind and they turned to find the page running back to the throne with Sergeant Hanlit in tow.

"You are the man that carried words from the General?" asked Ludvic hastily.

He nodded and replied, "Sergeant Mannin Hanlit, my lord."

"Were you there during the battle?" asked Errollan.

Hanlit nodded. "Yes sir, and a horrific battle it was. The full might of Dargon was unleashed upon our walls. I saw our men fight courageously against an unwavering tide, but in the end we were too few."

"Where you with the General?" queried Ludvic.

"Yes, at his last moments," replied Hanlit, sadly. "I begged him to flee the city, but he would not leave the wall. He asked me to send word to King Castaneda."

"What was his message?" asked Errollan eagerly.

"He told me to ride for the citadel. I was to tell the King that Baldoroff must make peace," he paused, with confusion evident in his features. "I was not exactly sure what he meant."

"Baldoroff!" roared the King angrily, his face flushing red. "Guthrum asks me to make peace with the man whom I would have hung from the city walls."

"Guthrum realized the truth, Dieter," said Errollan. "He saw Dargon's power upfront and understood that if you do not make peace with Baldoroff, we could lose Feldom forever."

"I will not make peace with that traitor!" boomed the King. "He dares to challenge my rule by creating his own nation. Such betrayal will not go unchecked. Baldoroff will commit his loyalty to me or find blood on his hands."

Errollan closed his eyes. This was the one thing that he had feared the most. A civil war. "The last thing that we need is conflict within our own borders. As we sit and debate an army marches from the East to wipe us from the very face of this world. Have you been blinded by your pride?"

"The Maloreichar think that everything can only be solved through force," commented Perephine. "We are in the mind that the nation of Durraas is a bigger threat to Feldom right now than an army that we have repelled back into its own borders since the dawn of time. May I remind you that Dargon has never won any campaign that it has launched against us. This will be no different."

"Have you all grown daft?" yelled Ludvic. "This is nothing like the wars of bygone times. Twenty thousand men and counting have entered Feldonian soil and the City of War is in the enemies hands for the first time ever."

"We know this. Remember that the King will decide what is more important for this nation. And at the moment Baldoroff is the biggest threat. We are convinced that Zephra will not march his men out of Precedin for several months. He will need a great amount of time to bring in sufficient supplies for a lengthy campaign. Besides, our intelligence points his next assault to the north, which will only aid us in our current problems with Auldney."

"So you will sit by and allow Polthney and Larthstone to be overwhelmed and suffer because of Baldoroff's madness," said Errollan in disbelief.

"If Baldoroff decides to go ahead with his separation from Feldom, then they will no longer be our problem," replied the King. "It is up to him to save his people. I have sent him an ultimatum. If he does not pledge his loyalty to my bloodline, my army will march to his city and retake it for Feldom. No longer will Auldney be run by its own king. I will turn it back into a dukedom as it should be."

"The world has gone mad," muttered Estallion under his breath.

"Enough! We will speak of this when the council is in session," boomed the King. "For now Feldom thanks you for returning Triel to her people. Now tell me, where is Mandigal?"

"He had some things to see to," answered Errollan quickly. Thibalt looked over at his brother and Christill shrugged. Errollan and Ludvic had not shared Mandigal's whereabouts with any of the company and they assumed that secrecy was of great importance. But to keep this from the King was highly unusual.

"We have things that we must discuss with you and the other advisors, Perephine," stated Errollan. "We have seen strange beasts in our travels. The kind from nightmares and children's tales."

Perephine nodded. "We have had many sightings of late. As of yet we can find no answer. Even Skiye provides no knowledge."

"They are no creations of Beon. It may be possible for Gushkall to have had a hand in their spawning, but it would still be highly unlikely," commented Elephtheria.

Sergeant Hanlit cleared his throat to address the crowd. "These beasts you speak of may have had a hand in the sacking of Precedin."

"How so?" asked Ludvic eagerly.

"During the battle, word spread that tall beasts with leathery wings and tough hides came upon the guards at the gate. It is said that they were instrumental in opening the gate. Had we been able to keep it shut, we might have kept the city long enough to bolster our forces. Though I doubt we could have held the wall for much longer."

"This is indeed interesting. If these creatures fight for Zephra's armies we may have an even bigger problem on our hands," commented Perephine.

"I will leave it to you to solve this mystery, for you are familiar with these matters. I will tend to the safekeeping of Feldom." Errollan turned to face the King. "I ask one thing of you Dieter. Declare a state of war. Summon forth the armies of Feldom under your order. Send word to the dukes and lords that the call to arms has begun. If you raise the banner of war from the top of the Citadel, your nation will answer."

"My wife was given that task and she marshalled but two thousand men," argued the King, in a serious tone. "My people do not want to fight."

"Triel summoned the Militia of Feldom. I am asking you to order the armies to leave their garrisons and march against Zephra's forces," pointed out Errollan.

"When the West realises that twenty thousand enemy soldiers are on the move, they will come in power to aid us," added in Ludvic. "Only if you sound the call to arms will the dukes send their men to war. We have close to twenty five thousand hardened soldiers scattered over this nation, more if we retain the northern cities. We could stop Zephra's armies at Precedin. All we ask is that you sound the call to arms. The Honour Guard will do the rest."

"We will think on this," said Perephine calmly. "It is a big thing that you ask. For now rest your weary bones. We are safe here."

Errollan bowed once more and turned to leave. Thibalt and Christill followed him out and inside the throne room arguments quickly erupted amongst the officials and nobles.

"This way, please," motioned the Squire. Christill followed the young page through the furnished corridors and up to a darkened door. He wore a simple green shirt and leather breeches that the King's servants had provided. After a warm bath, Thibalt had departed from their temporary quarters in the palace to find his future wife. Christill had sat in silence for most of the day, revelling in the chance to rest his exhausted body. Then, before the sun had fully set, the young squire had arrived at his door and requested his presence. The boy had not told Christill who had sent for him and had merely insisted that Christill follow him.

The Squire motioned for Christill to open the door and left him alone. Christill stood for a moment and then turned the small brass handle. The room he walked into was decorated with heavy drapes that blocked out the windows, and around the room light flickered from scented candles that were sending streams of pungent spice into the air. Three chairs faced a small round table in the centre of the room and from the only occupied seat Christill's host rose.

"It is a blessing to see you alive my young pupil," greeted Dievu.

Christill looked upon Dievu in utter surprise. He had no idea that Dievu was in the city, but now that he did he was overcome with a feeling of warmth towards his master. He walked over to Dievu and embraced his arm in a friendly greeting. "It is good to see you," replied Christill.

Dievu inclined his head and gestured for him to take a seat. Once they both were comfortably seated Dievu spoke. "I thought I would give you some time to rest before I called you."

"I wish that you had summoned me earlier, for I would have liked to know that you were here, and in good health," replied Christill. "I am glad no harm came to you after your fight with Novokai." Christill almost spat the name.

"I almost died in that fight," said Dievu. "Luckily I was able to make it back to Vithanu and Polthus before Novokai had finished me off."

"Is Polthus alive?" queried Christill.

"Yes he is," said Dievu. "And also in good health. I am sure he will be ecstatic to see you once more."

Christill rested back in his chair and for a while they sat in silence. "I must thank you for getting word about my capture to the Honour Guard. Were it not for you, my brother would have not known of my peril and would have likely fallen in Precedin."

"The world moves in strange patterns, Christill. Your brother was one of the lucky few. But for now onto other matters. We need not worry about the past, for it has happened and we can do little to change it. We must worry only about the present and the future."

"What kind of a future is there in times like these? Where monsters walk the land and savage armies kill our loved ones," replied Christill.

"Your future has not changed, Christill. Though this war will affect us all, you will play no part in it for the time being."

"Why not?" questioned Christill, feeling that Dievu was patronising him.

"Because you are coming with me to Karmena. Do not think that you have avoided your training in the Academy because of this slight obstacle," answered Dievu.

"Slight obstacle!" blurted Christill. "I almost died, twice!"

"Nevertheless, I still wish for you to accompany me and enter the Academy of Nyrune," Dievu replied.

Christill suddenly found himself questioning Dievu's motives. Maybe Novokai was right and Dievu was trying to manipulate him. He had never mentioned anything about the Children Valerious. "Why are you so eager to place me into the Academy?"

"Because I believe you have what it takes to become a disciple of Nyrune. I have seen it within you," responded Dievu.

"What did you see?" asked Christill. "A Be'Ruchta?"

Dievu's face clearly displayed his amazement at hearing Christill refer to this piece of arcane knowledge. "It seems that Novokai has told you a few things about the Valiant."

"He told me you must have known all along that I was one of the Children Valerious. Why did you not tell me this?"

"What good would it have done?" responded Dievu swiftly. "Your current knowledge of magic is so miniscule that you could not even begin to grasp what this means."

Christill moved to the edge of his seat, gripping the chair tightly. "From what Novokai told me I have been chosen by the gods to become a disciple. The Be'Ruchta allows my body to adapt to magic with ease."

"Yes Christill, you are one of the rare Valiant. You have been chosen by the gods to become a disciple. But what does that mean to you now?" shot back Dievu. "I did you a favour by keeping this information from you. When Karmanians enter the Academy of Nyrune, and it is found that they are of the Children Valerious, they are not told that they hold the Be'Ruchta. Firstly because they do not have the knowledge to fully comprehend what this means, and secondly because it would only make them arrogant."

Christill fell back into his chair, finding himself beaten by Dievu's logic. "You are right, Master. I am sorry I burst out like that. I don't take kindly to people keeping secrets from me and I thought that you were just using me for your own good."

"You must control your feelings," said Dievu, softening his tone. "You were played for a fool by Novokai, who was trying to use your emotions against you. He likely believed that by promising you power and telling you that I have deceived you, he would be able to sway your loyalties. Once again your past came back to haunt you."

"I should have known better...I am honestly sorry," replied Christill, feeling ashamed of his outburst.

"Do not worry. When you begin your studies in Karmena things will begin to become clearer. You must remember that the four races have very different views on the laws that govern this world and the magic that flows through it. Even though Silphuras Hilke found many answers, there are countless things that we do not know and many things that are constantly under debate."

Christill took in Dievu's advice and was startled by a knock on the door. Dievu called for the person to enter and the door slowly swung open. Christill recognized the woman who walked into the room. He had seen her talking with the Queen in the King's Throne room.

"Ah Thee, take a seat," bade Dievu. "Christill I would like to introduce you to Elephtheria Oliseh, member of the first order of Skiye, loyal advisor to the King, and a very dear and old friend."

Christill stood and bowed courteously. As he rose he found himself admiring her graceful figure and realized on closer inspection that she was far more beautiful than he had originally thought. Despite the obvious difference in age, he found himself completely captivated by the elegant aura that surrounded her.

"Queen Triel speaks highly of you, Christill," said Elephtheria.

"She is too kind," he replied. "I hope that she is well."

"She is as well as could be expected considering what she has been through."

Christill shuddered as he recalled Novokai's torture of Queen Triel. He had been so powerless to help her, yet he felt somewhat responsible inside. Dievu and Elephtheria began to talk about the court and many issues that were unknown to Christill, so he sat quietly and listened in on their discussion. The conversation slowly moved to Dievu and Elephtheria's childhood and he joined in.

Christill and Elephtheria spoke well into the sunset. She was wise beyond her age and a bond quickly grew between them. She was the first person that he could talk to as a friend without any self consciousness or fright, and he found himself telling her many things that he never would have shared with anyone else. After a long while the candles began to wane and Christill realized that the hours had passed much quicker than he had thought.

"I must retire, Dievu," announced Christill. "I have enjoyed this conversation more than you could imagine. This is the first time in a long while that I have been able to talk openly amongst friends, with no spite or doubt in my mind."

"I am glad, Christill," replied Dievu. "I will be returning to Karmena in eight days. I suggest you make the most of your remaining time here."

"And what will you be doing during your last days in Feldom?" asked Elephtheria.

"My brother Thibalt is to be wed," said Christill happily. "I am sure that I will be busy celebrating."

"Well if you find a spare moment, pay me a visit before you leave. Your company would be much appreciated," replied Elephtheria with a warming smile.

"And where would I find you?" asked Christill.

"Ask for me at the Academy. One of the disciples will show you to my room," she answered. "Oh and Christill, call me Thee. All of my friends do."

Christill smiled and walked out of the room. As he made his way back to his own quarters his mind lingered on Elephtheria. "Maybe I will pay her a visit before I leave," he said softly to the empty corridor.

* * *

The drops of perspiration dripped down Thibalt neck as he stood with his hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. Next to him stood Christill and Estallion who were both dressed in fine red vests and black pants. The disciple before him called for silence and a soft flute began to play a calming tune as the doors to the side of the temple opened. From the sunlight emerged Miera in a long gown of blue satin and behind her came her mother Evelyn. A slight snickering came from behind Thibalt and he turned to see Miera's younger brothers Kiel, Borrin and Fritel giggling in the front seats of the long temple.

Thibalt was grateful that the temple disciples had been willing to perform the ceremony in such short notice. Once they had found out that Christill was leaving, Miera had insisted that they were wed straight away. The thought of Christill missing out on the wedding was intolerable. Estallion had then used his persuasive abilities to convince the head disciple of the temple to carry out the ritual free of charge. Thereafter Estallion had surprised them even more by purchasing new clothes for all of them and having a seamstress create Miera's dazzling wedding gown.

Miera made her way to the front of the temple and grabbed Thibalt's hand. Together they walked up to the long altar and knelt before the Disciple. The soft melody stopped and a hush came upon the people attending the wedding. The Disciple began to talk, but Thibalt was too nervous to listen to what he was saying. Time seemed to stand still as the Disciple placed his hands on both of their heads and declared them to be joined as one under Skiye's watchful gaze. Miera and Thibalt rose from the ground and kissed each other for the first time as husband and wife.

A great cheer rose from the crowd and guests came rushing forward to congratulate the couple. Christill walked up to his brother and embraced him in a tight hug. Thibalt was overjoyed that for a change his friends and family were merry. They left the temple and headed to an alehouse that Estallion had booked for the evening and long into the night the sounds of laughter and celebration were heard from within the building. For a short time the brothers forgot about the troubles that were plaguing Kovi. Tonight was a night of celebration. A night to honour Thibalt and Miera Steelfist.

Five days after the wedding the mood had once more turned sombre. It was time for Christill to leave and they all knew that it would be a long time until they would see each other once more. At the southern edge of the city Christill and Dievu stood by Polthus and Vithanu saying their last goodbyes. Christill approached Estallion and Guard Captain Harrinus and shook their hands, thanking them one last time for their help and also their friendship.

He then walked up to Miera, who quickly hugged him with moist eyes and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye Christill. I will expect to see letters from you every month," she said with an emotional smile.

Thibalt stepped forward from behind her and grabbed his brother's shoulder.

"And what would I say to the man who more than anyone else has saved my life," said Christill softly.

"I would say that this is no farewell. Rather a temporary departure," replied Thibalt. "Remember little brother. I will always protect you."

Christill smiled. "You have other things to worry about now," he said motioning to Miera. "Look after your wife and stay out of trouble."

"I feel that I should be the one telling you to stay out of trouble," shot back Thibalt.

"I will be fine," argued Christill. "Farewell. We will see each other again."

Thibalt smiled and hugged his brother. With the army of Dargon at Feldom's feet, he was not so sure of that.

Christill patted Thibalt one final time on the back then walked over to say his last goodbye. Elephtheria stood off to the side, smiling kindly at Christill. They had spent many of the last nights together and had quickly become friends. Christill took her hand in his and bowed. "I will miss your company, Thee."

"As will I," she replied.

"I would ask one favour of you," requested Christill.

"What is it you would have me do?" she asked cheerfully.

"I would have you write to me."

"Then it will be done, Christill," replied Elephtheria, laughing.

Christill leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, and then it was time to depart. He walked back to Polthus and jumped up into the saddle. Together Dievu and Christill left the City of Skiye, leaving behind a large group of sorrowful friends.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

### THE MACHINATIONS OF A TYRANT

Thibalt watched the traffic flow up and down the street from the balcony, admiring their location. Estallion approached the opening and expressed his amusement, "I knew you would like it."

"How could I ever repay you?" asked Thibalt.

"You will find a way," replied Estallion with a cheeky smirk. "Anyhow, I need a place to stay as well. So whilst my estates in Precedin are temporarily occupied by Dargonian guests I will be taking lodging in your fine new residence."

"Take any room that you like," insisted Thibalt.

Miera climbed up the stairs carrying a bundle of clothes as Estallion replied, "I have already placed my things in the first room downstairs."

"There are so many rooms in this house that I am beginning to lose myself," said Miera, dropping the clothes onto the bed.

"Where are the boys staying?" asked Thibalt eagerly. As much as he enjoyed the company of Miera's younger brothers, they had a knack for causing mischief. Borrin, the eldest of her siblings, had quickly grown close to Thibalt and Estallion, but Kiel and Fritel, both under ten summers, had proven themselves quite adept in the art of annoyance.

"Mother has assured us that Kiel and Fritel will remain downstairs with her. Borrin has asked to stay upstairs," answered Miera. "I am still amazed that you managed to buy this place for such a low price. I mean, eight rooms in the centre of the market district would normally be highway robbery."

Estallion let out an odd laugh and quickly replied, "The seller is an old friend of the Bastion family. He gave me a good deal."

Thibalt found his reaction unusual, but then Estallion was often unusual. "Nevertheless, I will pay you back in full."

Estallion shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

A shout from downstairs caught their attention. "You have a guest, Thibalt," called Evelyn.

The three of them moved out of the bedroom and down the stairs to find Guard Captain Harrinus standing in the doorway, dressed in a black vest bearing the symbol of Skiye. They had not seen Harrinus since their arrival in the Citadel and were pleased to see his familiar face once more.

"Kirth Harrinus. To what do we owe the honour?" greeted Thibalt.

Harrinus shook their hands with a modest grin and said, "I thought I would see if I could smuggle myself into some temporary accommodation in the Steelfist home. Word has spread that there is a new man in town who owns a mansion in the city centre."

Miera and Thibalt began to chuckle. "I think we should start up an inn with the amount of people looking for a place to sleep," said Thibalt.

"With the influx of people fleeing the border cities, quarters have become tight. I came to enquire if you would welcome a temporary guest. If I ever intend to find a good night's rest I will need to bed down outside of the barracks. I would pay my way of course."

"What nonsense, Harrinus," cut in Estallion. "Stay as long as you like...That is if you think you can handle living in the same place as me."

Harrinus raised his brow. "It will take some getting used to. In any case I have also come with a message from Errollan."

"What does the old warhorse have to say?" asked Estallion.

"The old warhorse...," replied Harrinus gazing attentively at Estallion, "...wishes to offer you a job."

Estallion and Thibalt were both startled. "What kind of a job?" asked Thibalt.

"May we first take a seat? I have been running around all morning."

"Of course!" blurted Miera. "How rude of us. We receive our first guest and do not even offer him a seat." She turned and called out to her brother. Borrin's young face popped out of a nearby room, his wavy blonde hair falling over his eyes. "Go and fetch a pitcher of water and some of those fruits that Mother bought this morning."

Borrin stood up straight and mockingly saluted his sister. He then stormed off to the kitchen as Thibalt led Harrinus to a long table in the next room. They all sat down and Borrin entered with a weighty plate of fresh fruit and several cups of water. Taking a large bite out of an apple, Borrin then sat down and kept silent.

Harrinus quickly gulped down a cup of water and placed it back on the table. "Should you not already know, King Castaneda, or Perephine if we are being honest, has refused Errollan's request to sound the call to arms. He believes that marshalling the army of Feldom will only be a signal for Zephra to move his forces inland sooner."

"Zephra is going to attack whether we like it or not," said Thibalt. "Would it not be wiser to have an army ready to stop him rather than prolonging the inevitable?"

"Those are Errollan's exact thoughts," continued Harrinus. "Errollan knows more about safekeeping of this nation than any man alive. He almost turned violent when the King announced his refusal to marshal the full army. In reality Errollan and the Maloreichar have the power to overrule the throne and make decisions in Dieter's stead, but Errollan is not willing to take such drastic measures yet. He fears that it would lead to further civil unrest. There are still a lot of people who agree with the King's decisions." Harrinus paused. "I believe that Errollan is waiting until Ludvic and Mandigal return until he takes action."

"What will he do in the mean time?" asked Borrin. The others looked at him and he suddenly felt out of line. "Sorry I did not mean to interrupt."

"Do not be afraid to speak your mind, young man," replied Harrinus. "It is better that you are involved in the conversation and know firsthand what is happening. Otherwise you will take faith in the rumours and lies travelling the streets and come to misplaced conclusions."

"He is still a bit young to be thinking about war and politics," pointed out Evelyn.

"I am nearly seventeen summers, Mother," Borrin exclaimed. "Most of my friends have already enlisted."

Evelyn looked as if she was about to argue, but held back her comment. Borrin was now old enough to join the army and she knew that her thick headed son would manage to enlist one way or another.

"In answer to your question," said Harrinus. "Errollan has decided to wait for Baldoroff's answer to the King's ultimatum before taking matters into his own hands. He has now left it to me to prepare what men we have in the standing army for the coming campaign."

"Why you?" asked Thibalt.

"In Guthrum's absence I have been promoted to general of the Feldonian army," replied Harrinus softly.

Thibalt was about to congratulate Harrinus, but knew he would not be happy about taking Guthrum's position. The two had been very close and his loss was still deeply felt.

"So what does this have to do with us?" asked Estallion, who was slowly growing bored.

"I need captains," answered Harrinus. "And I believe that you two are right for the job."

Thibalt rubbed his head. "Surely there are more suitable men in the army that you can promote?"

"This is not for the regular army," replied Harrinus coolly. "I need some captains for a particular task. Sergeant Hanlit, the messenger who escaped Precedin, has signed up. I would prefer it if you would join me as well. I need some men that I can trust."

Estallion and Thibalt's demeanours turned serious. "What are you planning?" asked Thibalt.

Harrinus pursed his lips in thought for a moment then said, "The Feldonian armed forces are far from unified. There are separate factions who are vying for control and steering their own men towards different pursuits. Errollan is not unaware of this and has his own plans. With the fall of Precedin, he realises that the times ahead are going to be more than difficult. If we hope to hold this nation together there is a need to act quickly and decisively without the debate and politics that the King's council brings.

"As part of this plan, he has assigned me the task of forming a force to be trained in things that army regulars will...not exactly be proficient in. These men are going to serve in the shadow of the main army, performing crucial tasks which could change the tide of this war. Most importantly, these men will be under the sole command of the Maloreichar and uninfluenced by the King and his advisors. I am asking you to lead one of these squads."

Thibalt looked over at Harrinus with a questioning eye. "What tasks will these men be performing?"

"Whatever we need them to," replied Harrinus. "Your men will be trained to deal with any situation thrown at them. We need these men to be able to take actions without question. Even when these actions go against what one could consider morally right."

"You are training a group of elites and you want us to be in charge of them?" asked Estallion in shock. "This lack of sleep appears to have affected your judgment."

"You may not believe that you have the ability to command a group of soldiers, but I have faith in you, Estallion," said Harrinus. He turned to Thibalt. "And you...Of course you will be paid."

Thibalt let out a long breath and placed his hands on the table. Miera leaned over and began to massage the back of his neck. "It is your choice," she whispered into his ears. He gazed over at Estallion who had a calculating look on his face.

"These squads could save thousands of lives," added in Harrinus.

Estallion replied first. "I have enough money to never have to work in my life. Everyone knows that. I also do find the prospect of fighting for my country an interesting thing. Yet, as much as I do want to save this nation from a terrible fate, I must decline your offer, Kirth."

"I understand," replied Harrinus. "Thibalt?"

"If protecting the Alliance means protecting my new family, then I will fight," he returned, noting the saddened look in Miera's eyes.

Harrinus nodded. "Excellent. I will place you in charge of the second squad."

"How many men will I be in leading?"

"Thirty...in total," Harrinus said.

"What do you mean, in total?" asked Thibalt sceptically.

Harrinus poured another cup of water and drained it as quickly as the first. "There will be twenty four men that we have handpicked from the standing army. Most of them are young recruits that have not been corrupted. The other six I want you to find."

"Find!" exclaimed Thibalt. "Where am I going to find them?"

"Wherever you choose. Hanlit has already lined up his six men. I want you to go and recruit six men that you think would prove handy in a tough situation. Think carefully about who you choose to take."

"I don't quite understand. Why you are not choosing the extra six men?" cut in Estallion.

"Because command requires more than the ability to order others around. Thibalt and Hanlit need to show me that they have the ability to see quality in a soldier. I want them to have at least six men that they personally vouch for. If you are going to be leading these men you need to have a stake in the success of your squad. Find yourself six loyal men and it will help you gain respect among the remaining soldiers."

Thibalt stretched in his chair. He knew hardly anyone in the entire Feldonian nation. Where was he going to find six loyal men?

"Though more than all that, the recruits that we find for the local forces are all the same," continued Harrinus. "I want you to look for people with talents that may not be considered orthodox."

"How long will I have to find these men?" asked Thibalt.

"Three days. Then I will expect to see you at the garrison ready to begin your training."

Thibalt nodded with a drawn out sigh. "I have a suspicion that these next three days are going to be a little rough."

Estallion waited on the street side as Thibalt said goodbye to Miera. After a long kiss, Thibalt joined Estallion and they began to head up the street towards the main market district. The district was split up into several sections according to the wares on sale. Fresh produce was located in a large square filled with stalls and carriages and the blacksmiths and tanners held their own section of the market, distinguished by the black streams of smoke rising from the many chimneys. Thibalt and Estallion were headed for another section which housed many of the most frequented inns and establishments to find a decent meal.

"You are sure that this is the best place to look?" asked Thibalt once more as they passed amongst a row of stalls selling pottery and other clay made commodities. "Surely we could find some hired hands at the guilds."

"Honestly, Thibalt. You know no one in this city. The only way you are going to find six soldiers to fight for you in the next three days is if you search every inn in the city for a bunch of out of work mercenaries. And trust me, you do not want to get involved in the politics of the guilds. I've been there before and let's just say I am lucky to still be around."

"If you say so," replied Thibalt. In honesty, Thibalt felt he held little hope of finding six men, even if he would have had a month in which to do it.

Estallion stopped in front of a shabby looking tavern, in front of which sat a few drunken men, most of them half asleep in their own drool. Thibalt looked up to the sign which was hanging by its last splinter and felt uneasy. "Out of all of the places we have passed, you pick this one."

"Don't be so judgmental," replied Estallion with a wave of his hand. "You never know what's inside until you have stepped through the doorway."

"The doorway looks as though it's about to collapse," commented Thibalt with concern.

Estallion stared placidly at Thibalt then moved into the tavern. As Thibalt followed him inside a whiff of strong spirits and sweat assaulted his nostrils and he gagged. The room was gloomy and unclean with stains covering the floor and walls, and empty cups strewn all over. The thin owner was standing with a hunched back over the dirty bar and cast a quick look at them before returning to clean a dirty cup with an even dirtier cloth.

Estallion and Thibalt both studied the people in the room. Thibalt's eyes moved from each man to the next and he found himself shaking his head repeatedly. The majority of them looked to be labourers on their off day or jobless drifters. Here and there a few burly men sat with local whores, wasting away recently earned wages.

They waited at the bar watching men come and go. After a few minutes a fight threatened to break out in the far side of the common room. Though not unusual in these seedy establishments, the argument was severely in favour of the three workers harassing a drunken vagabond who had tumbled into their table. Thibalt moved to step in and aid the man, but stopped when he saw a slender man in a hooded tunic approach the conflict and guide the vagabond away, avoiding further trouble. After pushing the drunkard out of the tavern, the hooded man returned to his own table and sat down next to a man so large that his seat barely supported him.

Estallion nudged Thibalt and motioned to their table.

"They look like wanderers. Probably bandits by the look of the big one," said Thibalt under his breath.

Estallion kept his eyes on them and muttered, "Excellent."

Before he could whisper another word, Estallion was moving towards the two men. Thibalt hurried after him and by the time he reached the table, Estallion had already introduced himself.

"And what in the planes do you want from us," said the large man to Estallion. His guttural voice came from deep within his chest.

"I saw you help that poor man over there. It looks like you two could do with some work and it just so happens that we are looking to hire," replied Estallion, pulling a chair from a nearby table and taking a seat.

"We're no mercenaries. Look elsewhere for your workers," replied the man in annoyance.

"What is it that you do then?" asked Estallion keenly.

The man grew irritated and Thibalt noticed the veins in his neck bulging. "That's none of your business," he roared.

"Work for Captain Steelfist here-," Estallion pointed to Thibalt. "And you will be fed, housed and well paid. What more incentive do you need?"

"You don't know when to give up," boomed the man in a clearly frustrated tone. He moved to stand but his hooded companion placed a restraining hand on his arm. The large man let out a groan and sank back onto his chair. "What do you offer?"

Estallion smiled. "I see that your companion is the brains of the company." The larger man looked as though he was about to burst. Thibalt moved his legs into a defensive position, ready for a fight. He rose from his seat, but was once again restrained by his partner.

"Good," said Estallion. "You will be enlisting in the army of Feldom. That's all that you need to know. You will be reporting to Captain Steelfist and no one else. What say you?"

The burly man looked at his hooded companion, who shrugged his cloak from his shoulders. His hood fell slowly from his head revealing a slim face framed by thin and long blonde hair. Thibalt noticed that the man's eyes held a darkness about them that unsettled his stomach. After a few moments of silence he nodded.

"You may have a deal," the larger man said to Estallion.

"I need definite answers," said Thibalt in a strong voice.

"If you want us to work for you there are some rules," replied the man. "We get paid on time, every time. You'll supply us with weapons and any other supplies that we may need. And finally, there's my own personal rule."

"And what is that?" asked Estallion.

"I won't take orders from any man who cannot beat me in a fight," he answered, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth in his wicked smile.

Estallion glanced up at Thibalt who was now standing with wide eyes. "Well there is only one way to settle this then," muttered Estallion.

The man rose from his chair and Thibalt now saw that he was even larger than he had originally thought. He stood two heads higher than Thibalt's own tall body and was almost twice as wide. The man's muscled arms were bulging out of his shirt and as he moved closer, Thibalt could swear he felt the ground tremble.

Thibalt moved back into the centre of the room and raised his fists. The men sitting in the tavern caught wind of what was happening and stopped their conversations to watch the fight.

"Don't worry, Thibalt. If he beats you I will find someone to carry you home," called Estallion from the table.

"That makes me feel a lot better," Thibalt called back sarcastically.

The large man stormed into the centre of the room, laughing deeply. Thibalt shook his head, realizing that this man was obviously enjoying this whole fiasco.

"Are you ready?" he snarled.

Thibalt, keeping his eyes on the man's arms, nodded and at once he found himself dodging the brute's giant fists. Each swing flew through the air with great accuracy and Thibalt was forced backwards to avoid the blows. With a quick sidestep, Thibalt managed to jab the man in the side with a powerful hit, but he barely flinched. The next thing he knew he was flying backwards as the man pounded him in the chest with a heavy blow. Thibalt hit the wooden floor hard, his breath flying out of him. He scrambled up as quickly as he could, holding his chest and coughing uncontrollably.

The man began to laugh once more and stopped to give Thibalt a chance to recover. Thibalt knew there was no way he would be able to overpower this brute, so he would have to find a way to disable him. Once his breath returned he ran straight at the man who braced himself for the impact, but at the last second Thibalt slid to the left and darted past the man.

Before the slower brute could turn, Thibalt had jumped up onto his back and wrapped his arm around the man's thick neck. He reached up and tried to pry Thibalt's arms away, but could not remove them. He then tried to grab Thibalt from behind, but had even less success. Thibalt continued to squeeze the breath from his attacker and slowly the giant man began to stagger.

In one last attempt, the man ran backwards into the wall causing Thibalt to almost black out in pain, but the effort was too much and within moments the giant man fell to his knees with a purple face. Thibalt removed his grip, allowing the man to breath and moved away. After several coughs and deep breaths the man rose and walked over to Thibalt. Thibalt braced himself for another attack, but instead the man raised his hand for Thibalt to shake. Thibalt took it and let out a sigh of relief.

"The name is Irrol. And my lifelong companion over there is Torrlan," he said.

"Thibalt Steelfist. And, if I may say, that is a hell of a punch you have," returned Thibalt, rubbing his sore muscles.

Irrol began to chuckle and moved back to the table. Estallion glanced over at Torrlan and spoke to him. "What's your deal? You have been awfully quiet."

"He can't speak, and he don't hear too well either," replied Irrol.

"Well what good is he to us then?" replied Thibalt.

In an instant Thibalt felt a sharp sting on his neck and moved his hand to find a long cut. He looked down at Torrlan who was holding a bunch of small knifes in his hand.

"He missed on purpose," said Irrol with a chuckle. "And just because he can't hear doesn't mean that he don't know what you're saying. Torrlan here has a knack for reading lips. A very handy skill at times."

Thibalt looked down at Estallion. "Maybe I can put you to use."

Thibalt told Irrol where to meet him in three days and left the tavern with Estallion. "Can we trust them?" he asked.

"Who knows," replied Estallion. "At this stage I would worry more about finding six people than their loyalty."

Further down the street their search resumed as Estallion picked another inn. It continued long into the night of the second day, yet they were unable to find any more recruits.

Returning home after a long day, doubts of finding four more men rose, with only one day remaining. "What am I going to do Estallion? We have looked in almost every tavern, inn and whorehouse in the city. Not one single mercenary has been willing to join me."

"Have faith. We will think of something," replied Estallion with his ever jovial smile.

The next morning Thibalt woke with the same dreadful feeling. He kissed Miera on the cheek then headed downstairs. Knocking on Estallion's door, he found it empty and went to the kitchen. He took a long drink of water and wandered around, but could not find his friend. "That's odd," he muttered to himself.

Hearing a knock on the front door, he moved back to the hall. But Harrinus had already left his room and, rubbing his tired eyes, had opened the entrance dressed only in his breeches.

Estallion walked in from outside followed by another man with greying hair and a thick beard. "I believe you're missing a shirt," said Estallion to Harrinus, who shrugged away the remark with a tired yawn.

Thibalt approached them as Harrinus returned to his room. "Where have you been?" he asked.

"Out and about," replied Estallion, with a wink. "I have found you a new recruit. Meet Robeld Horty."

Thibalt stared into the man's eyes and was surprised. "Oldus," he said remembering the face of the man standing before him.

The old storyteller whom Thibalt had paid for a story on the road from Andron to Precedin smiled. "That is a name I use on the road, Thibalt."

Thibalt eyed the man and realised that he looked completely different compared to the last time that they had met. The hunched stature and ancient look was replaced by one that showed strength. But it was Robeld's eyes that had made Thibalt realise that he had met this man before. They still held the same astute glaze that suggested wisdom. "You look so different," Thibalt commented.

"It is always good to put on an act when travelling alone. You never want others to know your true identity." Robeld replied with a suggestive smirk.

Thibalt knew he was referring to the fact that he had placed his Miirvkin upbringing at their last meeting.

Estallion, who was confused by the conversation, remained silent, scratching his chin.

"I used to be a tracker in the King's army until I retired five years ago. Had a go at farming and did not take kindly to it. I was in Precedin before it fell and saw you in a tavern yesterday. So when I heard Estallion talking about this job, I thought you might need a hand."

"That is good news," said Thibalt. He had felt a moment of apprehension towards Robeld, but it had passed. There was something about him that Thibalt found trustworthy. "If you could report to the garrison in the eastern quarter tomorrow morning I would be very grateful."

"You will see me there," replied Robeld.

"Where did you find him?" Thibalt asked Estallion.

"Why, he was the man who sold me this house," replied Estallion.

Thibalt fixed a questioning gaze on Robeld. This man's sudden appearance and help seemed too good to be true. "What has sparked this sudden bout of generosity?" he asked.

Robeld's sudden smile betrayed a hidden secret. After a small chuckle he held his hands up. "Very well, I might as well tell you," he began. "Your father is a very old friend of mine, Thibalt. We grew up together in the streets of Andron. When you and your brother left the ranch he asked me to follow you to ensure that you didn't run into any trouble. When your paths split I chose to follow you as you were heading east. Generally there is more chance of running into trouble on the eastern highway."

"How did you manage to follow me without drawing my attention?" wondered Thibalt.

"I wasn't a tracker in the King's army for show," he replied. "Though after I lost your whereabouts in Precedin, I picked up your trail in Dunhelm and followed you here. My family has owned this house for a very long time and sadly there are few of us left. As I have no further need for it, I thought that you could use the space."

"In that case I do not know how to show my thanks," responded Thibalt.

"Don't concern yourself. I owe your father more favours than I care to mention. It is the least that I can do... Now I must go, I have a few things to sort out before I join you," said Robeld, turning with a wave and heading down the busy street.

Thibalt was amazed. "What a mysterious man. I will have to remember to thank him again," said Thibalt.

Estallion stretched his muscles and slapped Thibalt on the back. "Well, only three left."

Thibalt closed his eyes with a cringe. He did not want to think about finding three more soldiers, but he had little choice. "Well, we had best make a move. It's going to be difficult to find three more willing men."

"It would be less difficult to find two," called a voice from the hallway.

Thibalt swung around to find Borrin standing against the door frame. "I want to join your squad, Thibalt," he announced. "I was going to join the army anyway."

"And what does your mother have to say about this?" queried Thibalt.

"I think that I would rather have him under your watchful eye than some rash commander," called Evelyn from the kitchen.

Thibalt smiled. Though an overarching concern for Borrin's safety played on his conscience, he knew that both Miera and Evelyn would sleep more soundly knowing that he could keep an eye on the young man. "Thank you Borrin. I will speak with you later tonight."

Borrin returned the smile and stepped away.

Estallion patted Thibalt on the back. "See, it won't be as difficult as you think."

Thibalt let out a grunt, showing he was less than confident and then walked out the door. They headed through the streets, working their way amongst the crowds, offering work to any man who looked fit enough for it. Most men replied with annoyed grumbles and groans, a few even threw punches for being bothered.

At midday Thibalt and Estallion moved into the market district in pursuit of a midday meal. Since the fall of Precedin, the crowds had grown uncontrollably and they were forced to push their way, often violently, through the throngs of people searching for food. The local guards that maintained order within the markets now hopelessly stood to the sides.

Passing a stall selling roasted spring lamb, Estallion impulsively sensed something out of the ordinary and moved to grab his purse. As he touched the small pouch on his belt he felt a thin hand and quickly took hold of the wrist. He swung around and found a small man that he was now holding tightly by the arm. He wore simple clothes, stained in many places, and had unkempt hair that had seen many nights without a wash. The rank odour leaking from the man caused Estallion to draw back in disgust.

"You little thief!" cursed Estallion. "Did you think that you were going to get away with that little sleight of hand? I know almost every thieving trick in the book."

The thief looked up at Estallion with loathing as Thibalt moved up to them. "Well I had to try. A man needs to eat," he replied in an uncouth, yet squeaky voice.

"Try working for your money rather than stealing it from the innocent," replied Thibalt.

"You think you know what it's like to live in the streets?" shot back the thief. "I live every day not knowin' whether today is the day I die or am thrown into prison. I've gone weeks without food and been beaten within an inch of my life. Don't tell me to work for money, I've been cast away by the gods."

"Then work for Captain Steelfist," replied Estallion, shaking the thief's wrist. "You want to be fed and clothed and have a dry straw bed to sleep on? Then work for the Captain."

The thief cast a suspicious look at them both. "You're trying to fool me."

"This is your last chance," said Estallion harshly. "Work for him or return to the streets to find your death among the rats."

The thief cast his eyes down. He looked as though he was about to curse, but then his shoulders slouched and his features turned resigned. "If you can guarantee me money...I'll work for you."

"What is your name thief? Or did your mother not deem you worthy of one?" asked Estallion harshly.

"Skiddle," he replied. "That's what they call me in the streets."

"Do you know where the garrison in the eastern block is?" shouted Estallion, shaking his wrist once more. Skiddle nodded hastily. "Then show up there tomorrow morning. If you're not there I will comb this city to find you, and when I do, believe me that you will wish you had been thrown into prison."

Estallion let go of the man's wrist and pushed him back into the crowd. They watched him run off down a side street and disappear into an alley.

"Will he show up?" asked Thibalt.

"I am sure of it," replied Estallion. "A man that desperate will not give up a chance to get some warm food and shelter."

"Yet can we trust him?"

"That's not my problem, Captain," Estallion replied smugly.

Thibalt rolled his eyes and followed Estallion to the stall where the irresistible aroma of lamb called to them. They continued their search throughout the day, scouring every inch of the city.

By nightfall, Thibalt once again grew disgruntled and was ready to give up. Realizing the futility in continuing their search, they both trudged back home and entered the house solemnly. Miera guided them to a feast of pork and bread in the dining room and left Estallion, Thibalt and Borrin to talk amongst themselves.

"Well that is it. I have only five men," said Thibalt with annoyance in his voice.

After a long silence Estallion spoke. "Well my good friend, I thought this might happen. So there is obviously only one thing to do."

"What are you thinking? Give up and try our hand at pottery?" replied Thibalt plainly.

Estallion grinned. "Now that would be something...What I actually meant is that I will have to join your squad."

Thibalt looked up hopefully. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course," replied Estallion. "I could not let my friends charge into battle without me by their side. What would have happened to you at the ruins of Gastonile had I not been there?"

"But you told Harrinus that you would not fight."

"I told Harrinus that I would not become a captain. I never said that I would not fight. But there is one condition." Thibalt's face turned wary. "I will have to be your second in command."

Thibalt smiled. It seemed as though he had managed to find six recruits. And with Estallion at his side he felt slightly more confident of his ability be succeed. He raised his cup of wine along with Borrin and Estallion and let out a cheer. "To Steelfist's men. Let them be merry and drink whilst life is still simple."

The swirling cloud of smoke filled the room with a thick spicy odour that stained the heavy furs and blankets covering most of the furniture in the room. A large table, littered with empty bottles and long forgotten parchments, stood solemnly in its centre, accompanied by a dark wooden chair that was occupied by the mansion's owner. With each puff of the pipe, the pale man sent a new stream of tobacco smoke flying into the air to mingle with the already overpowering cloud enveloping him.

A strange sound, much like the rustling of fallen leaves in a cold wind, sounded in the room and the figure looked up to find the most powerful man in Kovi standing before him.

"You are late," said the seated man in a coarse, sickly voice.

Zephra lowered his gaze and stared with tight eyes at the seated man. "I arrive when I see fit, Baldoroff. Remember that I am doing you a favour by attending this meeting."

King Afhill Baldoroff tried to cast a defiant look at Zephra, but held his comments to himself. He was in no position to show the ruler of the army at his doorstep any disrespect. Zephra moved over to a shabby chair and let out a shudder. "Why in the name of the gods do you not keep a fire lit in this place?" he snarled. "These northern wastes are too cold even for Dargonian blood."

Baldoroff began to laugh, but soon let out a rough cough as his chest flared with pain. "Auldney may be a cold land. But it is where you will find the true men of this world."

Zephra did not seem to take notice of Baldoroff's comment as he took a seat. He kept his eyes focused on the scarred and sickly face of the King of northern Feldom. "I see the rumours are true," he said.

Baldoroff shifted his eyes from Zephra's piercing gaze and tapped out the tobacco from his pipe. "Yes. They say that there is something eating the inside of my chest. If I am lucky I will survive two more years. If not...the disciples say I will not see more than nine months," Baldoroff replied, suddenly slamming his fist into the table. "Nine months, Zephra. What kind of cruelty have the gods bestowed upon me?"

"You are a heartless and egotistical oppressor," replied Zephra. "You are receiving what you deserve."

"This from a man who is feared by all of the people on this world," spat back Baldoroff.

"I may be feared," returned Zephra. "But I reward my loyal servants and will bring my own people to greatness. I do not throw my kin away, to rot in prison over stealing a loaf of bread."

The hair on Baldoroff's neck began to rise in chagrin. "I rule how I see fit. Punishment will be dealt out to those that deserve it and no mercy will be shown to anyone. That is the how a true king rules."

"A true king would have taken Feldom for himself by now," said Zephra. "Because of your weakness you now find yourself cornered by two armies. Your allies are running thin, Afhill. Will Larthstone and Polthney stand by you if Dieter Castaneda declares that Auldney is an enemy of Feldom?"

Sinking his heavy head into his hands, Baldoroff let out a long frustrated breath. He knew that Zephra was toying with him, but he was reaching the end of his endurance. There was not much more that he could do to stop his city from being torn apart.

"Now, now. Do not give up," said Zephra in a mockingly melodic tone. "I know why you asked to see me and I may be able to help you keep your people alive."

"What is to stop you from taking Auldney? You claimed Precedin as your own."

Zephra folded his arms across his chest casually. "There is no doubt that I could take this city as I have the mighty city of war," he said derisively. "But what would that get me? Just another piece of land and an empty castle to add to my growing collection. There are much more useful things that Auldney could do for me. If I kept it in the hands of men who are loyal to me."

A scraping cough left Baldoroff's dry mouth. "You wish to form an alliance then?" he muttered, with a glimmer of hope in his eye.

"A truce is what you seek," replied Zephra through narrow eyes. "I seek to dictate your activities to ensure that your resources are used to my advantage. And once I have cleansed every inch of this world, I might just consider allowing your people to live."

The defiant character in Baldoroff urged him to retaliate against Zephra, but he knew that this was the best offer he was going to get. It was his firm belief that Feldom was living out its last days and only one side was going to win this war. "I would still have power to govern over my own people?" he asked through a demoralized voice.

"As far as I am concerned you can send as many of your own people to their death as you wish," replied Zephra.

"And what would I be doing for you?"

Zephra's mouth twisted into a grin. "Oh, I will not ask much of you. Simply keep your forces locked away in your castle and away from my men. And if I ask for supplies you will send them to me with no questions asked."

Baldoroff wiped his sticky forehead and wondered how he was managing to sweat on one of the coldest days in months. As much as he did not want to give in to Zephra's demands, this was the only way that he could secure his dreams. "If I do this for you, you will keep your armies away from the North?"

"Auldney, Larthstone and Polthney will be considered part of my empire," replied Zephra with a fake proud gesture.

Baldoroff nodded reluctantly. "Very well Zephra. This deal I accept."

"You had no choice in the matter."

"And what should I do about Castaneda's ultimatum?" asked Baldoroff. "He has threatened to attack Auldney if I do not swear my allegiance to his bloodline."

"How will he manage this if my army stands in his way? You will send a reply to Dieter Castaneda telling him that the creation of the nation of Durraas is inevitable. The separation of the northern cities from Feldom will be my final punishment to Dieter before I come to the City of Skiye and rip his head from his shoulders."

Baldoroff began to cough violently, but once he had recovered he held a dark grin on his face. "Then let us shake on it."

Zephra rose from his seat, moved up to the table and passed slowly behind Baldoroff's chair. Afhill felt a shiver crawl through his body as Zephra walked by and was frightened by the ghostly aura that emanated from the King of Dargon. He had never felt such a mind numbing sense of fear and he looked up with a face full of horror. "W...What are you?" he stuttered.

"I am Zephra, the future ruler of this world," he replied slowly and with a wave of his hands he was gone, leaving only a cloud of black mist in his wake.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

### DUATHNIN

The rays of sunshine worked their way amongst the leaves to finally fall on Christill's face. He opened his eyes slowly and let out a yawn. Once again they had slept past sunrise and the damp blanket of night was slowly melting away as the sun's warmth returned to the land. Looking around he noticed to the south that the grass had begun to fade to yellow. Dievu had warned him that the next two days were going to be uncomfortable. They were to pass through close to thirty miles of arid plains, Nyrune's last warning to those who would dare approach Karmena unwelcome.

After a quick breakfast, they once again mounted up and returned to the road that would lead them to the Misty Forest. By midday they had passed into the warmer lands. To take his mind from the weather, Christill had once again begun to probe Dievu with questions. And to his surprise he was yet to find a question Dievu could not answer.

"You should have no trouble in the Academy of Nyrune," remarked Dievu as they paused to take a drink from their skins. "You catch on quicker than most students, and though you may not like to hear it, the teachers you had in Miirvk have taught you a great deal."

It did in fact pain Christill to think of Miirvk, but he had to admit that the Disciple and his aides had indeed taught him well. "Learning about Feldom and the other nations was the only thing that kept me going in that wasteland. I spent much of my free time pouring over the limited scrolls and books on the world outside of Miirvk."

"And it is a good thing that you did," commented Dievu. "With the amount of knowledge that you have already accumulated, you will be able to advance through the Academy at great speed. I suspect that within a few months, with a lot of hard work, you will be able to join the students close to your age."

Christill closed his water skin and urged Polthus forward. "How long do student usually study for?"

"Seven to eight years," replied Dievu casually. Christill's eyes widened at the thought. "But do not worry. You already know most of the things that students would learn in their first six years. The one area in which you lack knowledge is that of the magical world."

"So will I be able to join sixth year students straight away?" asked Christill eagerly.

Dievu smiled knowingly. "That is up to the council. I may recommend it if I see fit, but in the end the Elders will decide. Remember that sixth year students are the first to begin to use magic. At the end of their fifth year, students speak with Nyrune and those whom she deems worthy are given the power to wield the energies of Teefarrnur."

"And what happens to the others?"

"They leave the Academy," replied Dievu calmly.

Christill swallowed through a lump in his throat. He had not considered what would happen if he was not able to become a disciple. What if Nyrune looked into his heart and saw the anger and fear that he still ran through his veins? Would he ever be able to forget the past and forgive those he hated so much? Keeping his thoughts to himself, Christill rode on down the road silently.

After two days of solid riding a vast shadow emerged in the distance. Barely visible at first, Christill thought that a great storm was brewing to the south. As they made their way further down the highway it became apparent to him that he was looking upon Karmena. "The Misty Forest," he whispered.

"Correct," answered Dievu. "The largest forest in the known world."

"Have we left Feldom yet?"

"You could say so," replied Dievu. "You will not find any Feldonian settlements this close to Karmena. Most of the farmers stay closer to Royal Lake, especially since this last stretch of the highway is inhospitable to most livestock or horses."

They camped at the side of the road that night and woke early the next morning to set off once more. As the day progressed the forest grew larger and larger until soon Christill could see it in its entirety, with the sun gleaming off the top of the thick canopy. All manner of trees stood side by side so densely that it appeared that one would barely fit in between them. "I have never seen many of these trees," said Christill, trying to comprehend his surroundings.

"The Misty Forest contains every type of tree, flower, shrub, weed and fungus that exist. All in one place," pointed out Dievu.

"How is that possible? I thought that different plants and trees need certain forms of weather and nourishment to survive."

"Outside of Karmena this is true, but within the borders of the Misty Forest, Nyrune gives life to all. It is a monument to all of the goddess's creations and it has been so since the dawn of man."

Christill could not contain the feeling of wonder within him and he suddenly longed to enter the forest. He rammed his feet into Polthus's flanks and set off at a run towards the forest. Dievu followed suit and caught up to him quickly, laughing at Christill's enthusiasm. After a long sprint they finally reached the true border of Feldom and Karmena.

Christill peered into the dark forest and his smile quickly faded. It was not as he had imagined and he shuddered as though a cold wave had hit him. The forest was so dark and threatening, with twisted trees and dangerous looking plants tangled over the ground. A blackness so profound that Christill could barely see amongst the thick trunks filled the forest menacingly.

Dievu observed the look of apprehension in Christill and moved towards him. "Focus your eyes on the beauty of the forest. Know in your heart that it will not harm you and that you will not harm it. Only then will you see its true form."

At first Christill was puzzled, but catching Dievu's stern face, he peered once more into the forest. After a while he found a single red flower lying in amongst the trees and wondered at how he had missed it before. Abruptly he noticed that the forest was filled with flowers of all shapes and sizes and that colourful mosses were growing around the twisted branches of the beech and fir trees. He fixed his thoughts on the beauty of the forest and discarded any beliefs he had about coming to harm within the woods. Slowly the darkness dissipated and in its place was a soft green glow that seemed to come from the plants themselves.

Christill gasped.

Before him now lay the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A garden of vibrant colour and shape with every plant and flower that he could have ever imagined. What had moments ago appeared dangerous and unforgiving, was now alive with the sights and sounds of nature's wonders.

Christill could barely believe his eyes and he turned to Dievu and whispered, "How is this possible?"

"It is one of Nyrune's methods of stopping unwanted intruders from entering her domain. All those with impure thoughts will never see the forest in its true form and will eventually become lost within the dark maze that you first saw," replied Dievu.

Christill followed Dievu into the forest and slowly they made their way along a woodland trail, barely wide enough to fit one horse. The journey seemed to pass by in seconds for Christill who could not keep his eyes off the forest around him. "This is by far the greatest wonder of this world," he uttered under his breath.

Time passed and he noticed the small patches of sky visible through the bulky canopy of trees growing darker, yet the forest itself remained illuminated by a faint green glow. He sat in silence for the remainder of the trip, content to bask in the beauty of the forest until Dievu stopped his horse and began to speak into the forest.

"Dievu Ilphuki returns to Duathnin. I have been gone too long from the goddess's domain," he spoke.

Christill sat quietly peering into the trees ahead. He could not see anyone, nor did he hear a reply, but after a while Dievu continued and Christill urged Polthus to follow.

"Who were you talking to?" Christill risked asking.

"The guardians of Karmena," replied Dievu. "One day you will learn to see them, but for now you can remain content with the knowledge that these lands are well protected."

Christill searched the forest for any unusual signs, but found none. He wondered how many of Dievu's brethren they had passed on the long trip without him noticing and came to realize that it would be near impossible to make it into Duathnin without a Karmanian guide.

Finally as the stars appeared in the sky above, Duathnin came into view. They passed into a large clearing in the forest where hundreds of wooden and stone buildings stood amongst the trunks of giant oaks. As they moved amongst the buildings, many Karmanians turned to stare at Christill. He made note that most of the Karmanians wore simple clothes, in mostly simple tones and all stood at least six feet tall. Yet their most distinguishing feature remained their mesmerising eyes that seemed to shift colour with the light.

The city itself was unlike those that he had seen in Feldom. There were no paved streets and no visible structure to the way in which buildings were placed. It was almost as though the houses had been built wherever seemed easiest. Other than that, Christill did not feel that the Karmanian architecture was vastly different to that in Feldom.

"Follow me Christill," ordered Dievu. "I will take you straight to the Council. I will need to report to them."

Christill motioned for him to lead the way, but once again felt a lump in his throat. He had not expected to see the Council of Elders so soon and now his palms grew clammy with sweat. They rode past house after house, most of them single story buildings made primarily of wood with a stone chimney, and eventually a large structure came to view in the eastern end of the city. At first Christill thought he was looking upon an enormous oak tree, but as they drew near he realised it was in fact a building made to resemble a tree. It was made of large stone chunks and covered in vines and overgrowth that gave it an earthy appearance. Halfway up, the structure forked in two, to resemble an oak that had branched off into two separate trunks.

"Inside here lies the Shrine of Nyrune and part of the Academy," said Dievu as he dismounted.

Christill slid from Polthus' back and followed Dievu through the large door at the front of the building. They entered a well decorated hall that held numerous doorways on either side. Men and women passed hurriedly from door to door carrying piles of parchment and looking flustered. They had entered the building during an exceptionally busy time. Dievu motioned for Christill to keep up and headed towards the far end of the hall where a large double door stood closed. Dievu reached the door and knocked three times. After a moment the doors opened and they passed through.

Christill was once again amazed as he walked into the large circular room. The floor of the room was painted to resemble the constellations of the sky with silver jewels worked into the surface to represent the stars. On the roof was a splendid depiction of the symbol of Nyrune, a falling droplet of water with an open eye inside it. On the other side of the room sat seven figures in spectacular hand carved thrones, all garbed in green robes that were decorated with fine stitching and gems.

Dievu bowed low to the ground and Christill did his best to copy. They then approached the Council of Elders and stopped in the centre of the room. Christill heard the double doors close loudly and turned to see that no one else was in the room. The circular walls around them were covered in creepers and vines giving the room a natural finish and fragrance.

"Nyrune bless you all. It has been some time since I have sat in council with the rulers of Karmena," announced Dievu in greeting. Some of the Elders nodded, most remained stationary. "There is much I have to discuss with you, but first there is a matter that I would like to deal with."

Christill noticed several of the Elders now staring at him and shifted his eyes to the floor timidly.

"I have brought with me a young man whom I wish to enter into the Academy," continued Dievu.

An elderly man with wrinkled skin and bushy grey eyebrows, sitting in the centre of the Elders, responded to Dievu's request. "Who is this young man that you have brought with you?" he asked in a slow and powerful voice.

"His name is Christill Greyspell," replied Dievu, who then proceeded to retell Christill's tale to the Council. Christill felt slightly taken aback that Dievu had managed to sum up his whole life into a few short minutes, but said nothing of it. Once Dievu had finished his speech the council members began to speak quietly amongst themselves.

A woman seated left of the first speaker was the first to address them. "It is rare that the Council permits an outsider to enter the Academy. There have only been seven in recorded history to be allowed this privilege," she said in an awkwardly high voice. Christill found her odd in appearance, with a large pointed nose and extremely long black hair. Her strange voice only added to her peculiarity.

"But there can be no doubt that he is a Valiant," responded Dievu.

"There are many Valiant that live their lives without turning to the ways of magic, Dievu," replied the odd woman. "Why should we now grant this young man a privilege that is given only to the most honoured men and woman?"

"I have seen Christill's past and travelled great distances with him. I know that he has it within himself to become a virtuous disciple. One to rival the greatest of our time," argued Dievu. "Look into his mind and you will see what I have."

The elderly man that had first spoken called for Christill to step forward. "I am Kiril Poth," he announced. "This is Velski Ionin head of the Academy of Nyrune," he motioned to the strange woman with long black hair. "On my other side sits Dietrue Lithue," he said pointing to a slim man with plain features and a distinctly uninterested look on his face.

Kiril Poth continued to introduce the rest of the council members to Christill and he nodded to each of them as they were called. On the left side sat Bithi Oppos, a round man sporting a large bald patch in the midst of his wispy brown hair, and a lady called Yhu Fileith who had substantially darker skin than the rest of the members. Next to Velski on Kiril's right sat the blonde haired Vischia Iminuss and her cousin Sielvu Suifi who had dark marks under his eyes and a look of disgust on his face. Christill noticed that both Vischia and Sielvu did not return his greetings and instead shot sharp glares at him.

"You now know who we are. Perhaps we can learn something about you?" continued Kiril. He then slowly raised his hand and allowed a stream of magic to float over to Christill's head. "Do you give us permission to look into your mind?" he asked.

Christill nodded. He knew that the experience would be painful, but had no choice if he wished to gain their blessing.

Kiril twisted his fingers and the magic entered Christill's ears. Christill's vision slowly faded and he found himself re-living the events of the past. Images of his childhood and his time in Feldom flashed by and around him he could hear soft voices speaking. Finally he saw two men standing over him menacingly and the image burned his eyes. He screamed loudly and found himself back in the council room with the Elders now staring at him sympathetically. Christill rubbed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his face.

"You have seen tough times, Christill," said Velski compassionately, breaking the silence. "Tell us, who were the two men that you were so afraid of?"

"I was not afraid of them," blurted Christill. "I was only shocked, that is all."

"You cannot hide the truth from us," replied the Elder named Yhu. "If you admit to your fears you will be able to conquer them. Trying to hide from them will only make matters worse." She let out a little giggle after speaking which confused Christill.

"The boy clearly has a history of keeping secrets and being disrespectful to his superiors. He would be a nuisance in the Academy," Sielvu pointed out.

"It was the disciple Novokai and an assassin named Rhucia...my captors," said Christill defiantly. His frustration at being treated like a child was growing rapidly. "And you know nothing of what I have been through. You may have seen my life when you looked into my mind, but you will never know what it felt like to be there."

Kiril Poth raised his hand for silence. "Christill, the life of a student in the Academy is not a pleasant one. They spend every waking hour working to become a disciple and many of them fail to cope with the pressure. Do you think that you will be able to spend the next eight years in the Academy?"

Christill opened his mouth to speak but Dievu interrupted him. "Christill's knowledge is well beyond most young men his age. This Miirvkin disciple did well in teaching him, despite his obvious hatred of the boy. I believe that Christill has the knowledge to skip straight to his sixth year."

A few of the Council members began to argue and Kiril Poth raised his hands once more for silence. "The boy may have the knowledge Dievu, but is his mind ready to take the test?"

"I believe that I am ready," said Christill loudly.

Vischia replied with a sceptical look. "You honestly feel that you are ready to speak with the great goddess and ask her for the right to wield magic?"

"I do," answered Christill, trying his best to keep his voice steady and strong.

"This we cannot allow," said Velski shaking her head slightly. "It would be a dishonour to Nyrune if we were to allow him to speak with her without further knowledge of his skills."

"Then it is done," pronounced Sielvu. "The boy will not be allowed to join the Academy."

Christill's spirit sank, but Velski raised her hand and spoke once more in a flustered tone. "You did not let me finish. Dievu has served us for a long time and has never asked us for anything in return. If he believes that the boy should be trained, then we should give Christill a chance."

"What do you propose?" asked Bithi, speaking for the first time. Christill noted that the fat man seemed to care little for what was actually going on in the council and constantly cast vexed looks at those seated next to him. He then noticed that the Elder named Dietrue had still not spoken and was still sitting in silence. Yet his uninterested look had passed and he was watching the meeting intently, taking in everything with keen interest.

"I propose that we test Christill. If he passes, then we will allow him to speak to Nyrune," replied Velski to Bithi's question.

Kiril looked around and saw that most of the council members agreed, with the exception of Sielvu who was shaking his head in outrage, and Dietrue who was simply staring at Christill.

"Then we will test the boy. Make your way to the Academy tomorrow morn and Velski will do what she can to decide whether you have the knowledge and skills required to speak with Nyrune."

Christill let his shoulders relax. He was going to get a chance to prove himself. He was not going to fail.

* * *

Letting the book fall to the floor, Christill moved from the desk and fell ungracefully onto the bed. His new quarters in the Academy where small but adequate as he spent little time in them. They held a small desk, piled with books, an ordinary bed and a small chest to keep his clothes.

The Council's test had taken nine days and Christill's relief was immense now that they were finally over. Dievu had approached him at the end of the final day to congratulate him on a spectacular performance. Each day they had probed him with questions that fifth year students would have known and asked him to perform tasks that they would have completed in their earlier years. The Elders were astonished at Christill's depth of knowledge and ability to perform the non-magical tasks to a high standard.

Finally at the end of the ninth day the Council agreed that he had the required skills necessary to speak with Nyrune and, with Dievu's help, Christill was given permission to speak with the goddess.

Now Christill lay on his bed waiting for the moment that Dievu would knock on his door to take him to the Shrine of Nyrune. The last week had passed so quickly that Christill had had little time to worry about what he would actually say once he found himself face to face with Nyrune. Apprehension brewed in his mind and he felt the familiar sensation of fluttering in his stomach that came with it.

Then came a gentle knock on the door and Dievu stepped into his room. Christill sat up quickly and noticed that his former master was wearing a silken gown of green and purple hues and upon his head rested a silver circlet fashioned to resemble a band of leaves.

"Are you ready, Christill?"

Despite his anxiety, he nodded and rose from the bed. Dievu handed him a plain green robe which he quickly wrapped around his body and then they moved out of the Academy and into the garden that led to the shrine itself. As they walked through the enchanting garden, full of the sweet scent of flowers, Christill began to have second thoughts. Now that he reflected on what he was about to do, he truly realized how daunting the task ahead was. The oak shaped building came into view. Now there was no turning back. They were mere footsteps from the entrance.

Dievu led Christill up the stairs that led to the back entrance of the building. Here a guard opened the door and allowed Christill to pass through the portal. They then walked through a labyrinth of corridors until finally coming to a large open room decorated with rich tapestries and banners. In here they found Kiril, Sielvu and Velski waiting for them in front of one of the most wondrous doors Christill had ever set eyes on. Carvings of forest animals and flowers, that had been masterfully painted, were etched into its middle, and around its frame lay studded jewels that glimmered in the candlelight.

"This is your final chance to turn away, Christill," announced Kiril.

Christill shook his head firmly. "I wish to continue."

Kiril nodded and stepped away from the door. Velski cleared her voice and spoke next. "If you enter this room and are successful, you are pledging yourself to the Academy. We will have the power to make decisions for you and if necessary punish you."

"I accept the guidance of the Academy," said Christill, rehearsing what he had been told to say by Dievu.

Velski moved from the door allowing Sielvu to speak. "Listen carefully," he said in a harsh tone. "When you enter the shrine you will walk along the path to its centre. Do not stray from the path at any stage. In the centre of the shrine you will find a small bottle. Sit down and take one sip from this bottle. Do not take more than one sip, for then you shall die," Christill's heart began to flutter. "You will then find yourself fading from this plane and it is at this moment that you must call out to the goddess. Do you understand?"

Christill nodded and replied, "I do."

Sielvu cast a final antagonistic look at Christill and then stepped aside. Christill let out a long breath then moved towards the door. He slowly pushed it open. Once he had stepped through, the door closed behind him and he let out gasp. The shrine was not what he had imagined. Around him, the room was filled with flowers, plants and shrubs, all glistening with moisture. A path made of smooth pebbles led to a small patch of grass sitting before a large tree that was a replica of the building itself. Now that Christill thought on it, the building must have been built around the shrine and in turn fashioned to resemble the strange tree that grew in its centre.

He began to make his way slowly along the path. Looking up he saw that the room had no roof and that the stars shone brightly in the night sky above. He would never be able to fully describe the shrine to anyone who had not seen it with their own eyes. He finally came to the small patch of grass and found on it a glass bottle filled with a murky blue liquid. Christill sat down gently and looked up at the tree that rose up to the sky in front of him. A fluorescent orange light was emanating from a patch on the tree's trunk. Christill leaned in and saw that the glow came from an odd fur that was growing around a carving in the tree. It was too hard to make out though, as the fur had obscured most of the carving.

This is it, he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, Christill picked up the bottle and took a sip of the blue liquid. The taste was absolutely horrendous and as it passed down his throat he felt as though his insides were melting away. He clutched at his chest and began to cough violently. The liquid settled in his stomach and cramps ran through him, nearly causing him to faint. Then with one final pulsating cramp Christill felt the liquid move through his body up into his head and turn into a numb throbbing. Christill opened his watery eyes and now saw the orange fur on the tree glowing intensely. Even though his eyes were watery from the pain, he could now make out the carving; it was Nyrune's symbol. The droplet of water was no longer obscured, but clearly outlined by the exotic orange mould.

He did not have long to think on it as his head began to pulsate painfully. Each throb caused him anguish and he felt himself losing his grip on reality. Then he was gripped by fear. He knew what this feeling was. He had felt it once before, and that time he had died.

Christill's heart began to beat with fury and the throbbing in his skull kept pace. Had he been betrayed by the Karmanians? Was it their plan to kill him all along? These questions raced through Christill's mind as he felt himself passing from life once more. The last time that this had happened Dievu had just managed to bring Christill back from the dead. But Dievu would not be able to help him now. Then the pain became too much to handle and with one final breath he called out, "Nyrune!"

The forest sprang to life and in an instant the three unlikely companions were surrounded by soldiers dressed in thick brown leathers and carrying long wooden staffs. One of the soldiers moved away from the tree he had just leapt from and approached the lead figure. Then, seeing who was standing before him, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"My lord," said the Karmanian Guardsman, bowing respectfully. He glanced warily at the two Dargonians behind the figure and said "We received no word that you were coming this way."

Mandigal removed his hand from the hilt at his side and let out a low breath. "That is good news, for if the guardians of the forest do not know where I have been, then there is little chance that anyone else does."

"We are but the protectors of the Karmanian people, the true guardians of this forest have not been seen for many weeks," replied the Guardsman.

"This is strange news indeed," said Mandigal distractedly. "Your race has ever been close with the Kala. It is not in their nature to keep to themselves for such a long time."

"We have the same worries as you, my lord. The Kala share this land with us and though we keep to our separate parts of the forest, we have always protected its borders together. Now things have changed. It may be that they sense something that we have failed to."

Mandigal nodded. "That may be. Now tell me, has Kilthies Numinites returned to Karmena?"

"You are in luck, the Blades arrive in Hiethris as we speak. It is but five miles from here."

"Then I must make haste and reach the city before nightfall," replied Mandigal.

The guardsman bowed once more and let out a slow whistle. Around him the remaining soldiers turned and melded back into the forest to their secret hiding spots. The guardsman saluted and, after casting one final suspicious look at the Honour Guard's companions, he disappeared.

Mandigal turned to Friedrich and Vrill and warned them, "Stay right behind me and keep up. If you move from this track you will be killed. Remember that you are still enemies of the Alliance."

Friedrich nodded, but Vrill simply stared at Mandigal in disgust. They set off, following a small trail that was barely distinguishable from the surrounding forest floor.

After three long hours they reached the Karmanian city of Hiethris. The city was built in and amongst the forest with no proper roads or visible structure. Stone houses and sturdy wooden cabins stood amongst the mighty trunks of oaks and gum. Creepers and tangled roots covered everything in a mesh of green and red. Mandigal led the two boys through to the back of the city where the buildings grew larger.

Four and five story structures dominated the area, rising above the tops of many smaller trees and it was soon clear to Friedrich and Vrill that Hiethris was a town that had seen much fighting. Many buildings still held the marks of previous structural damage, yet each was built to withstand an attack, with high windows, thin openings and easily blockaded entrances.

Mandigal walked into a tall building that was busy with soldiers entering and exiting rooms. Friedrich and Vrill followed him in and received several uneasy stares from the tall warriors. The hall that they stepped into was the main chamber of the city's garrison and they watched as Mandigal embraced the arm of a tall Karmanian who wore his hair in five tails behind his head. A second man then approached, this one bald with decorative tattoos on his face.

Mandigal motioned for the boys to join them and introduced his two companions. "Kilthies and Fliethu." Friedrich and Vrill nodded in unison.

"So this is Aldan's son," said Kilthies, inspecting Friedrich. "Was your trip successful then?"

Mandigal shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know. Aldan is weaker than I originally thought. His fear of Zephra stops him from doing what he knows to be right." Friedrich clenched his fist at the scorning of his father, but held back any retaliation. "What news from Feldom?" asked Mandigal.

Fliethu lowered his eyes and Kilthies responded in a low voice. "Precedin has fallen. We found the city in ruins with the dead being burnt upon a great pyre. Zephra's foul banner was mounted on the Guardhouse of Oril."

Mandigal stood in silence, his expression hard to read, and after a long moment he asked. "Has the attack begun on any other cities?"

Kilthies was surprised that Mandigal was not more distraught about the loss of Precedin, but simply answered, "None of the eastern cities have been assaulted yet. Our spies track all of Zephra's forces moving into Precedin. He seeks to make the city a base from which to conduct his campaign."

"Zephra's arrogance may buy us the time that we need to marshal the armies of the West. He is too confident in his ability to take Feldom. He will wait until his full might is assembled at Precedin. Then he will march into the Kingdom."

"The only other army we have located was seen marching out of Carnaic two weeks past," added Fliethu.

"Where are they headed?" asked Mandigal.

"Right here," replied Fliethu. "Close to a thousand strong, they come with axes and fire to lay siege to the gateway of Karmena."

"And what of Nyrune's barrier? Is her protection still absent from the forest?" queried Mandigal.

"We can still feel her magic flowing through the land, but she does not stop those who are unwelcome from passing into the forest," said Fliethu. "The illusions are still in place, but there is nothing physically stopping intruders from entering the forest. We can make no sense of it. To add to the troubles, the Kala no longer guard the boundaries of our land. Wolves and other wild beasts are entering the forest and killing the peaceful creatures inside. We cannot be everywhere at once. We must focus on keeping Dargon's armies at bay before we can deal with these other troubles."

"These are dire tidings you give me Fliethu. I had hoped that Karmena would be a safe haven from which we could launch counter attacks on Zephra's forces. Now it seems as though Nyrune's domain is no safer than the fields of Feldom," said Mandigal, rubbing his chin absentmindedly. "When was the last time that you heard from the Kala?"

"A group of Elders went to the Kala caves to speak with their leader three weeks ago. Ever since then we have lost contact with them," replied Kilthies.

"What happened in that meeting?"

Both Kilthies and Fliethu shrugged their shoulders. "The Blades have been at odds with the Council for quite some time now, Mandigal. We serve the people of Karmena and the goddess Nyrune. We no longer feel that the Elders work in favour of our brethren," said Fliethu.

"Then it would interest you to know I was warned of treachery within the Council by Aldan," said Mandigal quietly.

"I have had my own misgivings about some of the Elders as of late," responded Kilthies. "If I were to point the finger, I would say that Bithi's allegiance has been compromised. Else, I would place the blame with Sielvu or Yhu."

"This is the very reason that I have come to Karmena. I must try to reveal this traitor and do so quickly, as I am sure that Errollan will need my help soon."

"I think that you should know that the Council forbade me and the Blades from going to Queen Triel's aid. We went against their orders and did what we felt to be right. Do not expect a warm welcome when you arrive in Duathnin," mentioned Kilthies.

"Had you not come to our aid Kilthies, we would have surely failed and the Queen would now be rotting in a dank cell in Zephra's dungeon," pointed out Mandigal.

"I must say goodbye, there are many preparations to be made before we ourselves are weighed down by Zephra's forces," Kilthies finished.

Mandigal offered his thanks. "Before I leave for Duathnin I must send word to Errollan. I have this message for him. Hopefully you will find a swift rider to carry it to the City of Skiye." Kilthies agreed and motioned for Mandigal to give him the message. "Errollan must know that I will not be returning to Feldom as soon as he had anticipated. I leave it to him and Ludvic to do whatever is necessary to ensure that Feldom is prepared for the moment when Dargon marches out of Precedin. It is important that he understands that he must do whatever is necessary. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mandigal," replied Kilthies. "Rest assured that your message will reach him."

"Then I wish you luck, my friends. Let us hope that we will see each other again."

Fliethu embraced Mandigal's arm and walked off. Mandigal turned to lead Friedrich and Vrill out of the building.

A myriad of colours exploded in front of Christill's eyes and he found himself spiralling through a tunnel of silver. Dazzling lights flashed around him, mixing with swirls of gold that streamed through the air. Around him a terrible screeching filled the tunnel and he clutched his head to numb the pain. Finally the tunnel opened up and he fell hard onto a soft grassy carpet. The pain was gone, now replaced by a soft numbness throughout his body.

Christill looked up and found he was in a mystifying forest that stretched out in all directions. The sky above was a pale shade of blue and green and as he stared at the trees he found that they were difficult to focus on, as though their position was shifting with every passing moment. He warily stood up, his head spinning slightly. A strange feeling of helplessness then filled his heart and he became afraid of his surroundings. The very air around him was supernatural and Christill realized that he was no longer in Karmena.

A voice then called out his name.

Christill turned with a fright to see the most beautiful woman that he had ever laid eyes on. She stood naked before him on the soft grass with her long black hair flowing freely down her back and bosom. He gazed into her eyes and found himself feeling unworthy and insignificant. Her eyes glowed with power and her feminine shape shimmered in the air like the trees surrounding them.

He slowly let out a whisper, "Nyrune."

"Son of Skiye," said a calm and melodic voice that seemed to fill the air around him. "Power is only given to the great. One seeks what One has seen, ever longing for more."

Christill watched the goddess move gracefully towards him. She stopped within arms length and raised her hand to his forehead. After a breath she said, "Troubles are countless, where cheers are few."

"I don't understand," he replied in a weak voice.

"One was cast away by my brethren," she continued. "A mind made of troubles could lead to a false path...Yet worthiness I see in One. Will One follow my decree?"

Christill stood silent for long moments trying to decipher her speech, then answered, "I will do anything that you ask of me."

"I ask only for justice, symbiosis and reverence. One's path will follow my words."

Christill bowed forward, but as he did a terrible noise, louder than he had imagined possible, filled the forest and the ground beneath him trembled. His knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, landing hard on his shoulder. The noise subsided and the floor ceased trembling. He stood back up. "What was that?"

The goddess turned her gaze to him, her face carrying a look of wonder. Then suddenly her features returned to a peaceful state and she continued. "Can One quench the troubles of long ago...Perhaps a trial for the worthy."

Christill was utterly confused. Had she caused that tremor? And what was that horrible noise that had almost burst his ears? He opened his mouth to ask a question but Nyrune had vanished from sight. He turned around and scanned the forest, she was nowhere to be seen. Then he caught sight of something that sent his heart racing.

Storming out of the trees came the Disciple of Hamal, the mask of anger on his face harsher than ever. He trod closer, each step crushing the ground beneath him. Then to his left, Christill spotted Novokai stepping out from behind a tree with a malicious grin splitting his face in half. To his right another figure emerged, this one drawing out a sense of guilt in Christill.

He stepped backwards slowly, his heart pounding violently and sweat beading on every inch of his body. Novokai, the Disciple and the final figure, Reinar, marched towards him with purpose in their stride. They were a few feet away from him and Christill could only bring himself to cower to the ground and close his eyes.

Seconds passed and he peered up to see that they had passed him by and were now behind him, violently beating a person curled up on the ground. Panic ran through Christill's mind and he knew that it was his brother that was being attacked. What was he going to do? If Thibalt could not stop them, then what could he possibly do?

Christill rushed to get a better look at his brother and he cried out as he saw that it was not Thibalt, but Elephtheria lying on the floor, bloody and bruised. He screamed wrathfully for them to stop.

Then they were all gone and standing before him was Nyrune once more. "Thoughts chosen, not common thoughts for one of pure mind. But love was seen. For those in One's heart One would give all," she said.

Christill lowered his eyes, embarrassed by his outburst. He should have realized that he was being tested. "I want this more than anything," he said pleadingly.

Nyrune reached out and raised his head with her hand. Her eyes glowed with power and Christill could feel her magic flowing around her. "No death, No creation, No persuasion. Rules that will be followed. Magic granted to One will be used only for good. For the first seed that grows in the swamp is the one that brings about the forest. An example for my brethren's children and my own. That is my disciple."

"I will not fail you," replied Christill. "I will stay true to your teachings."

"Those are teachings of seven privileged. One must follow the heart to spread equality. See through corruption that ages has brought. Become pure to my decree."

Christill did not fully understand, but had no time to think on it as the explosive noise returned and the ground shook yet again. This time he kept his footing and when the forest calmed and the echo of the blast faded, he faced Nyrune. The goddess was peering up into the sky with an uncertain frown.

One more time the ground shook and the blast sounded through the area with even more power. Christill cried out and found blood trickling from his ears. Once it had passed, Nyrune turned her gaze down at him, once more calm. "Return to Fellarrnur. Powers I will grant One. My boundaries will apply. Follow my decree."

Christill, still shocked from the strange quake, did not know how to respond. The next thing he felt was Nyrune's cold hand grasp his neck. He then felt the magic passing through her arm into his own body. The energy travelled through his veins and he experienced a sensation that he struggled to explain. He suddenly felt whole.

She removed her hand and he became aware of a new presence inside of him. He could hear and sense it moving within him and he knew how to interact with it. Christill raised his hand and summoned forth a small ball of green magic. He stood amazed at what he had just done. With a simple thought the magic had followed his command.

Nyrune watched Christill and then waved her hand. The next moment he found himself flying backwards through the tunnel of silver. The vortex of colours flashed before him and he fell with a crash onto soft ground. He twisted around and saw the forked tree before him, the orange fur no longer glowing. Christill had returned to Fellarrnur and to the Shrine of Nyrune. But this time he felt different. Inside of him pulsed the raw energy of a goddess.

The doors to the shrine opened and Dievu and Kiril Poth stepped through. They approached him and Christill smiled at Dievu.

"I see that all went well," said Dievu.

"Your time has come at last, Christill," said Kiril. "Now we will teach you to use the magic that flows within you. We will guide you in carrying out the teachings of Nyrune."

Christill felt as though he should tell them what Nyrune had said about the teachings, but decided to keep it to himself for now.

"How do you feel?" asked Dievu.

"I cannot describe it," replied Christill honestly.

Dievu laughed. "No one ever can." Dievu's eyes suddenly shifted and he looked upon Christill with concern.

"What is wrong?" asked Christill, suddenly nervous.

"Why is there blood caked around your ears?" he asked.

Mandigal pinched the bridge of his nose in vexation. "You have no idea what I went through to bring them here and now you refuse to give them refuge."

Bithi rose from his seat in outrage. "Watch your voice, Mandigal. You cannot expect us to take in these two boys. Dargonian princes belong in Dargon. Have you forgotten that his people march towards our land with ill intent?"

"Zephra's armies," retorted Mandigal. "Aldan is different. You must understand this. He is as keen as you and I to see the end of this turmoil."

"He is a tyrant like his cousin," argued the blond Elder, Vischia. Her furrowed forehead hung so low that her dark eyes were all but obscured. "And he has no doubt corrupted his son with the same violent ideals."

Friedrich and Vrill, who stood behind Mandigal in the round council room, both felt their intense dislike of the Council of Elders growing.

"The fate of this war depends on Aldan's ability to create a civil unrest and political upheaval in Dargon. If you do not allow his son to stay here then we have no hope of seeing this happen," said Mandigal, his tone desperate.

Sielvu opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped by Kiril Poth. As always the oldest of the Elders commanded the room. "Why do you not take him to Feldom? Surely you can grant him asylum there."

Mandigal cringed. He knew that eventually this question would come up. "King Castaneda would kill Friedrich without a second thought. His hatred of Dargon clouds his judgement."

Sielvu jumped to take advantage of the opportunity. "So you think to wash your hands of them by leaving their care to us. You insult us!"

"I assure you that I mean no offence. I just thought that you of all people would be wise enough to understand the importance of what I ask," replied Mandigal, feeling more frustrated than ever.

"He is right," said Dietrue suddenly, silencing the room. The reserved Elder hardly spoke, so when he did the other members listened intently. "If Aldan is able to disrupt the peace in Dargon we could have a chance of winning this war. At the moment things are not looking hopeful."

"I must concur with Dietrue," agreed Yhu in her oddly childish voice. "We must take them in. At least temporarily."

"We will allow them to stay for a few months, Mandigal," announced Kiril. "If Aldan has not acted within that time we will cast them from this land."

Sielvu and Bithi clearly showed their disgust at the decision, but remained quiet.

Mandigal let out a grateful breath. "Thank you."

"Where are you headed now?" asked Velski.

"With your permission I would remain in Duathnin for a time. I have concerns I wish to discuss with you," replied Mandigal.

"We have time now, discuss away," said Vischia, with a harsh edge to her voice. She gazed over to her cousin Sielvu who had turned his face away from the conversation in displeasure.

Mandigal knew that he had to word his intentions carefully so that the Council did not suspect his true reason for staying. "I am tired from a long trip. Please allow me to rest and compose my thoughts."

Vischia's look did not disguise the fact that she disliked Mandigal's decision.

"Then return to us when you have seen some sleep," said Kiril. "Now go. The Council has much to attend to."

Mandigal inclined his head then turned and left the council chambers with Friedrich and Vrill in tow. Things had not gone entirely to plan, but at least he had been able to get Friedrich and Vrill off his hands for a while. Now all that he had to do was find out who the traitor within the Council was. He suspected it would prove his most difficult task yet.

Friedrich walked through the garden with his back hunched and his feet dragging along the ground. He had never been so bored in his entire life. The last two weeks in Duathnin had dragged by at a painful pace. There was nothing to do in this foreign land and being limited to the boundaries of the Academy had not helped Vrill and him to find things to pass the time. As he trudged along he came to a small dell where he heard the familiar hum of a speeding arrow. He rounded a corner to find a young man, standing tall with a bow at eye level, aiming at a hay sack fifty yards away. The blonde youth let loose another arrow and it soared through the air to strike true.

"Fine shot," complemented Friedrich.

The young man turned and lowered the bow. "Thank you. I gather you are Friedrich Hermagoras."

"And I gather that you are Christill Greyspell," replied Friedrich.

"How did you know?" asked Christill, walking over to retrieve another arrow from his quiver.

"Mandigal told me of you. He said that like me, you are somewhat of an outcast amongst the Karmanians," replied Friedrich, moving closer.

"Not quite like you," said Christill cautiously.

"Hmm...Then this is your refuge from the drudgery of the Academy?" asked Friedrich, motioning towards the hay sack.

Christill could not help but grin. "Perhaps."

"Can I interest you in a little competition?"

Christill cast one final wary glance at Friedrich then lifted his arm and handed over the bow.

CHAPTER TWENTY

### THE ACADEMY OF NYRUNE

"So you never wanted to leave Vladistov?" Christill asked Friedrich as they reached the top of the grassy hill. They stopped and turned to wait for Vrill who was sullenly trailing behind them.

"Not in the way that I did," Friedrich replied. "Vrill and I had made plans of our own to leave the city in secret. I had enlisted the help of some, let's say...questionable figures. However we never managed to utilise their services. Something that Vrill still holds against me."

"Remind me again why we are doing this?" Vrill muttered as he joined them. He dropped his hands to his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

Friedrich raised his eyes to the sky, unable to understand his cousin's constant foul mood. "Because you are getting fat," he replied bluntly.

Vrill looked down at his stomach with surprise and Christill laughed. He then turned his gaze unhappily to Friedrich and shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well, it's not like there are any women worth courting in this detestable city."

Friedrich started off down the southern side of the hill and called back, "As long as I have to live with you, I would appreciate not being reminded of a bloated walrus every time I glace in your direction."

"Oh to the Third Plane with you already," Vrill grumbled back.

"You two bicker like a bunch of midwives," Christill remarked, watching Vrill suck in his stomach.

Vrill and Christill moved to follow Friedrich south and they headed deeper into the Misty Forest. They had left Duathnin early in the morning to head to a place named Windwhisper Lookout. The lookout was a large rock formation south of the city. It rose steeply over the dense forest canopy, providing a clear and wide view of the southern part of the continent.

As they had moved deeper into the Karmanian homeland, the woods had closed in around them. Unlike the capital city, the trees in the outer forest grew close to one another and were joined by tangled vines and bushes that fought for room amongst the crowded floor. Christill admired the natural beauty of the Karmanian homeland. They passed colourful flowers in bloom and luscious grass that was unbelievably soft and smooth to the touch. Amongst the towering birch and oaks, bright green pines filled the air with a musty yet calming fragrance that mingled with the strong wet smell of decomposing leaves and soil below.

"It's hard to believe that something so beautiful could be so deadly," commented Christill, remembering the malicious side the Misty Forest held. His classmates had tried to frighten him with the story of a young Feldonian boy that had attempted to enter the forest without permission and had been found hanging dead in the branches of an evergreen. At first he had dismissed the tale as youthful teasing, but Dievu had later confirmed the story. The distrust of men was still strong in the minds of the gods, even after four thousand years on Kovi. Nyrune's protection of the forest borders remained strict and merciless.

Friedrich considered Christill's comment and bent down to pluck a small yellow flower from the ground. He studied it for a long time and muttered, "Beauty can oft be deceiving."

Christill saw that the young Dargonian Prince's mind was elsewhere.

Vrill crept up close to Christill. "Her name was Kiela," he whispered into Christill's ear. "Her favourite flower was none too different from that one."

"What happened to her?" Christill queried.

Friedrich replied, "In the end, once she found out who I really was, she became just like all of the others who sought only my money and name." He dropped the flower angrily to the damp ground and continued to head through the undergrowth.

Realising that he knew little of his new companions' pasts Christill pushed the conversation. "So how did you meet her?"

Friedrich did not respond at once, but finally said, "I saw her from afar each morning as I left my home in Vladistov. Her family owned a small flower stand in one of the smaller markets. I passed it on my way through the city centre and every day I would see her standing there with rosy cheeks and a big smile, greeting her customers. I became enchanted by the mere sight of her wavy black hair and simple homemade clothing."

"Flower traders don't make a great deal of money," interjected Vrill smugly.

"Cease your mockery," Friedrich replied in annoyance. "As I was saying, in order to see her as often as I could I would visit the fur merchant, whose stall was on the opposite side of the street. I'm sure that he was puzzled by my apparent love of fox fur, as after a month I had purchased most items that he had to offer."

"If you ever need a fur blanket, scarf or vest merely ask Friedrich. He has a room full of them," Vrill pointed out slyly.

Christill laughed and remarked, "Men will do foolish things for a woman."

"Are you two finished?" asked Friedrich, unimpressed. "I don't have to continue."

"Please do," returned Christill, holding his hands up in mock apology. "We won't interrupt again."

Vrill began to chuckle, but Friedrich continued, "It did not take long for her to notice that I was there every morning, and she began to smile shyly when our eyes met. I decided to make my intentions clear, yet knew I could not go empty handed. The problem was that she worked in a flower store, so what was I supposed to offer her? Perfume or jewellery would give away my identity, and most Dargonian sweets are more likely to give you stomach cramps than pleasure. After a row of sleepless nights, I had had enough. I left at the crack of dawn, storming out of my father's manor and headed towards the market. On the way I almost absentmindedly plucked a yellow flower from our garden to give her."

"Such a romantic," commented Vrill. This time Christill began to snicker.

"I went to her stall and found her setting up for the morning's business," Friedrich went on, ignoring their foolery. "I counted myself lucky as she was alone. So I walked up to her and introduced myself."

"She did not recognise your true identity?" asked Christill.

"No. I used a false name and always did my best to disguise myself when I left the estate," Friedrich said. "As it turns out, the yellow lily that I chose to give her is amongst the rarest flowers in Dargon and is extremely difficult to grow in our frosty climate. She was speechless when I handed it to her and within days I had won her heart. We spent every evening together and I grew to know her very well. Her family was indeed poor, as Vrill mentioned, but this did not bother me. To the contrary, it actually made me love her more."

"So eventually she found out?" Christill wondered.

Friedrich nodded. "Every few days I brought her a yellow lily from my father's garden. After a while she could no longer accept them without questioning their origin. Thinking that it was time to tell her who I really was, I took her to our garden to show her. At first she thought I worked at the estate, but she then realised the truth and from that moment everything changed." Friedrich's features took on a sombre aspect as he continued. "Our time together quickly turned to talk of marriage and living in riches. I told her that I wanted nothing to do with the life that I was predestined to lead, but she stopped listening to what I said. In the end my love for her wilted away."

"What happened to her?" asked Christill.

"I left her," replied Friedrich in a low voice. "She tried insistently to contact me. Eventually it was my father who grew fed up. He had her and her family removed from the city."

"That seems to be a common theme with your father. Did he send you out of Vladistov because he had had enough of you too?" Christill questioned, trying to lighten the mood.

Friedrich smiled. "He's not a bad man. He just couldn't stand Vrill's company any longer."

"I'm struggling to hold in my laughter," Vrill replied sarcastically.

They approached and were forced to climb over a massive fallen trunk that blocked the trail. The trunk was covered by bright yellow lichen and rose ten feet high. Christill summoned his magic and tentatively raised himself up to the top whilst the others waited below. He then lowered himself down onto his stomach and helped the other two up the slippery wood. By the end of it they were covered head to toe in smears of fungus and dirt.

Sliding down the other end of the rotting tree, Friedrich turned the conversation to Christill. "So what about you. Any lost loves?"

Christill landed on the soft ground beside him and was reluctant to reply.

"There's something you're not telling us," said Vrill, spotting Christill's hesitation.

"No lost loves. But there was one girl I lost," Christill finally said. "But that was a long time ago now. In a different world." Thinking back to Miirvk brought back too many memories that he did not wish to dwell on.

"I shared my embarrassing story," pointed out Friedrich. "It's hardly fair if we don't hear one of your own."

"I guess it wouldn't be fair, would it?" he agreed. He cleared his throat and began, "Her name was Siri. I grew up with her in Miirvk and we cared for each other very much."

"There is always a 'but' in stories like this," Vrill added in.

"But...," Christill began.

"Didn't I say so?" cut in Vrill with a smug grin.

"You have the mind of a child," Friedrich observed.

"But...," Christill restarted. "She was promised to someone else." His tone still held remnants of the spite that he felt over losing his bond with Siri.

"I gather you were none too fond of her betrothed," Friedrich inferred.

"You could say that I am none too fond of the entire Miirvkin race. They are as backwards as they are half-witted."

"Before my grandfather was murdered by Zephra, he passed on a piece of advice to my father," Friedrich replied. "If there is one thing that my father taught me, it is this lesson. You cannot judge a group of people by one or two members that have done wrong. Each and every community, be it a family, a town or a nation will hold bad people in it. The important fact is that there will also be good people there."

Christill found it odd to hear a Dargonian making such a moral point and felt slightly embarrassed that he had once again shown such narrow minded judgment. His attention was drawn back to the path as Vrill let out a grunt of relief. Up ahead loomed Windwhisper Lookout.

They continued through the forest, passing strewn boulders that had fallen from the lookout over hundreds of years. The reddish rock that formed the structure sparkled in the light. As they reached its base, they peered up and felt a slight regret at choosing to climb the massive formation. The rough paths that snaked their way upwards all passed amongst jagged outcroppings and piles of rocks sitting precariously on the sides of the formation.

"Well, we didn't come all this way to give up now," Christill said, encouragingly. Friedrich turned to Vrill and the Dargonian returned his look with a heavy frown.

The companions slowly made their way up one of the steep paths. As they moved upwards, their feet crunched on loose rocks, each step sending pebbles bouncing down the mountainside. The trail that they had chosen was cut along the side of the lookout, with the rock face to their right and nothing but a steep plummet to their left. They moved in single file, keeping to the right and watching each precarious step. After a long hour of ascent, the forest canopy fell away below them. They paused to take in the northern skyline. Here they could see the abrupt end of the Misty Forest and the border of Feldom. Far in the distance Christill spotted what he believed to be the Southern Beon Ranges and was reminded of his forced trek through the mountains. With a shudder, he turned his gaze away and continued up the path.

A faint whispering sounded from up ahead and they knew that they were close to the summit. Christill drove them on until they came to a clearing that had been cut into the top of the lookout. The ground was levelled with four stone pillars raised in its centre. Several other paths reached the clearing at other points, some well-travelled, others strewn with years of debris from disuse.

Here, on the peak of the lookout, the wind carried through the holes and cracks in the rock to create an unusual sound akin to hushed whispering. The three young men pulled out their water skins and drank deeply, all the while listening to the wind whispering from the earth itself.

"Finally!" Vrill sighed, stretching out his aching legs. "That bloody path went on forever."

"There is something unworldly about that noise," Friedrich observed, as he tried to find words amongst the murmuring of the wind.

"Very much so," agreed Christill. "It's almost as if the lookout is trying to tell us something."

Vrill let out an unsatisfied grunt. "I've seen stranger things."

"Such as?" Christill queried.

"Friedrich's taste in women," Vrill returned with a wink. He then turned and fell down next to one of the stone pillars, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Friedrich, tired of his cousin's bantering, let the comment slide and moved with Christill up the south side of the clearing. Staring into the distance they saw the dark blue Karmanian Ocean past the edge of the forest. Much closer, they spotted Dark Shell Bay, home of the famous bronze backed crayfish. The two of them stood there silently, seemingly on top of the world, and enjoyed the temporary moment of peace.

"I'm very glad you convinced me to come here with you," Friedrich thanked Christill.

Christill smiled. "I am grateful for the company."

Friedrich returned Christill's smile and left the rest unsaid. Christill let his eyes wonder over the hazy horizon and wondered what wild lands lay beyond the great southern oceans.

They spent a long hour on the peak of Windwhisper Lookout, yet eventually the sun began its downwards arch. As well as this, thick clouds from the south had begun to creep ever closer. It would take them some time to make it back to Duathnin before nightfall, so they set off back down the path.

Their descent was slow as they had to check each step to avoid slipping on loose stones. Travelling further down the side of the rocky landmark, the wind picked up abruptly, forcing them to hug the side of the path and making the going even slower.

"Be careful not to stray to the edge of the path," Christill shouted over the loud winds that assaulted them at these heights.

Vrill and Friedrich signalled for him to continue, now regretting their choice to visit the lookout. Staying close to his companions, Christill abruptly noticed more and more pebbles and small rocks tumbling down the rock face from above. He quickly snapped his gaze upwards just in time to see a huge boulder tumbling down the lookout towards them. He screamed out a warning to Friedrich and Vrill and jumped towards them. With all of his strength, he pushed them forwards, out of the way and onto the ground. The move cost him his own chance to avoid the boulder and, as it rolled over the path it bowled Christill violently out of its way. He was sent flying over the edge of the lookout.

Friedrich and Vrill, recovering from their initial shock, rose and ran to the edge of the path. Fearing the worst, they were relieved to see that Christill had not fallen too far and had landed on a section of rock that jutted out from the formation. They called out to him but received no response.

"We need to get down there!" snapped Friedrich, urgently.

Carefully the two of them began to climb down. With stable handholds hard to find, it took them longer than they thought to reach him. Finally they dropped onto the hard stone next to Christill's motionless body and bent down to check him. Friedrich let out a puff of relief as he felt a pulse.

Christill came to, after being shaken. He tried to sit up, wincing in pain. "I think I broke some ribs," he cried, holding his chest.

"Can you walk?" asked Friedrich.

Christill took a moment to recover and then, with the help of the others stood up. "I should be able to manage."

"Try using Nyrune's magic to heal yourself," Vrill suggested.

Christill shook his head. "I don't know how to mend bones yet. I will be fine though. Thank you for coming for me."

"It is you who should be thanked. You saved our lives," Friedrich pointed out. "Come, we will help you back."

Christill was too sore to reply. He let his head drop and felt Friedrich and Vrill place his arms over their shoulders. Despite the pain running through his body, he felt safe.

Thibalt stared down at his heaped plate of fried eggs and picked up his fork resolutely. Perhaps she's trying to make me ill, he thought as he struggled to find an excuse not to eat the dozen runny eggs. His chance to escape was taken away as Miera and Borrin entered the room with small bowls of porridge. As they took their seats, Thibalt gazed longingly at the porridge in front of Borrin and then turned in search of sympathy to Estallion, who was seated next to him with a cup of tea in his hand and a wet towel covering his forehead.

Estallion noticed his friend's saddened state and held up his hand. "Don't look at me. I've got my own problems."

Thibalt had heard Estallion stumble through the front door early in the morning and knew that he had overindulged from the sheer noise of his entry. The previous night they had all left the house to find some relaxation. The night had progressed quickly and Thibalt and Miera had soon had their fill of ale and bawdy tavern conversation. They left the bar, dragging Borrin reluctantly behind them, and leaving Estallion and several of his men in the midst of a heated game of dice.

"What's the problem dear?" asked Miera softly.

Thibalt forced a smile and replied, "Nothing at all." After several mornings of Thibalt leaving the house without breaking his fast, Miera had insisted on making morning meals for him. "You can't be running off for a full day's training without a decent start to the day," she had scolded him. She did not however know what a reasonable start to the day was. He let out a deep breath and plunged his fork into the pile of food.

"By the way I think Irrol has passed out in the General's room," commented Estallion. He watched Thibalt working his way through his breakfast and felt a sudden bout of nauseousness. "Excuse me. I need to go return a couple of last night's drinks."

The look that Miera cast Thibalt as Estallion ran from the room told him that his wife was about to speak her mind.

"You know I love Estallion," she began. "But I think as his friend you should put a stop to his derelict behaviour."

"It's his coin. I can't tell him what to do with it," Thibalt argued through a mouthful of egg.

"Finish your food before you talk. Now that you are a Captain you need to start behaving like one," she lectured him.

"Yes," he replied softly.

The door leading to the front of their home opened and General Harrinus walked in, doing up the last buttons of his overcoat. "There appears to be a giant and a dwarf lying prone on my bedroom floor," he mentioned, taking his seat at the table. "I believe they belong to you," he motioned to Thibalt.

"That would be Irrol and Skiddle, Sir," Borrin answered. He quickly rose from his seat to wake his comrades.

"Please accept my apology," said Thibalt sheepishly.

Harrinus tried to keep a straight face, yet couldn't help but smirk. "I didn't see that mute that always hangs around with Irrol."

"Torrlan seems to have a greater level of control than the others," Thibalt replied.

"Hardly," muttered Estallion as he returned to the room. "He's sprawled over a pile of your men who decided the garden was a good place to finish the night."

Thibalt placed his head in his hands and Harrinus began to chuckle. "Perhaps you need to take more control of your men, Captain. They may be performing beyond expectations on the training field, but their behaviour is immature."

"I will, Sir," Thibalt replied resolutely. He had grown accustomed to training the men under his command, but it was no easy task. Estallion had named the group Steelfist's Scorpions for the fearsome reputation that they had gained in the training ground. Thibalt now realised that he would need to bring down their confidence to keep them in control.

He dropped his fork on his half-finished plate and turned to his second in command. "Wake all of those fools up. I want them at the barracks within the hour."

Estallion leapt into the air and saluted his Captain. "Yes, Sir! At once, Sir," he shouted dramatically. He then turned to leave.

Thibalt moved to follow him, thankful that he had found an escape from his breakfast.

"Has anyone seen my boots?" General Harrinus quickly asked.

Estallion's call came from the back of the house. "I may have misplaced them. And by misplaced them, I may have parted ways unwillingly with them." There came a short pause. "And by unwillingly, I mean I lost them in a game of chance."

Harrinus let out a tired groan.

"It was hardly my fault," Estallion continued. "I had run out of coin. What was I supposed to gamble with? I can hardly use my own clothes. They are much too nice."

"Get him out of here, Thibalt," Harrinus grumbled.

"Yes, Sir," replied Thibalt. "Controlling Estallion might not be as easy."

An hour later, Thibalt stood ready at the training grounds. He now wore a black leather coat and blue leggings. On his chest was a scorpion on a field of dark blue, his mark as Captain of Steelfist's Scorpions.

In front of him stood his thirty men. They all wore identical black vests and brown pants, and it did not take a keen eye to notice the black rings under most of their eyes. At Thibalt's side stood Estallion, who was wearing a yellow woollen jumper over bright red leggings. Thibalt had long ago learnt to ignore his friend's choice of attire.

It was time for him to establish a greater level of control.

"Listen here!" Thibalt yelled at the top of his voice. The Scorpions were all shaken out of their sleep deprived trances and stood to attention. "I have been very lenient with you since we began our training. It has come to my attention that the trust that I gave you was misplaced." He raised his voice angrily. "You are Steelfist's Scorpions. Start acting like it! The name has become tainted with stories of drunken fights, gambling and indecency."

"Sorry about that," Estallion giggled.

Thibalt turned to his friend with a fierce expression. "This is no time for your antics!" he barked. Estallion's eyes widened in surprise. "I think it's best I go and see to the equipment," he decided, turning to head towards the armoury.

The Scorpions, never having witnessed their Captain so vexed, avoided eye contact.

"This all stops today," Thibalt continued, in a firm voice. "If I catch one of you with so much as a hint of spirits on your breath or a pair of dice in the same room, I will have you lashed and thrown into holding. By the time this training ends, you will be so damned disciplined that I'll have you standing as still as statues with cups of hot oil balancing on your heads."

The Scorpions remained glued to the spot, none of them willing to speak in their own defence. Thibalt began to pace along the dusty ground in front of his men with a stern scowl. "So far I have drilled you tirelessly. You have shown me your skills in combat and your fitness, which is adequate enough." He stopped and turned towards his Scorpions. "Today the training steps up. This squad will need to be ready for anything and everything that the Honour Guard requires. If Errollan wants us to scale a cliff face with nothing but a sharp stick, then by Skiye we will be able to do it. "The fact that you can fight does not make you a Scorpion. Any child with a lump of wood can call himself a warrior." Thibalt looked deliberately at Irrol. The giant started as if to comment, but kept his mouth shut after locking eyes with his angered Captain. Thibalt was pleased, his scolding was having the desired effect.

He stepped towards the diminutive Skiddle and carried on, "Do not for a second think that I will hesitate to throw you back to the streets. Army deserters are not held in high regard in Feldom. I would not be surprised to see you lying cold and hungry in a gutter within a week."

The small thief took Thibalt's last comment to heart and bowed his head.

"I want you to meet Wilbred," Thibalt motioned behind the men. They all swung about to see a lithe man in army clothing, leaning his foot against a wooden crate. "Wilbred is going to be giving you some lessons. By the time he's finished, I expect you all to be able to leap from a four story building without leaving so much as a footprint when you land. I want you to be able to run through a temple with steel-clad shoes and not make even a hint of noise. Even the old ones amongst you!" Thibalt said, facing Robeld.

The old man's face clearly showed that the humour of Thibalt's singling out was lost on him.

Wilbred picked up the crate beside him and threw it at the Scorpions. It struck the ground hard, causing the lid to pop off and the contents to spill out. Torrlan and Borrin moved towards it and picked up the black strips of cloth that had fallen out of the crate.

"Blindfolds," Wilbred pointed out. "Now put them on and stand in line. I'm going to show you grunts what it's like to have no eyes."

As the Scorpions milled around the crate, Thibalt moved up to Skiddle and Torrlan and dragged them away from the others.

"What now?" squirmed Skiddle.

"You two don't need any more training in the arts of stealth. I have special assignments for you." Thibalt pointed towards a small building on the other side of the grounds covered with a red roof. "Torrlan head into that building and find Sophee. She is going to familiarise you with some interesting herbs and venoms. Let's see if we can't get more use out of those knives of yours." The mute nodded and moved off.

"Do I get something fun too?" asked Skiddle eagerly.

Thibalt smiled and led Skiddle to a small table standing against the wall of one of the barrack's many buildings. "Sit down," Thibalt ordered.

Skiddle took a seat and waited as a man with a long beard stepped out of the building. The man dropped a thickly bound book in front of the young thief and sat down beside him.

"This is Ullwin. He is going to teach you how to read."

"What!" Skiddle burst out. "I didn't sign up for this."

"You didn't sign up," Thibalt reminded him harshly. "You are here because you know that you are never going to have a better opportunity in your life to get off the streets. I will not have one of my own men unable to read. You will sit here until you can recite that book from front to back."

Skiddle's head sank to the table as his Captain moved away to watch Wilbred lining up his men with a long cane. Thibalt chuckled whilst he watched his blinded Scorpions trying to avoid the swift strikes of Wilbred's cane. He noticed Estallion take his accustomed place at his side and said, "I see you have managed to return to your usual self."

"Whatever are you talking about, my dear Thibalt," replied Estallion. He pulled out a large wedge of cheese and a fresh hunk of bread. "Hungry?"

Thibalt quickly held his hand up. "I don't think I'm going to be hungry for quite a while. Where did you find those?"

"It was really strange. I was on my way to the armoury and thought I'd stop in on General Harrinus."

"Which is nowhere near the armoury," noted Thibalt.

"Mind your manners Thibalt and don't interrupt," Estallion chided. "As I was saying, I went to his office and he wasn't there. I was about to leave when I noticed someone had left this food on his table. Well I couldn't just leave it there to spoil, could I? Who knows how angry Kirth would have been to find food scraps on his desk?"

"Who knows," Thibalt repeated, highly amused.

"My, this is really good stuff," observed Estallion. "You should try this cheese. It would go well with a plate of fried eggs."

Thibalt rolled his eyes. "Come, let us exert some of our authority."

Estallion finished off the cheese with one last bite and pulled out a handkerchief, remarkably similar to the General's own. Wiping his mouth with a pleased smirk, he started to whistle a cheerful tune and trotted after Thibalt.

All that Christill could think of, sitting in the gloomy Academy classroom, was the celebration which was set to start in a few hours. Today was the last day of the three hundredth and fifty second year of the sixth age. In honour of the occasion, the Karmanian people where throwing a city wide festival. Food and drink had been carted into the city from every corner of the land. Bakers and cooks ran hectically through their kitchens making the last preparations for a great feast. Christill's mouth began to water at the thought of freshly roasted venison turning slowly over glowing hot coals. He pictured the fat sliding down the meat and into the flames with a loud sizzle. His attention was then drawn back to the class as Yhu called his name.

"Yes, Master," Christill replied instinctively. The Elder looked down at Christill from the front of the room, an odd smile ever present on her slender face.

"Pay attention," she warned him.

"Sorry," Christill apologised.

Yhu turned and slowly began again. "You all know that when the magic from Teefarrnur passes the Temple of White, it travels into the Third Plane to provide energy for the guardian gods. They alone then have the power to pass it through to our realm, Fellarrnur. Yet only a portion of the energy from our plane returns to the gods, and that passes through the Realm of the Damned."

Christill listened to Yhu's teachings and felt lost. Realm of the Damned, Temple of White. What was she talking about?

Yhu spotted Christill's perplexed look and addressed him once more. "What seems to be the problem?"

At first Christill hesitated, unwilling to show that he had not been listening, but soon the profound silence in the classroom forced him to speak. "I have never heard of these places you speak of. What is the Temple of White?"

"Why it is one of the many planes," Yhu answered.

"What do you mean many planes? My understanding was that there were only three planes of existence. Teefarrnur for the gods, Fellarrnur for the mortal races, and the Third Plane as the link between them."

Yhu shook her head and laughed girlishly. "Silly boy. There are hundreds of planes. We simply do not interact with them. Most of them we cannot even begin to comprehend. Yet the five planes that I speak of are those of which we have some knowledge. Knowledge passed down to us by Nyrune. Your own lack of understanding is merely a result of a Miirvkin upbringing, Christill. Beon's disciples are wise for mortal men, but he shares little with them. They are also too arrogant to learn from us. Their inherent ignorance causes them to think that Beon has provided them with all of the knowledge regarding our world and the planes surrounding it. We have tried to share our teachings with them many times, but for our troubles we were accused of heresy and thrown from their lands."

Christill was ashamed of his ignorance and glanced at his Karmanian classmates. To his surprise he found looks of sympathy and several warm smiles. They were not laughing at him or making fun of his confusion. Instead, Christill's classmates genuinely understood his situation and were compassionate. Relief replaced his shame. Finally he had found a place where he could be at peace.

"What you need to know is that the world we know is a miniscule dot on a plane, amongst a vast ocean of planes," Yhu pointed out. "Kovi exists in Fellarrnur, but there are countless other worlds like it on this plane. Worlds created by gods more ancient and powerful than Kovicus."

"And are their other races of men on these worlds?" Christill probed.

Yhu raised her hands in an unsure gesture. "It is possible, but we have no knowledge of them. Our knowledge comes from our own guardian gods, and they choose to keep Kovi separate from the rest of Fellarrnur. I am sure that you know that Fellarrnur is linked to Teefarrnur through the Third Plane. What it seems you do not know is that there is a plane called Oundterrnur that lies, one could say, in between Fellarrnur and the Third Plane. The Karmanians call Oundterrnur the Realm of the Damned, for once something finishes its existence in Fellarrnur, its energy passes through the Realm of the Damned in order to be returned to the gods. However, the guardian gods must retrieve this energy from Oundterrnur themselves and thus they may pick and choose what is returned to them. This is where its dreadful name comes from. When a man or woman pass away, their life energies are carried into Oundterrnur. If the guardian gods judge that person to be unjust or unworthy they will be left in the Realm of the Damned."

"Forced to wander Oundterrnur as spectres forever," a girl to the right of Christill piped in.

"Thank you Allia," Yhu said with a smile. Christill then remembered his own death and how Dievu had brought him back from the brink of passing from Fellarrnur. Had he been on his way to Oundterrnur? Was he going to be judged?

Yhu continued, "Those who are taken through to the Third Plane are then given peace, and their energy is returned to this world in the form of new life. This lore is not known to many outside of the academies of Nyrune and Skiye. The Council of Elders long ago decided that our people would be better off without knowledge of Oundterrnur."

"But don't they have a right to know?" Christill reflected. "If people knew that they would be judged upon leaving this plane they would have a chance to do some good in their lives. To avoid eternal damnation."

"I can understand your feelings, Christill," Yhu replied sympathetically. "However the disciples of Nyrune do their best to teach our people to be fair and compassionate. If they follow our teachings then they will have no trouble when they face the judgement of Nyrune. Know that there are rumours amongst the people of Oundterrnur, and many of those who are highly devout live their lives believing that they will indeed be taken to Oundterrnur. However, as the Council of Elders openly denies the existence of the plane outside of the Academy, the general populace are free from any worry."

Christill was astounded at the Council of Elders' reasoning. This was a blatant abuse of power. He then recalled Nyrune's words to him before she had granted him use of her magic. She had told him of corruption amongst the seven privileged. Was this what she meant? He had not told anyone what Nyrune had said to him for fear of punishment. He decided to turn the conversation away from the topic. "So what then is the Temple of White?" he asked.

"Ah yes," said Yhu with another giggle. "The Temple is our name for Krisarrnur. This plane lies between the Third Plane and Teefarrnur. No mortal will ever enter the Temple of White and it is one plane we know of that is still a great mystery to us. What Nyrune has told us is that the Temple of White is made up entirely of a substance that channels the raw energy of Teefarrnur into our planes. Krisarrnur acts like a sponge to suck up the magic of the plane of the gods and pass it into the Third Plane for our guardian gods."

Christill nodded his comprehension. He had wondered how the gods recovered the energy that they expelled into Kovi. The lesson went on and soon Yhu finished her long winded teachings and asked the class to move on. The students picked up their books and filed out of the ancient room, passing walls covered in faded maps and scraps of famous writings. Christill moved up to some of the other students and walked with them down the large academy corridors. The inside of the compound displayed nature's beauty with potted plants and ferns lining the walls and creeping vines covering the ceiling in a lush web.

The remainder of the day travelled slowly for Christill. He was well aware that this had much to do with his yearning to take part in the celebrations that would beckon in the new year.

Finally the day's lessons ended. Each member of the Council of Elders taught the students once a week. The classes themselves varied widely, covering natural history, politics, spirituality and scribing. The students were also obliged to take practical classes provided by Velski, Dietrue and Vischia. During these lessons Christill and his peers learned craftsmanship, animal husbandry and, most importantly, how to use their newly acquired magic.

Christill said a warm goodbye to his new friends and made promises to seek them out at the festivities that night. It had now been two long months since Christill had spoken with the Karmanian goddess and his life had changed. He had been led across half of Feldom in service to Dievu, only to be kidnapped by Novokai and his Primals. Despite all of the hardship he now found himself more at peace.

Yet Christill could not shake the scepticism that so often crept into his mind. He had long ago learnt that good things do not last forever and the past weeks had been too good. Since his audience with Nyrune, he was yet to tell anyone of the strange tremors he felt on the Third Plane. He held a fear that he was somehow the cause of the strange things that had happened that day and was not willing to risk his spot in the academy by alerting the Council of Elders to it.

Turning his thoughts to brighter things, he made his way through the old complex and found Vrill and Friedrich waiting eagerly, perched on the railing of one of the academy's many fountains.

"You took your time," Vrill shouted out. "All the food is going to be gone by the time we get there!"

"I was too busy going through your things," replied Christill jovially.

"That would actually be humorous if I had things," Vrill returned with a self-satisfied smirk. "Thanks to Mandigal, I have naught but the clothes I'm in."

"Today is a day for celebration, not smart comments, my surly cousin," Friedrich added.

"Come on. Let's go have some much deserved fun," Christill suggested. Friedrich and Vrill both concurred and leapt from the fountain.

Together they entered the city centre where the celebrations had already begun. Hordes of Duathnin's citizens filled the forest floor, moving amongst tables laden with food and drinks; suckling pigs glazed in honey and roasted geese lying on beds of potatoes and blackberries. On smaller tables, fig and apple pies and orange cakes sent heavenly aromas into the air. Friedrich passed a haunch of venison and ripped off a large piece, handing some to Christill and Vrill. They devoured it eagerly, looking for more. Children ran noisily in and out of legs and under tables, chasing each other with wooden toys and scraps of food. The three companions laughed as a large Karmanian cook chased a young boy through the crowd, trying to regain possession of a plate of pumpkins filled with sweetcorn and onions.

Some treated the foreigners with hostility, but for the most part they were welcomed to tables. Friedrich ate, laughed and drank honey milk with Karmanians that he had never met and soon he found his opinion of the often self-centred race warming.

The air was thick with merriment and the sounds of delight and even Vrill found it hard to keep a sour demeanour. As the end of the year drew to a close, disciples walked amongst the crowd using their magic to create fantastic illusions that lit up the night sky. Christill, feeling brave, tried one himself. To the delight of the little children surrounding him, he produced a ball of bright green light that exploded into a shower of sparks that tickled their skin as it rained down. Vrill returned from one of the more active tables with three more cups of honey milk and the three friends joined cups to bring in the new year. A great shout escaped from the crowd as the midnight hour arrived and for one night the troubles of a war torn world were forgotten.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

### A DANGEROUS REQUEST

"Just hand it to me you fool," yelled Mandigal in irritation.

The Attendant's eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his chest. "What could you possibly need this for?" he asked.

"That is not your concern. Provide me with the document and we will both leave here peacefully," suggested Mandigal, his patience wearing thin.

"If the information is that vital, why do you not simply go and ask them?"

"The Council is much too busy to answer such trivial questions. I am doing us all a favour by allowing the Elders to deal with the important matters at hand," replied Mandigal.

The Attendant showed his suspicion, but finally gave in and turned to the bookcase behind him. The room was filled with scrolls, books, parchments and weathered tomes. He climbed onto a creaky stool that trembled under his weight and pulled out a thin scroll from a large pile. He then moved back towards Mandigal, handing him the scroll rather unceremoniously.

"Thank you," said Mandigal, trying his best to hide his agitation. He stormed away from the pompous attendant and into one of the quieter rooms of the library. He had already been in Duathnin too long and was no closer to finding the conspirator.

The room he walked into was empty, but for the small desk, covered in tattered parchment and a low burning candle. He closed the door behind him and took a seat. Quickly unravelling the scroll, he began to scan the list. The shadow of the dull candlelight grew fainter as the hours flew by. The scroll contained a list of all the letters and reports that the Council of Elders had sent out in the last month and where they were headed.

Mandigal took in each detail, focusing in on the references to Bithi Oppos and Sielvu Suifi. "This is hopeless," he cried out into the room. He tossed the scroll away. How was he going to find this traitor within the Council? The list had been his last hope of finding some evidence. Some hint that one of the Elders was keeping in contact with a Dargonian agent. But there was nothing. The most suspicious thing he had found was a letter from Yhu to a spinster in Thandolin, requesting four ounces of teardrop sapphires. Whoever this person was, they knew how to conceal their actions.

He had to think of something quickly. Messages from Errollan had been flowing into Duathnin each day, and from the details it would not be long until the Honour Guard would be forced to take firm action. Ludvic remained in Andron, overseeing the defence of Dunhelm and the West, leaving Errollan and Harrinus to prepare the nation for a counter attack. However, with Dieter still refusing to marshal the armies, their efforts were not proving fruitful.

Mandigal rose from his chair and snuffed out the candle. He had one last idea. If this did not work he would have to leave Karmena and focus on the safekeeping of Feldom. As he made his way out of the library he prayed for guidance in the coming hours.

"This is unacceptable, Velski," cried Sielvu, in a voice that could have crumbled mountains. "Have you finally lost your mind?"

Velski turned to the furious Elder in utter disdain. "I am the ruling figure of the Academy of Nyrune and I will decide what is best for my students," she retaliated, raising her voice even higher than his.

The other council members listened intently to the argument, not wishing to involve themselves. Near the entrance of the chamber stood Dievu, arms folded across his chest, paying close attention to the outcome of the feud.

"He has only been here for a few months. You believe him ready to take the final test," said Sielvu.

"He is a Valiant," replied Velski, trying to calm her tone. "Remember that, Sielvu. He was born with the ability to wield magic. The gods made sure of this when they gave him the Be'Ruchta. All that he needed was the blessing of our goddess to bring him to his full purpose. He has learnt everything that we at the Academy can teach him."

"In two months?" voiced Bithi incredulously.

"Yes, in two month," answered Velski. "May I add that you yourself finished your studies in less time than that."

Bithi quickly averted his eyes, unable to think of a response.

"We are Karmanians, Velski. He is an outsider and cannot be trusted. How could you possibly believe that he is ready to become a disciple?" asked Sielvu.

"I have seen many students come and go in my time. Christill is one of the most adept that I have ever taught, yet he is not unique. There have been students before him who were Children Valerious, that have become disciples in a matter of days. They were meant to wield magic on this plane. Why should we not allow him the same privileges that they were given?"

Sielvu opened his mouth to retaliate, but let out a disgruntled huff instead.

Velski smiled, knowing well that she had won the argument.

"What is the decision then?" asked Dietrue, behind a tired look, his hands stroking the spine of the large tome ever present in his lap.

"Christill will be allowed to take his final test," replied Velski, with a faint smirk towards Dievu.

Christill stepped forward, moving up to the large gate. A pale stone wall rose high in front of him, preventing him from seeing what lay behind the entryway. The teachers had watched with disbelieving eyes as he had performed every task given to him, beyond and above expectations. Christill could not explain it. He was adapting to the use of his magic so rapidly that it was becoming second nature. It was as though he had known all along how to use it and was now simply unlocking the part of his mind that had for so long been dormant.

Christill had overheard that the decision to send him through his final test in the Academy had been reached after a heated debate between the Elders. And to his surprise he learnt that Dievu had been against the ruling at first. However his master had later been assured by Velski that Christill had taken in all that he could from the Academy and was now ready to continue his growth as a full disciple. He was shaken from his thoughts as Velski called out another name.

"Hilth Poa. You will enter with Christill," announced Velski.

Hilth, an older student with broad shoulders, stepped away from the rest of the class and walked up to Christill. "You will enter ten minutes before Christill."

Christill turned briefly towards Hilth with an encouraging smile, but only received a cold stare in return. Not all of the other students liked him, but he would have preferred to enter the training ground behind someone more accepting than Hilth. Of all of the students Christill had studied with, Hilth was the most unpleasant. In many ways he reminded Christill of Cathan; arrogant and not highly imaginative.

"You will have twenty minutes in which to make your way to the other end of the grounds," explained Velski. "Inside you will find obstacles that will test everything you should know by now. If you are successful in this test, you will be ready to take your final steps in becoming a disciple."

Christill shook with excitement as she spoke. Was he finally going to make something out of himself? All he had to do was make it through this last barrier. A gong sounded from within the grounds, echoing amongst the treetops, and the gate slowly creaked open. Hilth turned and smiled at the other students. He then walked into the training grounds. Christill watched as the gate closed itself and waited for the next gong that would signal his turn.

The minutes dragged on, with Christill growing more nervous. What if the last few weeks had been a stroke of luck? It was rare, but not unheard of, for a student to move through the Academy in a matter of weeks. Some people were born with natural talent, but what if he was not?

The gong sounded once more and the gate parted for Christill. He pushed asides his reservations and stepped through the towering wall. In front of him stood a large complex in the shape of a triangle with a rectangular entrance shooting out from its front. The ground around the structure was dark and broken and at first glance seemed to be rotting. Christill approached the building, not wanting to waste any time, and noticed that the entire building was covered in foul smelling lichen and barbed vines.

Stepping up to the entry, he saw that the rusted iron gate had been forced aside. He followed the corridor into the structure, where a dim light shone in the passage ahead. Christill slowed his pace and stepped out into a long room. His brow lowered as he saw that the floor abruptly dropped away and fell into a deep pit filled with spikes. The gap to the other side of the room was around fifteen feet long.

He let out a breath of relief. If this was what he could expect, then he should have no trouble. The magic of Nyrune travelled through Christill's body and he slowly willed himself off the ground. He kept his concentration fixed on the door on the opposite side of the room and floated over the spiked pit with ease. Landing gently on the stone floor, he moved through the second door.

The next room was pitch black. Could it really be this simple? He formed a small glowing ball of mist. The magic illuminated the room and Christill found himself staring at a solid stone wall. Perhaps not.

This was unexpected. The door behind him slammed shut with a bang and he was left standing in the faint light of his magic. Christill sent his light around the room, looking for some hint as to how to proceed, but found nothing. He then moved towards the wall and began to feel around the edges of the stone. As he reached the left side of the wall he spotted a slight line at the place where the two walls met. "Oh!" he said out aloud.

Christill stepped back and raised both of his hands. Allowing his magic to flow into the middle of the wall, he sent his arms wide and with a loud groan the wall began to split in half. The two halves ground their way into the sides of the room, leaving a small gap in the middle of the stone. The grinding sent a cloud of dust into the room that stung his eyes and Christill was forced to run through to the next heavy door. He pushed against it and suddenly found himself plummeting downwards into darkness.

Summoning his magic once more, he brought his fall to a halt and created a light in his hand. Below him, the door he had pushed plummeted away into darkness and above he could make out a faint glow. He focused all of his will to raising himself higher and as he approached the glow he saw that it was a small tunnel.

Christill quickly crawled in and took a deep breath. The constant use of magic was physically draining him. He began to crawl through the tunnel and dropped out into a massive chamber full of plant life and running water. The moist ground sank under his steps, sucking his feet into the swamp like soil. The exit to the room was on the far side of a large murky pool before him.

Making his way towards the door, he heard a strange whooping halfway through the room. He turned and gasped as he spotted three thin apes crawling out of the tunnel. They sprang into the room and began to throw mud and stones from the ground at him.

Christill raised his hand and formed a barrier which stopped the projectiles in their flight. He then made a run for the door and grabbed the handle, opening it quickly. He slammed the door shut behind him, hearing the crazed shouts and screeches of the apes as they continued to throw rocks against the door.

What in the world was that? he thought in distress, as he prepared to face his next challenge.

Ludvic Hammerfell entered the meeting room and sat down in a broad, heavily cushioned chair. The room was packed with old wooden carvings and sculptures that gave it a rustic charm. Duke Poleus entered after him and took his seat opposite the Honour Guard. "Tell me, Ludvic, what news from Dunhelm?"

The heavy framed Honour Guard spent a quick moment admiring the exquisite works before he answered, "Nothing!" in frustration. "That's the whole problem. I spent weeks there waiting for Zephra to make a move, but his armies have stayed in Precedin. His men have been rebuilding the city. It appears as though they intend to stay there a while," he added in harsh tone. "With all the time that he has given us we have been able to fortify Dunhelm so heavily that it will probably take longer to sack than Precedin did."

Duke Poleus knew that he was not speaking literally. "You sound disappointed. Should you not be pleased that Zephra has not begun to attack the outlying cities?"

"Do not twist my words, Andre. It is indeed fortuitous, but the whole thing doesn't smell right. We must be missing something."

The Duke angled his head to the side. "It does seem strange. Do you think that Zephra plans to attack from somewhere else?"

Ludvic ran his hand through his thick hair. "No, Precedin is still his best choice. I believe that there is something distracting him from this campaign. Strange things are happening in Kovi. I have no doubt he has his hands all over them."

"The land's best disciples have been sitting in council for endless nights discussing this topic, Ludvic. If they can find no answers, then you should not worry yourself by seeking a solution."

Ludvic's eyes narrowed. He knew that the Duke, a disciple himself, was mocking him. "Sometimes the simplest serf can find more answers than the King's own advisors," he replied meaningfully.

A smile graced the Duke's unshaven face and he decided to keep any future comments about Ludvic's abilities to himself. "Then Dunhelm is well prepared for the inevitable?"

Ludvic propped himself up. This was his element, his turn to fight back. "They are not as well prepared as they could be, Andre. The Andronian army is still sitting idly by in its garrison, wasting time and money on whores and dice. Your men should be out there at the forefront, protecting Feldom."

The Duke, in deep thought, pursed his lips. "I do not believe that the King has sounded the call to arms yet. Obviously he believes that there is no need for the West to go to war."

"Do not play me for a fool!" spat Ludvic, banging his fist against the arm of his chair. The Duke's brow shot up in surprise at Ludvic's outburst and he shifted back in his seat. "You know what power the Maloreichar hold. If Dieter does not sound the call, then we will. Damn the consequences!"

"Risking civil war?"

"There will be no civil war when the nation realizes that its oldest enemy is breathing down its neck with fire and sharp steel in hand," retorted Ludvic. "It is a matter of time until we force the West to take part in the fighting."

"Until that day then," said Andre smugly.

"Have your fun now, whilst it lasts," replied Ludvic. There was a long moment of silence as both men composed themselves. "Now what of the spies you sent north."

"Four returned. The other two are most likely dead," answered the Duke, with little remorse in his tone. "Your fears are confirmed. Baldoroff will not make peace with Dieter. If anything, the King's demand for Baldoroff to swear fealty to the Castaneda bloodline has only made him more resolute. Auldney is an unpleasant place at the moment."

Ludvic's head fell into his hands. "That feeble minded fool," he whispered. Ludvic had left the frozen city of Auldney for one reason, and only one; Baldoroff. "Then he will continue his plans to form the nation of Durraas?"

Andre simply nodded.

"What did your agents find out in Polthney and Larthstone?"

"Duke Relmus and Panteleon have gone mad with fear," replied Andre. "They are both cowering in their throne rooms with Baldoroff, Dieter and Zephra surrounding them with ultimatums."

"Hmm, a position I do not envy," commented Ludvic with a cringe. "Did you find out which way their loyalty is swaying?"

The Duke pulled a wafer from a silver platter at his side and took a small bite. "It is a case of whoever can promise the greatest chance of survival. I feel that the two cities have become the centre point of a three way struggle. It is certain that there will be fighting in the cities soon and I believe that Dieter, who can promise the two dukes the most protection, will gain their allegiance." Andre then noticed Ludvic eyeing the silver platter and offered the Honour Guard a delicacy.

Ludvic unceremoniously grabbed a handful and tossed them into his mouth. Through a splatter of crumbs he said, "I will send word to Errollan. Hopefully we can bring them to our side. We cannot afford to have them join Baldoroff. The North has long kept its dealings private, but they are still our brothers. We cannot allow them to be corrupted by the foul ideals of a mad tyrant."

"What will you do about him?" asked Duke Poleus, wincing at Ludvic's barbaric eating habits. Andre was a man of culture and sophistication. The same could not be said about his current guest.

Clearing the last remnants of pastry with a careless burp, Ludvic sank back into his chair. "It is quite simple. The formation of Durraas must be stopped."

"One of my agents learnt something you might find interesting," mentioned Andre. Ludvic motioned for him to continue. "It appears that Baldoroff has contracted a sickness of the lungs. He does not have long left."

Ludvic's eyes lit up. "How long?"

"Do not get too hopeful. He may still have a few years in him."

"Damn!" yelled Ludvic.

The Duke's expression turned cagey and he leaned in close to Ludvic. "If someone were clever they would think of a way to use this sickness to their advantage."

Ludvic lowered his brow in confusion, then the comment dawned on him. "That would be a risky thing ventured."

"But there is much to gain," replied Andre.

"I fear that you may be right," replied Ludvic. His face turned deadly serious and he rose from his seat. "I think I will need to deal with this problem straight away. Baldoroff must make peace."

Duke Poleus rose from his own seat and shook Ludvic's hand. "We may not be the greatest of friends, Ludvic," The Honour Guard smiled, knowing well that they were two completely different men. "But your worth to Feldom is unquestionable. If anyone can pull this off, it will be you."

"If you suddenly find yourself in the midst of a civil war, you will know that I have failed. I ride to Auldney," announced Ludvic. "Home," he whispered to himself as he left the Duke's chamber.

The blade swung across the middle of the thin corridor and Christill felt its razor tip brush the top of his head. He came up from the roll just in time to dodge the next sweeping trap. The entire corridor was a tangle of blades that swung out at angles, threatening to cut him apart.

Christill leapt past the last blade and fell hard upon the stone door at the corridor's end. The perspiration dripped rapidly off his body and he struggled for breath. No normal man could have made it through that corridor. It was Nyrune's magic that had allowed him to see the movement of the blades before they had reached him.

Since entering the complex he had fought off terrifying phantoms, made his way through every trap and obstacle imaginable and been forced to use every single thing that he had learnt over the past weeks. And now he knew that he was running out of time.

Christill quickly pushed through the door and, as soon as he did, was assaulted by a wave of heat that burst through the opening. He raised his hand in front of his head, blocking out the sweltering air, and bolted inside. Christill came to a skidding stop and watched in horror as the dirt that he had stirred fell away into the nothingness of a deep chasm. He struggle for breath as he saw that similar rifts spread out all around him. From their depths rose a tempest of fire that filled the room with noxious smoke.

The expansive room he had entered was even worse than the last. It was divided into platforms of pale stone, separated in some cases by great distances, and in between each of them a wall of searing flames blocked Christill's passage. Through the roaring blaze he made out the door on the other side of the room and his spirits rose. That had to be the exit. The beautiful iron door was split in two and held a delicate hourglass inside of it. The sand in the glass had almost finished falling.

He was not going to fail.

The fire parted instantly as Christill assaulted it with all of his might. The magic spewed from his hands turning to ice and water and he leapt from one platform to the next, trying with all his might to reach the door before his time ran out. The ground trembled beneath his steps and the fire snaked out of his path, as though fearing his wrath. He could feel the magic of his goddess taking control of his body. It was only a few more steps until he reached the door.

Then from his left he heard a familiar voice cry out.

"Help me!" it called out desperately.

Christill turned. Lying on a distant chunk of stone, in the midst of a furious ring of fire, was Hilth. Christill could see from the Karmanian's expression that he was in great pain. A battle of emotions tore at Christill's mind. Time was running out. If he did not reach the exit before the last grain of sand had fallen, he would fail. But Hilth was injured and in danger. He looked to the hourglass then back at Hilth, who was rolling around in anguish, burn marks covering his body. If he went to Hilth's aid he would surely fail, but if he did not help, what kind of a disciple would he make? He finally let out a curse and headed for Hilth, using his powers to clear the way.

Once he had fought his way through the flames, Christill reached down and studied Hilth's wounds. "Can you walk?" he screamed, over the roar of the fire.

Hilth shook his head.

Christill used what little strength remained to lift the heavy youth onto his shoulders, then made his way inch by inch to the edge of the platform. Sweat, a mixture of the heat and strain, covered his body to such an extent that he found steam rising from his bulk. He managed to reach one hand out in front of himself and sent forth a stream of ice that parted the fire. Then, with great effort, Christill surround the two of them in green mist and carried them over the chasm. Flames licked at their bodies and when he landed on the final platform, his body was marred with several vicious burns. Despite the excruciating pain and the heavy burden of Hilth's incapacitated body, Christill trudged onwards.

After what seemed an eternity he reached the door. Christill cursed when he saw that his time had run out, but pushed aside his anger. He had done what was right and if the Elders did not see that, he wanted no part in this Academy.

"Hurry, please!" Hilth forced out.

Christill pushed open the door and was bathed in the cool wind from outside. He quickly brought Hilth outside and laid him on the ground. As the door to the training ground shut behind him, he realised that the rest of the class was standing before him. Christill then gasped when he saw Hilth standing at the forefront of the group, perfectly healthy and with a thick grin on his face. He quickly looked down to find that the body he had carried out of the fiery chamber was gone.

"An illusion," explained Velski, as she stepped from the midst of the students.

"Then I risked my life and failed for nothing," blurted Christill.

"No Christill, you passed," replied Velski with a laugh.

* * *

"Then it was all a ruse?" asked Friedrich.

Christill dropped down from the tree branch and walked up the grassy slope to the rocks that Friedrich and Vrill were seated on. "The entire thing. I was never in any danger."

Vrill let out a questioning grunt. "How is that possible? From what you have described, it would have taken unimaginable amounts of magic to create so many illusions."

"The building itself is empty. I was followed by a group of disciples who created the hazards as I passed through the doorways."

"An awful lot of effort if you ask me," replied Vrill, flicking a pebble from the rock beside him.

Friedrich laughed out aloud. "Everything is an awful amount of effort to you. You never do anything."

Vrill's look turned sour, but he could not hide his smile for long. "I resent that comment."

Christill took a seat next to Friedrich as a group of students walked through the small garden. He spotted Hilth amongst them and, as their eyes met, Christill saw respect in the Karmanian's gaze. Seeing Christill sacrifice becoming a disciple in order to save his life, illusion or not, had shown Hilth that his aversion had been misplaced. The students passed into the back of the Academy, where the dorms were located, and Christill turned back to his friends.

"So does that mean that you are a disciple now?" asked Friedrich.

"To be honest with you, I do not know. After we left the training grounds, Velski simply told me that I was to present myself to the Council tonight."

Friedrich nodded and yawned. Less than two months ago he would have detested anyone who was not a Dargonian, let alone someone who was a disciple of one of the other gods. Now his friendship with Christill, together with his forced sojourn in Karmena, had changed the ideals that had been forced into him.

"And what word from Mandigal?" asked Christill.

"What do you think?" replied Vrill angrily. "It seems he is still not finished with his business. He advises us that our stay in Duathnin may be longer than first expected."

"I would love to find out what exactly he is up to. I have seen him sneaking around the Academy once or twice," said Friedrich. "Why would one of the Honour Guard be forced to keep his movements so secret?"

"Who cares what he is doing? As long as he hurries up," butted in Vrill. "I cannot wait to get back to Dargon."

Christill could not understand Vrill's yearning. From what he had seen of Dargon, there was not much worth returning for. "Do you see no beauty in this forest?"

Vrill's resolute look answered Christill's question thoroughly.

"So what happens to you now?" asked Friedrich after a long while.

"Right now, I don't care," replied Christill, closing his eyes.

Mandigal was sure that this was the right way. As he pushed aside the thick undergrowth, ignoring the scratches to his arms from the sharp brambles, he saw the small clearing he had been searching for. In front of him rose a mountain of rough stone. He scanned the area and found the cave. The opening was almost ten feet in height and jaggedly cut. Slowly stepping out, he heard two figures emerging from the bush to his right side. Normally he would have readied himself for a fight, but Mandigal was expecting these two.

"We thought you might not make it past all of the sentries," said Utith.

Mandigal greeted the long haired Thaldun Blade and then Luss who came after him, her golden hair wrapped in a bundle. "My powers are strong enough to mask my passage. As good as your brethren may be, the power of Gushkall runs strongly in my veins."

Utith knew that this was no self-righteous boast and that Mandigal was simply stating the truth. "You mean to go through with this then?" he asked.

"Of course."

"You endanger our lives, Mandigal," said Luss. "If we are found, the Council will surely have us exiled or worse."

"Not only that, they can be rather unaccommodating," added Utith, motioning to the cave entrance. "Relationships have been especially bad of late."

"It is a risk that I must take and unfortunately I need you, Utith," replied Mandigal. "I give you the choice to stay here, Luss."

She shook her head resolutely. "I will not leave Utith. If things go poorly in there you will need my assistance."

Mandigal accepted her choice with a curt nod.

"Very well, let us be done with this before we are spotted," said Utith.

The three of them moved silently towards the cave, watching the tree lines around them for any sudden movements. This region of the Misty Forest was not safe for men. A snapping twig sent them into action, drawing their weapons, but their breaths returned to a calm rhythm as they spotted a spooked fawn hurrying into the distance.

"Great Nyrune, I thought that was going to be the end of us," mumbled Utith under his breath.

Mandigal was also feeling the stress. "Let us quicken our pace."

They hurried into the cave and Mandigal lit up the darkness with a dull red glow. The cave travelled deeply into the mountain and they made their way side by side along the rough corridor, listening intently for any noise. It travelled in twists and turns without a hint of change until, within the space of a few feet, the corridor opened up to a great cavern, littered with towering stalagmites and rock formations. The roof, almost eighty feet above, was spotted with dangling stalactites and shone in several spots where the thick chunks of quartz melded with the rock of the mountain. In one wall, on the far end of the cave, a long crack allowed just enough moonlight to sweep into the chamber.

To the left of them, dark water seeped out of a massive fissure in the wall, forming a deep pool amongst a group of crumbled stalagmites. Utith, though mesmerised, was not pleased to be here. He had visited this cavern before and knew of the dangers they were to face.

"Over there," whispered Luss. Mandigal turned his gaze to where she was pointing and raised his brow when he saw a section of the cavern that had been decorated with large ferns and leaves.

"They are watching us," said Utith calmly.

The others were brought back to reality and they scanned the rocky structures for signs of life. "How are you sure?" asked Mandigal.

"I can see many of them," replied Utith, his tone growing serious. "They have not identified us as enemies yet. If I can find the leader before one of the younger males decides that we are a threat, we may be able to pull this off."

Before Mandigal could reply, a cloud of rocks and dirt flew into the air as something heavy landed on the stone in front of them. He quickly wiped his eyes and then stepped back as he saw the beast before him. It stood ten feet tall, with shaggy grey fur covering its body, and a leathery black chest moving heavily under deep breaths. Its face was mostly taken up by a large mouth and nose, behind which intelligent dark and beady eyes sat, staring intently at the three intruders. What amazed Mandigal the most was the size of the creature's arms. Despite walking on two legs, the beast's monstrous arms reached to the floor with hands that resembled a man's, only four times the size.

Luss let out a moan and stepped behind Utith, feeling helpless before this master of the forest. She had seen the Kala before, but only from a distance, and those brief glimpses did not compare to what she now faced.

Instantly the remaining Kala left their hiding spots and came out into the open. Mandigal counted roughly fifty of them. Some were marked with black fur, some with grey, but none of them stood as tall or menacingly as the one before them.

The grey Kala raised his fists high, standing to its full height and pounded strongly on his chest. He then faced Utith and flared his nostrils.

"Gur norrooo bordoo," said Utith in the language of the Kala.

Mandigal's heart pounded without rest. This was why he had needed Utith's help. He was the only person that he could trust who knew some of the Kala's language.

The grey Kala moved back slightly and pounded his fists on the ground, sending shockwaves through the earth. He then moved his head to their height and spoke. "Gur ooon. Hruushh ooon."

The words that the Kala spoke rolled loudly off his tongue in a deep, guttural manner that echoed off the walls. Utith turned to Mandigal. "He is Hrush, current Bordoo of the Kala. He is their leader."

"Does he know that we are not here to harm them?" asked Mandigal cautiously.

"They would have killed us were it not so," replied Utith, keeping his eyes locked with Hrush's.

The Kala Bordoo watched them intently, his lower jaw jutting out to reveal his large lower teeth. Mandigal noticed that several of the larger Kala behind Hrush had inched their way forwards. "Ask him why they no longer leave the caves? Why they no longer protect the forest?"

Utith seemed to struggle to find the words, but finally he spoke, "Unn moor noog unn. Nyrune ooon ruh." Utith spread his hands out widely and pointed behind them to the cave exit. "Erroo umoo noog."

Hrush's leathery brow fell darkly upon his eyes and he once more pounded against his chest. "Gur erroo umoo graa. Nyrune ooon nup."

"He says that Nyrune is gone from the forest. He now protects his own," explained Utith.

"Does he not realise that if harm come to us, it will affect his race?" asked Luss.

"I am sure that he does. I did notice something strange in the way that he answered," added Utith.

Mandigal was amazed that Utith could discern what the beast was saying, let alone its tone. "Ask him if he remembers when the Elders came here to talk."

"Huun moroo gur ooon dree," said Utith, his throat aching from the strain of the harsh language.

"Ghaar," replied Hrush loudly, shaking his head and waving his arms about violently.

"We must be careful. This seems to give him great displeasure," Utith warned.

"Ask him who spoke and what they spoke of," begged Mandigal. This was his last hope. He needed some evidence from this Kala in order to find out whether Bithi Oppos was a traitor.

"Umoo noog Hrush oood. Kuuun unn," said Utith.

Hrush raised his voice even higher and several of the other Kala seemed to stir at their leader's attitude. "Dree ooon an. Oppoos ooon. Kuno oom erroo hooku." The last word seemed to leave a stain of anger on the Bordoo's face.

"It was Bithi Oppos that spoke. The others do not know the language of the Kala. He accused the Kala of not playing their part in the forest. It obviously made Hrush very mad," said Utith.

Mandigal's mind itched for more information. He had what he needed. Proof that it was Bithi that caused the Kala to stop helping the Karmanians, but he wanted to know why. "Is there anything else?"

Utith was about to ask when Hrush spoke once more. "Dree ooon. Uund korro ummo uun. Moroo ruh graa."

Utith's confused look caught Mandigal's attention. "What is it?"

"He says that the pale one brought 'that which should never be seen' into the cave. He has shattered the bond between Karmena and the Kala," answered Utith, failing to fully understand the Kala's words.

"Who is the pale one? What did he bring?" asked Luss.

"I assume that he is referring to Sielvu or Bithi. And the thing that he speaks of could only be a mirror. The Kala fear their own reflections and deem mirrors to be greatly unholy."

Hrush banged his fists into the ground once more. "Gur ooon kreeck. Kreeck."

The other Kala began to run forwards, propelled by both their strong legs and arms. Utith turned and pushed the other two back into the corridor. "We need to get out of here!" he screamed.

Mandigal sent a ball of magic flying back into the cavern and averted his eyes from the blinding flash that it caused. This had not gone to plan at all. He had suspected Bithi most of all out of the Elders, but now the Bordoo had placed the blame with Sielvu. He was back where he started and was running out of options. He followed Utith and Luss out of the cave, the angry roars of the blinded Kala following them from the mouth of the cave.

Christill entered the council room. As always, the first thing he noticed was the sweet smell of the room's flowers. The Elders were in attendance, sitting upright in their respective chairs. The door shut itself behind him and he stepped into the middle of the room, underneath the beautiful rendition of Nyrune's holy symbol. He was not sure what was going to happen here tonight or if he was supposed to do something, but for the moment he decided it best not to fill his mind with concern.

"You showed great quality in the training grounds today," said Yhu, breaking the silence. "Many would have left their fellow student to complete the trial."

"What kind of a man would I be if I left the helpless to die?" replied Christill. "Nyrune spoke to me of love, compassion and justice. If I would have left Hilth in that room, I would not be deserving of a spot amongst her disciples."

"Well spoken," replied Kiril.

"Yet he could have passed the test by simply walking through the exit," commented Vischia, a harsh edge to her voice. "He should have known that there was no real danger in that room."

"I agree. A wiser student would have known that it was an illusion," added Bithi.

"Stop this bickering!" snapped Velski. "Christill, we have summoned you here to tell you of the final decision that you must make."

Christill was so anxious to find out what it was that he felt like bursting out a reply, but he kept his calm and simply nodded.

"To become a disciple you must speak with Nyrune one last time. It is she who will ultimately judge whether you are worthy or not," continued Velski. "If it is no longer your wish, then you will leave the Academy and we will ask Nyrune to take your powers from you...Yet, there is one thing that you must know, Christill. If you choose to ask Nyrune for permission to become her disciple and the goddess deems you unworthy, you will never return to Fellarrnur."

Christill took a step back in shock. He could not believe that. "So it is a risk of becoming a disciple or death."

"That is Nyrune's way," replied Sielvu quickly. "If you are foolish enough to enter her domain seeking blessings, then you should be willing to face the potential consequences."

Christill got the distinct feeling that Sielvu was very proud of Nyrune's harsh ways. "I accept any judgments that the goddess would deal out," he answered resolutely.

"Then you wish to become a disciple," asked Kiril.

"With all my heart," replied Christill.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

### ERROLLAN'S CHOICE

Skiddle came to with a scream. His head was throbbing terribly and as he tried to focus on his surroundings his vision remained heavily clouded. The first thing he noticed was that his hands and feet were bound. He felt something move behind him and managed to turn enough to see the massive form of Irrol tied up next to him. Skiddle let out a rather unsavoury curse causing Irrol to jump with a fright.

"That was hardly necessary," said the big man.

"If they managed to capture and tie you up, what chance do we have of gettin out of here?" he replied in a dissatisfied voice.

"I don't even remember what happened," said Irrol, shifting on the cold stone floor to face his captive companion.

"That doesn' surprise me. They would've had to pound you pretty heavily to get on those restraints," commented Skiddle, his vision finally returning to its normal sharpness. He studied the room, remarking, "We're in a prison of some sort."

"Well I'm glad that you're here to figure these things out," said Irrol sarcastically. "Who knows what would have happened to me?"

"Hold your fat tongue!" shot back Skiddle. "Now get me outta these bindings."

Irrol tensed his arms and snapped his own rope shackles with minimal effort. Skiddle gawked at Irrol's strength, but said nothing of it. Irrol then made quick work of the former thief's bindings and Skiddle rushed to the door. Within seconds it was open.

"How do you do that?" asked Irrol.

Skiddle slipped the pin in his palm back into his shoe and shrugged his shoulders. "Natural talent, I guess," he answered, causing Irrol to frown. "Now let's see if we can't get out of here."

"Wait a minute," said Irrol, grabbing Skiddle by the hood of his tunic. "We need to figure out what happened. All I remember was patrolling the highway to Rustown with the rest of the Scorpions."

Skiddle paused for a moment, trying to recall how they had gotten here. They had indeed been on the highway moving towards Rustown. The entire squad had been there. Then something had happened. "Masked attackers!" he muttered louder than he had intended.

Irrol threw Skiddle back into the room and raised his fists defensively. "Where?" he shouted.

"Keep your voice down you oaf," replied Skiddle. The small man suddenly felt a pang of guilt about his constant harassment of the large warrior. Had there been attackers outside of the corridor, Irrol would have risked his own life to save the smart mouthed thief. No one else had ever done anything to help, let alone protect him. "What I meant to say is we were attacked by masked assassins. If I can remember correctly. There was a flash, real white, and it took my vision. And a strange smell. I...I can't recall any more."

"I can't remember a thing," returned Irrol, scratching his head. He was startled by a noise from outside and turned to find Robeld Horty and seven more of the Scorpions standing in the doorway. Several of them wore cuts and bruises on their faces. "Well, well," said the old man with a grin.

"Where are we?" asked Skiddle.

"Who knows?" replied Robeld. "We need to see how many others there are here and then try and find a way out. Our cells were not far from here."

"Let's move quickly before anyone realises what's happening," said Irrol. The others agreed and they rushed down the corridor. Skiddle moved at the front, his keen eyes and ears scanning for any unexpected surprises. They passed an endless amount of dank empty cells until coming to another locked one.

Skiddle worked quickly to open the door, whilst the others kept watch in the corridor.

"These walls look as though they have only been put in recently," remarked Robeld. "In fact I would say, by the look of everything I have seen so far, that this place is recently constructed."

The rest of the group, having no great knowledge of workmanship accepted the old tracker's conclusion. Skiddle waited for the expected click and opened the door.

Estallion swung around inside the cell and let out a puff. "About time!" he called angrily. "What took you so long? I have been cooped up in here for hours with nothing for company but a mute."

Torrlan stepped out of the shadows with a sour look on his face and moved up to Irrol. The big man placed his hand on Torrlan's shoulder.

"Where is everyone else?" demanded Estallion.

"We do not know," answered Robeld honestly.

"Well then get off your behinds and let's find the Captain," ordered Estallion, moving into the corridor.

"We haven't run into any guards so far," remarked Irrol.

"Speak for yourself," interrupted Robeld. "We fought off two before we got to you."

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing, Irrol," commented Estallion. "In my experience there is nothing better than a place that has no, or few guards. Whichever that may be."

"We're running on somewhat of a tight schedule," pointed out Skiddle.

Estallion cast a raised eyebrow at the thief and signalled for them to move. The group continued on and managed to free eight more Scorpions that were locked up in similar cells throughout the long passage. They stopped when the corridor branched off in two directions. "Which way Robeld?" asked Estallion.

"Left," he replied. "The way is more worn down."

They broke left and after a while the corridor began to rise up. Skiddle brought the company to a slower pace, hearing voices up ahead. He dropped low to the ground and signalled for Torrlan to join him. The mute weaved his way forward and, together with the skinny pickpocket, crept silently up the corridor.

A few moments later a shrill whistle, faint, yet just noticeable, sounded from ahead and Estallion urged the group onwards. They rounded a bend that opened into a small room. It was bare, but for the small table covered in cards and empty mugs.

Estallion looked at the two prone guards on the floor and nodded his approval to Skiddle and Torrlan. Skiddle raised his hand and pointed three fingers to the door that stood at the end of the room. Estallion nodded and motioned for Irrol to come up.

The big man moved to the door and the rest of the group lined up behind him. In one great swing Irrol broke down the door and rushed through. Before the three guards in the next room could word their surprise, they were out cold. The rest of the Scorpions moved in and scoped out the room. A rickety ladder rose at each side, leading up to a small manhole, and a large iron-bound door stood directly opposite them. Without any orders two of the younger Scorpions, Ergal and Paeter, moved up the ladders and returned with smiles on their faces.

"Sentries?" asked Estallion.

The two soldiers nodded.

"How many?"

"None now," replied Paeter with a chuckle.

Skiddle headed for the door and placed his head against it. "This leads outside," he whispered.

The group moved to the sides of the room and Skiddle opened the door a fraction. He peered through and motioned for Torrlan to pass through. The mute slid through the small opening and disappeared into the night air outside. The group waited patiently until he finally returned. Torrlan faced Estallion and made a quick movement with his hands.

Estallion now knew enough of Torrlan's signals to understand. "Can you get to the Captain?"

Torrlan nodded and pointed at Skiddle and three other Scorpions.

"And what are we to do?" asked Robeld.

Torrlan made another flash of movements with his slender hands then escaped back out through the door. Skiddle and the three other Scorpions followed him without so much as a word.

"Is he so sure of himself?" asked Robeld in a slightly grumpy voice. "What if he fails?"

"Then at least we will make it out of here," answered Estallion.

The group opened the door once more and stepped into the open. They were in the midst of a great fort, built into the side of a mountain. In front of them lay the many structures that made up the inside of the complex. They had just exited from the rock of the mountain itself. Robeld made a quick study of the vast wall that encircled them and let out a curse. There were at least forty soldiers patrolling the top of the wall and he spotted at least fifty more moving about the compound in the gloom of the night.

Estallion, realising it would not be long until they were spotted in the shadow of the mountain, bolted left, behind a thin building that was built into the rock. It was similar to the one that they had just left. "I suspect that we will find the rest of the group in here," he said, keeping his voice as low as possible.

Robeld turned and peered out across the small open square that was the centre of the fort. The dark clouds overhead did little to aid the old man's sight, but he managed to make out a large wagon filled with sacks of what appeared to be grain. He let out a sigh.

"What is wrong with you?" demanded Estallion.

"I know exactly what you're about to have me do and I think little of it," replied Robeld resentfully.

Estallion let out a cheerful giggle. "Am I truly that transparent?"

"You'd be surprised," cut in Irrol. "I'm no scholar, but even I can see what's coming."

"Excellent! Then I will go and get the others whilst you and Robeld wait for my signal."

"Very well," replied Robeld sourly.

Estallion motioned to the other Scorpions and they followed him into the building.

Irrol moved up closer to Robeld. "I sure hope he knows what he is doing."

"Oh, I am sure he knows exactly what he is doing," said Robeld with a thick frown on his face. He was getting too old for this.

* * *

Torrlan swept through the shadows followed closely by Skiddle and the three other Scorpions. The compound was teeming with alert enemy soldiers. But this did not bother him. Steelfist's Scorpions had all mastered their stealth and he was confident that the men behind him moved with near the same grace that he did. They jumped up onto a low roof and made their way across the tops of the buildings, heading for the one Torrlan had marked before. He paused on the edge of a two story building and bent down low to the thatched roof. Skiddle came up next to him and looked out to the next building. It was unlike the rest, with three large stories made of fine brick. The other buildings in the fort were thrown together out of poorly quarried stone and built with little creativity in mind. A fine light flickered through one of the windows on the top level and Torrlan knew that this was where his Captain was being held.

"The roof is too far to leap. We will have to go in from the bottom," whispered Skiddle.

Torrlan nodded and they slipped slowly down the side of the building, catching themselves on regular footholds to slow their decent. They waited in the shadow of the edifice as two guards passed in between the buildings, then moved on with expert speed.

Torrlan waved his hand to Skiddle and the thief nodded, continuing on to the back entrance of the building. Coming up to a darkened door, Skiddle placed his head against the cold wood and listened. He could make out the quiet crackling of a fire and heard what he believed to be three men breathing heavily. Skiddle turned to the soldiers following him and gave his orders with a series of silent gestures. They nodded and moved up to the door.

The door swung open, sending a gust of wind through the room. The three fat cooks jumped out of their seats at the sight of the four intruders. Skiddle moved forward grabbing a pot from the table to his left which was laden with scraps of food. The other three Scorpions followed his example and armed themselves with items from the bench. The cook nearest to the fire screamed out for help and rushed to the door leading further into the building. But before he reached the exit, Skiddle had leapt over a narrow bench, landing on the heavy man's back and sending him flying to the floor. With a quick flick of the pot the cook fell into a deep sleep.

Skiddle was quickly followed into the next room by the other Scorpions, who had silenced the two remaining cooks, and was forced to hastily duck as a gloved fist struck out for his head. The angry guard yelled out an alarm, causing four more guards to enter the small foyer that they had stormed into.

Skiddle rolled under the man's attacks and came up behind him, knocking him to the ground with an accurate strike. The remaining Scorpions charged into the fray and wrestled with the new enemies, whilst Skiddle leapt into the middle of the room.

To his right rose a wide staircase, lined with a colourful carpet that led to the next level. The room contained three other doors and Skiddle could hear more footsteps heading their way from the front of the building. He glanced quickly at his comrades, who were locked together in a violent scuffle with the enraged guards, and decided to make a run for it. He bolted for the staircase and was halfway up before more guards entered the foyer. Skiddle felt slightly ashamed at leaving his comrades alone, but pushed these thoughts aside to focus. He had to find the Captain.

The staircase split left and right and Skiddle followed it left and up to another floor where he came to a large oak door. Some guards were already making their way up the stairs in pursuit, their shouts echoing up to the third level. He walked through the doorway and turned right down the corridor. The room that he was looking for was before him at the end of this passage, but what was waiting for him there was not exactly what he had hoped for.

The door was wide open and Skiddle could see the flickering candlelight from within. But in the entrance stood a man almost three times larger than the small Scorpion, holding in his mammoth hands a gigantic club.

"Good gods!" muttered Skiddle under his breath.

The noise of the pursuing guards rose up to meet the unnerving laugh of this giant in Skiddle's way. He looked at the pot in his small hand, then at the cudgel in his opponent's tight grip and swallowed through a large lump in his throat. In a corridor this small there was nothing that he could do against such sheer enormity. Then with an almighty roar the man charged at Skiddle.

"Great Skiye!" screamed the former thief, as he leapt backwards to avoid the savage swing. The man's club crashed into the wall leaving a gaping hole. Skiddle watched him raise it again and saw his life ending. Suddenly the man's club dropped and he fell to the floor in a crashing heap. Torrlan was standing behind the fallen giant with a broken vase in his hand.

"How'd you take him down with a simple vase?" said Skiddle in shock.

Torrlan shrugged his shoulders, yet curled his lips into a smirk.

"No need to gloat," said Skiddle with a narrow look.

Torrlan then lifted the vase. Skiddle ducked as its broken shell came flying towards him and he heard it smash. He turned around to see a fallen guard who had received an unexpected strike to his head from the remnants of a once-flamboyant vase.

Skiddle and Torrlan entered the room. Torrlan slammed the door shut and jammed a heavy chair in front of it. The room, filled with fine pieces of furniture, was clearly the residence of someone of importance. The stone fire place was filled with glowing embers and the walls were lined with the stuffed heads of many hunts, the prizes of a skilled huntsman.

The window that they had spotted from outside was open and at its base lay an unconscious guard. "Well I see you had no trouble getting in," remarked Skiddle.

Torrlan headed away from the door with another shrug of his shoulders. He then moved toward a short table that was covered in half-finished dispatches and pushed it away from the wall. Skiddle joined him and together they pushed against the back wall. A low grinding filled the air and slowly the wall pushed inwards leaving a square hole in the seemingly solid stone. They stopped pushing after they had made enough space to fit through the opening and stopped as the door to the room burst inwards. Torrlan slipped into the opening leaving Skiddle to deal with the guards. Skiddle raised his eyes to the sky as he wondered what he had done to deserve this.

The first guard slammed into him, forcing the air from his lungs. As he struggled to regain his breath, the next guard sent a heavy punch into his chest. Skiddle managed to free himself and jumped into the middle of the room. He raised his hand blocking an attacker's strike and swung back sending the guard reeling against the wall.

The remaining guards encircled him and Skiddle prepared himself for the beating of a lifetime, but once again luck turned his way. From the corridor came the three scorpions, battered and bruised, and from the hidden alcove came Torrlan followed by their Captain, who wore a mask of unblemished anger. The fight that ensued was one of utter frustration as the Scorpions worked relentlessly to silence the guards. After they had managed to destroy almost every item in the room, Thibalt turned to his men.

"What in the planes took you all so long?" yelled Thibalt. "They could have killed me by now!"

The Scorpions stared at their Captain in amazement. None of them could believe that he was scolding them for what they had just gone through.

"Where are the others?" he demanded in a harsh voice.

"Estallion is with 'em," Skiddle replied, deciding it best not to mention that not everyone had been rescued yet.

"Well at least someone with half a brain is still around then," remarked Thibalt. "Now how are we getting out of here?"

Torrlan moved to the window and began tapping his fingers on the frame. Thibalt and Skiddle let out meaningful sighs and moved to their exit.

The table snapped in half as Estallion flew on it with an audible crunch. The remaining guards fanned out, not willing to let any of the Scorpions into the prison. Estallion rolled off the broken wood and sprang into the air, kicking the nearest guard in the chest. A great roar filled the room as the Scorpions tumbled into the line of guards flailing wildly with fists, chairs and broken bits of table. Once the guards had been taken care of, Estallion crashed into the door of the prison, sending it open with a slam. The captives lying in the many cells jumped up with a fright and let out relieved sighs when they saw Estallion flying through the doorway.

"Over here, Estallion," came a call.

Estallion shook his head to get his bearings then spotted Borrin standing at the end of the room with his hands griping the cold iron bars of his cell. Three of the free Scorpions moved through the prison opening the holding cells and soon Estallion was moving out of the fort's second prison with Borrin by his side and a group of hard-trained Scorpions at his back.

Robeld let out a curse regarding Estallion, not for the first time this night, as he continued to move from building to building. He thanked Skiye that it was night time and that the tall structures provided enough shadows to hide their movements. He felt a large thud beside him and turned to find Irrol hugging the wall next to him. Estallion could have picked a thinner man for a covert mission such as this.

"Can you see it?" asked the big man silently.

Robeld peeped around the corner and turned back with a smile. He raised his hand and made a waving motion to signal that there were no troops near their target. They waited until the remaining three Scorpions had made their way to their position, then Robeld pulled out a small box that contained flint and steel, that he had commandeered from a guard who was too incapacitated to notice. He popped his head around the corner one last time to make sure that no one was there and then looked across the grounds to where Estallion and the other Scorpions waited.

A quick signal from Estallion sent Robeld and Irrol into action. They jumped from their hiding spot and ran out to the wagon that was overburdened with sacks of grain. Robeld pulled out a small jar of lamp oil that he had taken from the last guard room they had passed. He poured it over the first two sacks and set up a small fire. It only took moments for the closest sack of grain to light up in a fiery blaze.

Within seconds half the wagon was ablaze and the shouts of the guards rose in number throughout the fort. Now came Irrol's turn to play his part. He moved up to the wagon and, with a great display of strength, lifted it onto its wheels. Irrol began moving, step by step, until he had the wagon moving at a steady pace. Robeld and the other Scorpions moved up and began to push the cart. Within moments they were running towards the fort's outer wall with a burning wagon in front of them. Guards rushed out of the buildings and after the saboteurs as they headed for the main gate. Knowing that the wagon had gained enough momentum, Irrol let go and allowed it to keep rolling. The guards in the fort, who were unaware of what was happening, were shaken from their ignorance as the wagon crashed into the gate. Wood and dirt flew into the air together with a great cloud of burning grain.

Estallion set his men into action and began to make a run for the wall. They covered the ground quickly and found Irrol and Robeld outnumbered and fighting off the guards in the courtyard. The Scorpions rushed to their comrades' aid, but Estallion and Borrin stopped in their tracks. Something on the wall had caught their attention.

Thibalt hit the ground harder than he had intended and bent down to rub his ankles. Skiddle landed gracefully on the street next to him and smiled when Thibalt gave him a sour look. Torrlan was the final man to escape from the window and as he began his descent, the fort came alive as a loud crash sounded in the northern section. Torrlan quickened his climb and allowed himself to fall the final floor of the building.

"Let's hope this is something our men have done," said Skiddle.

Thibalt was not so sure of that. "Let's just hope that they were not in the way of whatever that was. With Estallion in charge the latter seems more likely."

Without further delay the group made its way to the site of the commotion. They came into the courtyard and found the rest of the Scorpions standing in front of the burning gate. Estallion spotted Thibalt and moved to greet him.

"Why are you all standing around like dumb mules?" asked Thibalt angrily before Estallion could get in a word.

"It seems someone is doing our work for us," said Estallion whilst pointing to the top of the wall.

Thibalt looked up and saw that the guards atop the wall were locked in combat with a group of hooded men. "Well let's go help them," he ordered. His men moved without hesitation, running up the stairways that led to the top of the wall.

Thibalt caught up with Borrin and patted him on the back. They reached the top of the wall and soon the fighting turned their way. The guards dropped their weapons and surrendered, horribly outnumbered by Steelfist's Scorpions and the hooded attackers. Thibalt moved up to one of the hooded men and asked him to remove his cloak. The man turned to another who nodded and removed his hood.

"I have seen you before," said Thibalt. "You are one of Hanlit's men."

"Correct, Captain Steelfist," said another voice. One of the hooded men moved forward and revealed himself. Thibalt smiled when he saw Captain Hanlit standing in front of his men with a confident grin on his face. The former soldier from Precedin walked up to Thibalt and shook his hand.

"I am truly surprised," said Thibalt. "Until now, we have had to do all of these tasks by ourselves."

"I could say the very same. I assure you we had no idea that it was you we were rescuing from this fort," replied Hanlit.

Estallion laughed. "Rescued! We hardly needed your help to get out of this one!"

Hanlit's expression did not change. Both he and Thibalt knew that both groups had played an important part in finishing this mission, but neither wanted to admit it. It had begun a simple competition, but now Steelfist's Scorpions and Hanlit's Rangers had become tight rivals. Each of the General's elite groups fighting for supremacy on the battlefield.

A series of footsteps caught their attention and they turned to find General Harrinus moving along the wall towards them with a serious tinge to his features. "Once again it is impossible to distinguish which of you is the better," he began, stepping up to the two captains. "I cannot create a challenge difficult enough."

"You make it sound as though that is a bad thing, General," said Hanlit.

Harrinus's lips curled into a smile. "I believe that your training is over. Your men have proven themselves a valuable asset. There is not much more that they can learn on the training ground." He turned to examine the unconscious guards scattered along the wall. "I also hope that you did not injure any of my men too seriously," he added in a slightly worried tone.

"Can we go then?" asked Estallion. "I have a terrible urge to spend some time with a feather bed."

"Yes, you have leave. But Captains Steelfist and Hanlit will need to come with me."

"Where are we headed?" asked Thibalt.

"Back to the City of Skiye," answered Harrinus. "Errollan wishes to see us."

The Scorpions spent the next day cleaning up the fort and tending to the guards that had been bruised the previous night. They were in the Beon Ranges, just south of Rustown, and had finally finished their arduous training. They knew that their hard work had paid off, but in all of their hearts lay a gloomy shadow reminding them of what their future would likely hold. They could one day find themselves in a similar situation. Would they be able to escape if the guards were carrying real weapons? They could not know. For now they had to savour the time left before they were put to use by the Maloreichar.

* * *

Thibalt greeted the two armoured guardians standing on each side of the arched entrance. He followed General Harrinus inside. The throne room was alive with angry voices. They marched past the banners hanging down in between the massive columns, each representing one of the greater and smaller dukedoms of Feldom. Hanlit pointed at the large group circled around the King's throne. The three of them pushed through the onlookers to approach the King. There in the centre stood Errollan, bearing an expression that they all knew too well.

"This is beyond madness!" roared Errollan, raising his fist in the air angrily. "I have waited and watched for longer than I should have. You have brought me to this decision through your own insane actions!"

Perephine, looming menacingly behind the King's throne, clenched his hands together so tightly that they turned deathly pale. "Errollan Dune, you are in the presence of royalty," he hissed in a voice that carried to the darkest corners of the Citadel. "Have you forgotten that?"

"I am in the presence of one who I thought could rule this nation. I now see that I have been blind and misplaced in my beliefs. Feldom will crumble under the influence of this weak monarchy."

Thibalt heard Harrinus's gasp and understood what he was witnessing. Errollan and Perephine had finally reached the limits of their patience and the final battle for control was being carried out.

"I have never seen such disrespect in my own court!" spat Dieter. "How dare you come into my chambers and accuse me like this!"

"You give me no choice," replied Errollan. "You have wasted weeks upon weeks brooding about Baldoroff and his treachery, whilst Zephra has found no resistance in his campaign to rid the world of the Feldonian race. I wonder now whether we are worth saving."

"Heresy!" screamed Perephine and within seconds the crowd was screaming and arguing amongst themselves. Thibalt watched as the people around him became bitter enemies.

"Will you declare a state of war?" questioned Errollan one final time.

Dieter puffed out is chest and opened his mouth to speak, but Perephine cut in quickly. "How many times must we answer that question? We are the King's advisors and we have decided that there are more pressing matters to deal with."

"Elephtheria, Lisha, Tal and Garret," called out Errollan to the remaining King's advisors. "Are these words true? Have you decided that at this point in time the threat of the nation of Durraas is greater than that of Zephra's move against the Alliance?"

The advisors shuffled around nervously then Tal de Frien spoke, "Baldoroff risks open war with his own kin and as such we must deal with him swiftly and decisively."

Errollan waited to see if the other advisors had anything to say. He knew that Tal was Perephine's right hand in the council and held few opinions of his own, but he expected more from Elephtheria and Garret. He gazed into Elephtheria's eyes and saw distress. "Thee, have you nothing to say?" he asked softly.

She seemed to struggle to bring herself to speak, but finally she turned and replied, "So has the council decided."

Errollan clearly understood the meaning behind Elephtheria's words and let out a sigh.

"My choice is final," yelled Errollan over the angry crowd. "As of this day I am relinquishing your control over the armies of Feldom. The Maloreichar will assume the duties that were rightfully yours and see to it that the people of Feldom are protected."

A silence so profound that Thibalt could hear his own heart pounding nervously in his chest filled the chamber. Perephine and the other advisors stood with ghastly white faces and the King sat stiffly in his heavy chair with disbelief etched into his features.

"King Dieter Castaneda, I Errollan Dune, protector of Feldom, hereby declare that emergency authority has been given to the Honour Guard."

There was no reply.

No one could dispute Errollan's claim and those who would have raised their voices were too shocked to speak. "You need not worry yourself with the war anymore. I will see to it that your humble Citadel is kept safe."

Errollan turned and marched away from the throne, his steps echoing amongst the now silent chamber.

* * *

"I will use you two to get my messages to the West," explained Errollan to Thibalt and Hanlit as they waited in the Honour Guard's room. "I cannot spare the other captains at the moment and do not want to send an ordinary messenger for this. There are too many untrustworthy men around the Citadel. Too many of Dieter's men."

Thibalt nodded, though he wasn't yet exactly sure what message he was going to carry or where it was going. Hanlit held the same unsure look on his face.

The door of the well-kept and orderly room opened and General Harrinus stepped in. He moved past the many maps and messages covering Errollan's three cluttered desks and moved up to the three of them. The flames burning brightly in the fireplace sent warmth into the room on this chilling night.

Only hours before, Errollan had done what no Honour Guard had done for hundreds of years, declaring martial law in Feldom. Since then the Citadel had been alive with arguments and confusion.

"You have created a nightmare, Errollan," began Harrinus, speaking in low tones in case there were unwanted ears listening in on the conversation. "Civil unrest is spreading like brushfire."

"We can only hope that the people do not turn violent. I cannot afford to waste my time fighting with the very people that I am trying to protect," replied Errollan.

"I have sent your messages to Ludvic and Mandigal, I assume that they will head back as soon as possible," said Harrinus, taking a seat on a stiff wooden stool.

"They have other matters to deal with," replied Errollan, saying nothing further. Thibalt, remaining silent, took note of Errollan's reluctance to speak about Mandigal and Ludvic's whereabouts. "Do you have the letters for Captains Steelfist and Hanlit?" asked the Honour Guard.

Harrinus pulled two wax sealed letters from his vest and handed them to the two captains. Thibalt looked down at the seal. It was the King's own, displaying a falcon flying with its wings spread in front of a crescent moon. He placed the letter in his pocket and brought himself back to the conversation. "So where are we taking these letters?"

"You are going to Andron, Captain Steelfist," answered Errollan. "You will take this message to Guard Captain Falneren and Duke Poleus. Captain Hanlit, I am sending you to Ardistown and Summerstone. Carry your own letter to the Dukes Castaneda and Salenburg."

Mannin and Thibalt nodded and turned to leave. Errollan's voice stopped them. "Do not open the letters, do not lose the letters and if need be, take action to destroy them. They cannot be allowed to find their way into enemy hands."

Thibalt's heart pounded heavily as he looked into Errollan's weary eyes. The weight of a nation was bearing down on this old soldier's neck and, with each passing day, Errollan's face grew darker and full of distress. "I will not fail you, my lord," said Thibalt, stepping out of the office to make preparations for his trip.

Harrinus and Errollan could barely see the steps as they walked up the spiral staircase. Each held a large torch that crackled in the silent tower, but the minimal light did little to brighten the black stone of the passage. Behind them walked a young page, barely eleven summers old, carrying a heavy bundle that fell to his knees from his neck where he struggled to keep it. They passed a thin window and saw the city spread out before them; only a few lights burned at this late hour. Harrinus estimated that they were but forty feet from the top of the tower.

The General kept his pace slightly slower than Errollan, who was storming up the stairs, eager to reach the summit. Events had occurred too quickly for Harrinus to keep up with them. He knew that what they would do this night would change the entire world. It had been ages since the Maloreichar had declared martial law. Since then the people had changed. How would they react now that Errollan had taken control of the armies of Feldom? Harrinus sighed. There was only one way to find out.

Errollan placed his boot on the final step and unlatched the heavy door that led to the roof. The door creaked, as the rusty hinges struggled to work and finally the moonlight streamed into the stairway, followed by a chilled night-time wind. Errollan turned and took the bundle from the page, who let his sore shoulders slump and leaned against the wall. Harrinus quickly followed Errollan outside and stopped in his tracks as he realised how high they were.

They stood on the crown of the Citadel's middle tower and around them stretched the City of Skiye. The wind upon the roof blew so powerfully that Harrinus was afraid to move to the barriers of the roof that stood waist high. Errollan seemed unfazed by the height and moved to the massive iron pole that rose into the sky, an extra thirty feet above the tower's four hundred foot height. Unwrapping the bundle, the Honour Guard pulled out a great banner that almost flew from his grip in the turbulent gust. Harrinus moved to help him and together they attached it to the strong rope running along the post.

Harrinus then took hold of the second rope that ran down the pole and began to hoist up the banner. His arms ached with each mighty tug, but soon the banner was up at the highest point in the city. They tied the rope down and looked up to watch the wind completely unravel the standard. Slowly but steadily the current of air unfolded the banner and there in front of their very eyes, snapping stoutly in the wind, was the banner of war.

It showed a proud brown stallion rearing up with an angel on his back. The blue of Skiye dominating the background, with hints of red swirled amongst the image.

Harrinus had never seen the banner flying from the roof of the city and knew that when the morning sun rose, along with the people of the city, the world would be a different place.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

### THE VALIANT

Kilthies watched from the slender window as the enormous trunk of the ancient pine tree cracked and tumbled to the earth in a shattering crash. Fiery stones rained through the forest leaving nothing untouched. Throughout the city of Hiethris, the Misty Forest, home of the Karmanians, was ablaze with the flames of war. The engines of Dargon bombarded the earthwork bailey around the city and amongst the turmoil moved the stalwart warriors of Karmena, unabashed by the vicious assault that had been brought to their city. Kilthies watched his men stand tall upon the outer wall with pride, fighting back against the overwhelming number of Dargonians swarming into the city. There upon the city limits stood the might of Carnaic, come at last to the gateway to Nyrune's domain. And the goddess's children were not about to let them in.

A boulder crashed into the four story building, sending a tremor though its already-beaten foundations. Kilthies moved from the window and returned to his message. The quill scribbled hurriedly as another rock slammed into the building, causing several shouts from the lower levels.

"Make haste Kilthies," called Fliethu from the stairway. "The supports will not hold."

Kilthies rolled up the slip of parchment and grabbed his bow from where it hung on the wall. As he rushed down the steps, he saw the barracks alive with soldiers making their way to the exits. True to Fliethu's words, the supports collapsed, raining rubble down from the roof onto the soldiers descending the stairs. Kilthies scrambled out of the building and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the blaze that surrounded the barracks. Fliethu grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away from the crumbling building, to where the flames were subdued.

"The fires we can deal with. What are we to do about the forces storming the bailey?" asked Fliethu.

Kilthies turned to the messenger who had been waiting for his dispatch and handed the rolled up parchment to the young woman. Within seconds the messenger was sprinting out of the city, bringing news of the battle to Duathnin. Kilthies turned to Fliethu, "Deal with the fires. I will go to the front and see what I can do."

Fliethu nodded and sprang into action, calling for water and sand to be brought in by those not on the frontline. Kilthies waited a moment to catch his breath and surveyed the city around him. It was a city designed to withstand a battle, each building fortified with extra supports and strong foundations. Yet, as the siege had continued, the strength of Hiethris had begun to fail.

A colossal chunk of stone soared over the city and the commander of the Thaldun Blades could only watch as it ripped through the base of a giant oak. The high pitched squeal of the falling tree turned into a low groan and finally the mighty trunk came tumbling down into the city's five storey school. Tearing right through the middle of the building, the trunk came clattering through the rubble onto the burning ground, leaving the two broken halves of the school swaying dangerously in the heated wind. Kilthies closed his eyes as the two halves swayed one final time and crumbled sideways to shower his brethren in the streets with chunks of timber and stone.

Exhaling his frustration, Kilthies stood up and began running towards the city wall. As he leapt over fallen rubble and avoided the fire, he spotted a figure following his trail. He stopped and swung about to find Utith jumping through the flames of the burning grass.

"It is good to see you return," greeted Kilthies.

Utith bowed and clasped Kilthies on the shoulder. "I am sorry for taking so long. I know that I could have been of much use here."

"You are here now," replied Kilthies with a smile. "What news from Mandigal?"

Utith's features twisted into a troubled look. "More riddles. Whoever it is within the Council that is working against the Alliance has hidden their tracks well. Mandigal tried everything in his power to find something to lead him to the traitor, yet there was no sound evidence."

"And what of the Kala?"

"They have grown angry, Kilthies," Utith answered gravely. "I have never seen them act so violently against us. They would have harmed us had we not fled their caves."

Utith's alarming news disturbed Kilthies deeply.

"There is something else," added Utith. "The reason for the Kala leaving the forest."

"Tell me," implored Kilthies, hoping it was something that could be easily remedied. The Kala were an ally they could ill afford to lose in this war. Any step towards returning them to the fighting was a step closer to victory over Zephra's tyranny.

"One of the Elders carried a mirror into the caves at their last meeting."

"Who would be so foolish?" said Kilthies with an incredulous shake of his head. "One of them must be the traitor."

"We have no proof," replied Utith. "The Bordoo was vague in his answer to my question. He referred to the one who carried the mirror as the pale one. We cannot accuse one of them of being a traitor with unclear information."

"This makes no sense. The Elders have always held good relations with the Kala. Why would they do this? And why has this not been spoken of in the Council? The Elders feign ignorance as to the Kalas retreat into hiding. One of those three that went to the caves must have noticed that the other was carrying a mirror."

"Perhaps they are all three of them traitors," suggested Utith.

"That cannot be," said Kilthies, unwilling to believe the Council could be so corrupt.

"Either way there is not much that we can do about this now. It is up to Mandigal to find the traitor. Our duty still lies here, with the safe keeping of this city," replied Utith resolutely.

Kilthies agreed, turning to move towards the wall. He forced his misgivings into the back of his mind and shifted his focus to the soldiers that needed his guidance.

Vrill stepped down from the high branch of the apple tree and handed Christill and Friedrich two of the spotted fruits. "How much longer must we endure this torment?"

Christill took a large bite of the juicy apple and through a mouthful of food replied, "It's hardly a bad place to be locked up."

"It is the principle, Christill," said Vrill, lying down next to Friedrich on the grassy slope. "We are not welcome here. The Karmanians still look at us as though we are an ill omen. Harbingers of doom."

"They could be right. Oft I have thought of you as a herald of forthcoming disaster," commented Friedrich, causing Christill to chuckle.

Vrill's next bite into his apple was hard.

"Relax, Vrill. Think of this as a retreat, where you can sleep away your worries," Christill stretched out on the earthen carpet and let out a long yawn. "Free from the strife of the outside world."

"The whole of this blasted world is filled with strife," replied Vrill, his tone sour. "You cannot escape it."

"Ever since we arrived here you have done nothing but whine," complained Friedrich. "For once just enjoy the calmness of this place."

"Calm!" exclaimed Vrill. "You're losing your wits."

Christill laughed once more, finding the constant banter between his friends a comforting distraction from what was awaiting him tonight. How quickly his life had changed since leaving Andron. He had left that busy city an immature and untamed youth. Now he was becoming a man. For once he had direction. He had friends by his side, despite Vrill's constant complaints, and he had a future to look forward to. Or so he hoped.

Lingering on his trial tonight, his contentment shifted to a cold anxiety. This could well be his last day as a free man. Dievu had drilled him on the commitments that a disciple took on. And he had been warned several times of the penalty of failure. That did not matter now. He had made a promise to himself and had no intention of breaking it.

"I could find no record of this having happened before," explained Dievu. "We have no idea what caused the blood to seep from your ears. It may have been a reaction to the forces of the tunnel between the planes."

"I had no trouble with the transition. In my opinion it was whatever was causing those deafening tremors," reasoned Christill.

"Once again, we have never heard of anything like what you described. It may have been a test that Nyrune chose to put you through."

"To what purpose?" asked Christill. "And explain to me why the Goddess herself looked as though she was surprised by those noises."

"Christill," replied Dievu in a voice that he knew all too well. "The ways of the gods are still unknown to us after countless centuries upon this world. Attempting to understand the plan Nyrune has in store for you is a fruitless endeavour. Silphuras Hilke went mad for an entire month after being given a simple riddle by Skiye. It took close to a year for him to completely regain his sanity." Dievu interlocked his fingers in front of him. "What I am trying to explain to you is that even the greatest disciple to walk these lands could not understand the decisions of the guardian gods. How are we to compete?"

"I still find it odd that the greatest minds in Kovi cannot come up with an answer to my questions," muttered Christill.

Dievu frowned and reached over to the small table between them. He poured a fragrant yellow liquid from a crystal vessel and handed Christill the silver cup. Sitting back down on his chair, he gazed across at the young man he had taken under his wing and smiled.

"What is so humorous?" asked Christill, sipping his juice, a mixture of berries made by the Karmanians in Qievulin.

"I see before me a young man, transformed from an uncouth juvenile," replied Dievu, the smile remaining on his face.

"Uncouth!" shot back Christill, trying to hide his own smirk. "I take offence to that. I was quite the composed individual."

Dievu let out a modest laugh. "Indeed."

Christill rested his cup against the arm of his chair and sighed.

"Why so dour?" asked Dievu.

"I miss Feldonian ale," answered Christill. "The first thing I am going to do once I become a disciple is find myself a tall frothing cup of Ardistown lager."

"Some old habits are never sated," said Dievu. "You realize that there will be few chances for you to spend your time in a tavern, mingling with drunkards and sailors. A disciple's life is ever abound with duty. I barely find a moment's rest from the tasks set for me by the Elders. Are you sure you can take orders for the rest of your life?"

"You paint a grim picture of a life that you so surely enjoy, Master. There is no need to frighten me away from my choice. I know the full consequences of my actions. Besides...," Christill pointed out with a cheeky grin. "I will not need to take orders my whole life. I just need to ensure that I eventually claim a seat on the Council."

"I expected as much," replied Dievu. "Some things will never change."

"There is nothing wrong with a little ambition. As long as I stay true to Nyrune's teachings."

"Well spoken," replied Dievu. "Let us hope that you do not one day forget those words. The path taken by disciples who disregard the teachings of the gods is not one I would wish upon anyone. They live their lives as hermits, cast out by their kin."

"How come I have never seen any of them?" asked Christill.

"The life of a fallen disciple is rarely long. They are hunted down and...dealt with. The Council of Elders pursue renegades in order to act out sufficient justice for the wrongs that they have committed." Dievu paused for a moment. "Many consider this to be harsh, but it is a necessity. The ability to wield magic provides us with too much power to remain unchecked and uncontrolled. Were we to allow disciples to follow their own edict, they could achieve terrible things."

Then why has Nyrune not enacted her judgement on the Elders? pondered Christill. Dievu's comments had reminded Christill of the goddess's remarks on the teachings of the Elders. Since returning from the Third Plane, Christill had kept his reservations to himself. Now, hours before he would visit Nyrune once more, he finally felt the need to discuss them. If not with Dievu, then who?

"Master, may I speak freely with you?" he asked timidly.

"Of course," replied Dievu quickly.

"During my trial in the Third Plane there was something that Nyrune said to me that I can't forget. I have not shared this with anyone and I ask you to promise that it will not leave this room."

Dievu leant forward in his chair, his face becoming deadly serious. "I will promise this to an extent, Christill. But if what you tell me jeopardises the safety of someone innocent, I may have to speak with others."

"I guess that will have to suffice," said Christill. Taking a deep breath he continued, "I believe that Nyrune has lost faith in the Council of Elders. She asked me not to be corrupted by the teachings of seven privileged. To follow my heart and become pure to her decree."

Dievu's look turned cold and his eyes moved away from Christill. "This is unexpected and ill-favoured news. Something that I have never heard a Karmanian speak of."

"How can a Goddess allow her representatives on this world to become corrupt? If she is unhappy with the Council, why does she not remove them from their seat of power? Or replace them with people who are true to her teachings, like you?" asked Christill.

"Do not speak blasphemous words, Christill!" returned Dievu harshly. "The Council of Elders is the supreme seat of power in Karmena and they have never done anything against the best interest of the Karmanian people."

Christill lowered his head. "Sorry, Master. I just don't understand. If Nyrune was displeased she should simply take their power from them."

Dievu raised his hand to his temple, a newfound concern in his features. "Nyrune may not know. Though the gods provide us with their magic, their influence on this world is not as strong as most believe. They are the guardians of our world, but for the most part they simply watch. They cannot read our thoughts, they do not really know what our intentions are. Much like you and I they must use their better judgement. And at times they may be wrong."

"But the Council said that my magic would have been taken from me had I elected to leave the Academy."

"Yes, and they would have asked Nyrune to do so. She would have removed your link to the Third Plane. Essentially cutting you off from accessing her power. I have never known Nyrune herself to take a disciple's power from them without the Council's request. The guardian gods specifically place boundaries on the use of their magic to avoid such situations. Were I to try and use my magic to kill another, it would not work. Were I to try to create life, ultimately I would fail. The gods place limits on what their power can be utilised for, but once they have granted that power, they are content to watch over us and simply provide guidance."

"Then it would seem that there is so much potential for deception," reasoned Christill. "If the gods do not take away the powers that they grant, then a disciple could run rampant. Take disciples like Zephra and Novokai."

"Gushkall is an irrational god," replied Dievu, with a slight shake of his head. "He places very few limitations on what his magic can be used for. They say that he revels in observing the disorder such untamed power causes. Remember that each of the four gods is different. Our Feldonian counterparts can use their magic to harm their enemies in need, yet find it much more difficult to heal wounds. And across the sea, Beon grants his few disciples highly limited magic."

"So we are left to suffer the oppression of tyrants on our own."

"The alternative is to have our every step dogged by the gods. Do you truly wish to have your will taken from you? To lead a life prescribed by the divine rather than your own choices?"

"No...that is not what I...," Christill puffed out his breath in frustration. "If Nyrune cannot, or does not wish to step in herself to replace the Council, then why has she not asked another of her disciples to do something? Why did she share this with me?"

"Christill, I have said this to you before. We could sit here for weeks attempting to understand the choices of the gods. We could ask why the gods sat idly by at the dawn of man and watched the first Dargonian murder the children of our ancestors?"

Christill had no response.

They sat in thought until Dievu asked, "Did she say anything else?"

"No," replied Christill. "I found it difficult enough to decipher what she was saying."

Christill watched as Dievu stared into the distance, his thoughts obviously lingering on this disturbing news.

"I am glad that you have chosen to tell me this, Christill."

"Will you go to the Council of Elders?" asked Christill, suddenly worried that he might have jeopardised his chance of becoming a disciple.

Dievu shook his head. "No, I will speak with Mandigal. He is a neutral party and wiser than most. He should be able to make some sense of this." Dievu drew in a deep breath and forced a smile. "But for now, you should get some rest. You have a tremendous task to complete tonight."

From the torturous knots surfacing in his stomach, Christill acknowledged that he knew this.

* * *

"Christill Greyspell, you come before the Council of Elders seeking our wisdom in judgement and our permission for a greater undertaking than that which we have already granted," announced Kiril from the midst of the Elders.

Dressed in a long white robe that dragged along the floor behind him, Christill walked up to the seated Elders and nodded.

Kiril clasped his hands together and placed them calmly on his lap. "We will remind you one final time that failure in what you seek to undertake tonight leads to death."

Through the lump in his throat, Christill replied, "I have thought long on this and have come to my conclusion. I wish to ask Nyrune for her blessings and the right to walk this world as one of her servants. One of her messengers. One of her shepherds."

"Then if you are so willing to risk your life, tell us what the four rules that bind Nyrune's magic are," said Dietrue, gripping the book on his lap more tightly than usual.

Christill could not forget the rules, having spent hours memorising them. He recited the words as though they were the first that he had ever spoken. "No death, no creation, no persuasion." Christill paused, finding it hard to mouth the last rule. In his trial on the Third Plane the goddess had given him only three rules and he knew in his heart that the final rule had been put in place by the Elders. "And no control."

Vischia shifted in her chair, brushing her blonde hair from her shoulders. "Well recited, but any child can remember the rules. Do you know what they mean?"

"Can you understand them?" added her cousin Sielvu, in a voice full of scorn.

Christill replied with a steady, calm voice. "If a disciple of Nyrune uses his or her magic to attempt to create a living thing that can sustain itself on this world, he or she will be banished and their powers taken from them. If he or she uses their power to indirectly kill a living creature, for a purpose other than to sustain themselves or those who require aid, he or she will be executed." Kiril and Velski nodded as Christill explained the first two laws, but he noticed some of the others curling up their faces in disappointment.

"If a disciple uses his or her magic to take control of a conscious being's mind in order to make them act against their own will, he or she will be banished and stripped of their powers," continued Christill. "Finally, if a disciple tries to use his or her powers to overthrow a ruling body they will be executed." He loathed having to recite the last rule, yet knew he needed the Council's blessing to proceed.

"You have impressed even the oldest of us," said Kiril. Christill did not need to look to realise that most of the other Elders, with the exception of Velski, were not in the same state of mind. "You have come to us, a stranger from a distant land, and within a few months have managed to rise to the top of the Academy. Your knowledge of this world is of the highest standards for one your age, no doubt a result of the teachings you received from Dievu and the Miirvkin disciple of Hamal."

"In the magical arts you have become adept unlike any I have seen in the past decade," said Velski, taking over from Kiril. "I could not find a task that was too difficult for you to complete."

"The boy is a Valiant. How could he fail?" blurted out Bithi, his thick neck bulging with agitation. "He has the energy of the guardian gods flowing through his body. Any of the Children Valerious could do what he has done."

"Yet he has performed tasks that you were unable to master at a young age, Bithi," replied Velski with a smug grin.

Christill struggled to contain a smile.

"Furthermore you have shown that you are compassionate and unbiased in your judgment," added Dietrue in a flat tone. "You have been brought up in the distant lands of Miirvk, lived with our allies the Feldonians and now seek to become a disciple of the Karmanian Goddess. More than this, you are friends with those who are seen as our mortal enemies."

Christill was displeased by the manner in which Dietrue mentioned Friedrich and Vrill. "I believe that any man can be good or evil. Where they come from should hold no bearing on this."

"Then I believe that you are ready to take your final step," announced Kiril.

Yhu stepped up from her chair and called for Christill to follow her. As they passed from the chamber, the council members lowered their heads and recited in unison, "May Nyrune watch your steps."

Christill walked silently behind Yhu, trying to focus his mind on the task ahead of him. A feeling of dread rose within him and his heart cried out to him to turn around and run. Could he really please Nyrune? What would stop her from simply striking him down?

Thibalt, lend me your courage, he silently prayed.

Yhu's footsteps came to a halt and Christill looked up to see the door to the Shrine. His eyes took in the beautiful carvings and jewels decorating the portal. Would this be the last beautiful thing that he would ever see?

"I have seen many students pass through these doors Christill," said Yhu with a wide smile that seemed strange in the current circumstances. "Most of them have ordinary experiences and return as disciples of Nyrune. So believe in yourself and do not falter in front of Nyrune."

"Thank you," mumbled Christill weakly. "You have always been understanding."

Yhu inclined her head then turned to open the door. A fresh gust of wind entered the room, carrying with it the fragrant smells of the Shrine's flowers. Christill stepped through the portal and began making his way along the narrow path. Insects buzzed around the plants and shrubs and, from the open roof above, fine droplets of moisture dripped down onto the soft grassy carpet. A loud clang signalled to Christill that the door had been closed behind him. His final moment had come.

He moved up to the Shrine and sat down before it. The tall tree rose before him in all its splendour, covered in a thin mist and sprouting newly blossomed flowers. Christill looked down and saw the blue liquid waiting for him. As he moved to pick it up, a sharp stabbing pain ran through his body, causing him to bend back. He gasped for air whilst the pain pierced his stiffened form.

In the council chamber the six seated Elders gripped their chairs, as the same pain tormented their aged bodies. Kiril rose from his chair as soon as the pain had subsided and rushed out of the chamber.

Yhu, who was coming up to a sitting position, having fallen from the tremendous jolt, saw Kiril rush into the Shrine entrance with terror etched into his features.

Inside the Shrine, Christill recovered from the shock and gripped his chest. His breaths came in shallow gulps and the back of his head felt as though it had just been drenched in fire. He picked up the vial of liquid resolutely and uncorked it. Yhu told me not to falter. Nothing will stop me from achieving this, he reassured himself.

Outside, Kiril picked Yhu up off of the ground and hastily said, "We must stop Christill. He is in great danger."

Yhu quickly grabbed Kiril by the arms and stopped him from opening the door. Kiril looked back in anger. "What are you doing? We must stop him."

"It is too late. He has already taken the potion," replied Yhu.

Kiril turned to the door and saw that the jewels outlining the door were glowing with a radiant inner light, illuminating the door and sealing it from intrusion. The frail Elder sunk his head into his hands. "Nyrune cries out to us in pain. I fear we may have sent that boy to his doom."

* * *

If he could have screamed, Christill would have torn apart the tunnel to the Third Plane with an ear shattering cry. His skin burned and writhed as violent bolts of energy struck out from the walls of the tunnel, torturing his body with elemental fury. The silver and gold that had swirled through the passage on his last trip were now so bright that they stung his eyes and the screeching, that had then hurt his ears, was now so loud that it rattled through his entire bulk. After what seemed an eternity he hurtled out of the tunnel and smacked with a tremendous impact upon the ground. Here he cried out into the air, fearing for his life, tears streaming from his burning eyes.

"What have I done to deserve this?" he screamed.

He rolled onto his back and found he could not breathe properly. Each intake of air was filled with a noxious gas that clung to his throat and blocked his lungs. He wiped the blood from his nose and gasped as he witnessed the horrifying sight before him. Nyrune's home was ablaze in multi-coloured flames. The trees, the grass, even the air itself appeared to be burning with spectral flames that blazed fiercely. Christill stumbled up and covered his mouth with his sleeve.

A great boom sounded in the distance and the ground cracked below him. Christill struggled to keep his footing and watched as chunks of the floor dropped into nothingness, leaving gaping holes of blackness that sucked in the rest of the surroundings. Trees crashed to the ground, sending burning chunks of ethereal timber at him. A large chunk stabbed into Christill's back as he bent down to avoid the deadly shower. As it pierced his skin, it melted and seared his body, eating away the flesh and muscle.

Christill called out to Nyrune, begging for forgiveness, whilst another boom sounded in the distance, causing the earth to crumble apart even more. He leapt to the side, as the ground beneath him fell away into darkness and scrambled quickly to his feet. Suddenly a great wave of energy passed Christill and he flew backwards from the sheer force. Explosions filled the area and he could feel enormous amounts of magic being unleashed.

In the centre of the clearing that he had entered, the air cracked in two and a void opened up. Christill peered into the colourful void and saw a vast dark cloud. Then he jumped in fear as he felt a hand clasp his back. He raised his hands defensively and turned to find Nyrune before him. Christill's hopes were momentarily boosted, but quickly sank when he saw the Goddess's state.

Nyrune's body was incomplete, with chunks of her frame missing, and on her face was a look that Christill could not bear to see. Tears streamed from her eyes and her hair was tangled and wild. She reached out to him and gripped his shoulder tightly. Christill could feel her power running through him, but it was not the same as the last time. This time it was weak, as though she was not fully herself.

"Greyspell! A demise is soon ordained. One is my last chance to cheat mortality," she spoke swiftly. "Do not fear the end, for there is hope with one who is the child of my sister and I."

"What is happening?" screamed Christill, the noise from the destruction around them growing intolerable.

"No time left," replied Nyrune. She looked to the void that was tearing apart the centre of the clearing and coiled back in terror. "I cannot stop the ordained." Looking back to Christill she said, "Forewarn Skiye."

"Of what?" cried Christill, finding it hard to focus from the tremendous pain.

A sizzling bolt of black energy then flew from the dark void and surrounded Nyrune. She screamed and fought against it, but the force was too overwhelming and began to pull her towards the portal.

"Warn my sister," she yelled.

"I don't know what's happening," whimpered Christill, feeling utterly helpless.

"My powers I will leave to One," replied the Goddess. "Forewarn Skiye."

Christill shook his head hopelessly as the ground continued to fall away around him.

The black energy tugged violently at Nyrune, bringing her to within inches of the portal.

"Tell me what is happening," begged Christill.

With one final effort the guardian Goddess of the Karmanians yelled out the word, "Kahnustus!" And from her mouth shot a coil of energy that struck Christill, filling his body with an immense amount of magic.

His body floated from the ground and he watched as Nyrune was completely consumed by the void in a deafening bang. The surroundings disappeared in a flash and Christill's mind slipped from consciousness. Just before he fell into the darkness a group of images passed through Christill's head.

A vast fleet of ships, as black as night, waiting along a massive dock that stretched along a rocky beach. On the largest ship in the fleet Christill saw a monster of a man, wearing a fearsome golden helmet and adorned in a dark suit of armour.

This vision passed and he glimpsed a dank room, bathed in an eerie orange light, in which the air itself was thick with grime. In the room's middle stood a huge shield spilt into four sections and etched with the symbols of the guardian gods of Kovi.

Finally this image melted away and in its place was the City of Skiye. Yet the city was not as Christill had seen it, a magnificent and flourishing beacon of Feldom's proud history. Christill saw the city burning and crumbling and his heart ached to look upon this sight.

Dievu grasped his chest at the point where his heart had momentarily stopped and fell to his knees. He had heard of hearts seizing before, but this was different. He looked around him and throughout the city people had fallen to the floor with the same condition. Something was not right. Cries soon filled the cool night air and Dievu rushed to his feet and headed for the Academy.

He passed amongst people who were still lying prone on the floor, holding their heads. It seemed to have affected everyone. Young and old, the people of Karmena had all endured this terrible pain. That was the only way that he could describe it. Yet there was something else attached to it that he could almost identify. A sense of loss had passed through him as he felt the forceful pulse leave his heart.

"Dievu, what has happened?" called a voice to his side.

"Mandigal!" replied Dievu, feeling slightly relieved to see the Honour Guard. "Did you feel it as well?"

"No. I was in the Hall of Knowledge speaking with a messenger and he fell to the floor in a heap. When he came to, he was weak and could barely stand." Mandigal watched as a few Karmanians who had not been as badly affected moved to help those recovering. "This seems to have hit only the Karmanian people. I passed Friedrich on my way here and he was fine. I sent him ahead to the Academy to see if they need help."

"Could this have something to do with Christill?"

Mandigal placed his fingers to his temple and shook his head. "I could not see how he could have caused something like this. It is unprecedented and on too grand a scale. There may be a greater meaning to all of this, something to do with the strange magic of the bridge over Lake Moonsong."

"We need to find the Elders," said Dievu. Mandigal agreed and they began to speed through the forest city.

As they came upon the Academy, Dievu stopped in his tracks and held his breath, for he saw that the building had cracked in two. With every passing second greater fissures were expanding along the stone structure. The replica of the forked tree in Nyrune's shrine was swaying from side to side, ready to fall. From the entrance the disciples and acolytes ran to the safety of the outside clearing.

"What could have caused this?" asked Dievu, utterly awestruck.

"A powerful magical force," answered Mandigal with a stern face. "Unlike anything that I have seen in my long years."

Then the building fell. The right side of the Academy buckled one final time and the entire bulk came crashing down in a great rumble and smash. A blinding cloud of dust exploded into the clearing and Mandigal and Dievu rushed to find cover as vast chunks of the building struck the ground.

After the cloud had cleared, they rushed to the rubble to aid the Karmanians that had been injured by the falling stone. Mandigal found Friedrich and Vrill lifting a large wooden beam off a young student.

Dievu passed among the injured, using his magic to seal bleeding gashes and mend broken bones. As the magic flowed from him into the bodies of his hurt brethren, Dievu felt his body growing weaker. He paused and found himself drenched in sweat and his muscles aching. "What is happening to me?" he whispered.

"This is chaos, Mandigal!" cried Friedrich. "There are too many injured."

"Do what you can," instructed Mandigal. "I need to find the Elders. Hopefully they are still somew..." Mandigal froze and gazed at the remains of the Academy.

"I can sense it as well," whispered Dievu, his voice fearful.

From the midst of the wreckage came a faint green glow that grew brighter and brighter.

"I have never felt so much power," muttered Mandigal as they watched the light.

Whispers brought the huddled form to open his eyes and peer around the room. The vibrant colours of the flora surrounding Christill caused him to regain his wits and rise up into a sitting position. He was back in the Shrine of Nyrune, yet he was not the same person that he had been when he had entered this sacred place. There was a new part of him that pulsed and coursed through his body, like the beating of a second heart. As a newborn fawn, out of the instinct passed down through generations, takes its first frail steps, Christill forced the magic throughout his damaged body. Bones were mended and skin sealed together with the healing powers of Nyrune's magic.

The stone blocks making up the walls of the large room began to tremble and fall. Christill willed his magic out into the open and placed a protective barrier above himself. The crumbling chunks of building rolled off the green shield to come crashing by Christill's side.

Standing up and stretching out his traumatised muscles, Christill came to realise that he felt complete. The life force burning in his fingertips, the energy of Teefarrnur, was now sealed in his body, fulfilling the final step in the path of one of the Children Valerious. But Christill knew that this was not how it should be. Nyrune had cried out to him in that final moment and he had seen pain and fear. In the magic that she had passed to him, in that last moment on the Third Plane, there was something more. A presence that he could not place, yet cried out to him like the clarion call of a warrior's horn.

The images he had been forced to endure flashed through his mind once more. Christill shook his head and headed for the exit of the Shrine resolutely. The entire Academy was falling to pieces around him, but the powers of his goddess protected him. He walked with a distressed mind down the once-beautiful corridors of the Academy of Nyrune. He had business with Skiye.

* * *

"What is that light?" asked Sielvu.

"It has been working its way through the rubble for the last minute or so," replied Dievu.

Sielvu pushed past him and was followed by Bithi and Yhu. "We need to get these injured to the healers. There are not enough of us here to see to them all. The other Elders are still moving around the city."

As much as Dievu despised Sielvu, he accepted the Elder's orders in this time of crisis. Mandigal turned and ordered the soldiers who had begun to arrive from the city centre to carry the wounded away from the wreckage.

"Can you all feel the loss?" asked Bithi suddenly. "I used my powers to mend the neck of a young disciple moments ago and I am completely drained."

"I have the same problem," replied Dievu. "My magic has not returned to me. It passed from my body into the injured, but was not replenished by Nyrune."

"I fear that something may have happened to her," interrupted Mandigal.

"Impossible," blurted Yhu. "I will not accept that as an explanation. Our goddess would never do this to her children."

"I did not suggest that I have the answer, Yhu," replied Mandigal gratingly. "For the entire Karmanian people to have felt this, Nyrune must be involved."

"The light is emerging form the Academy," called Friedrich from the midst of the crumbled stones.

The centre of the Academy then burst into the air, sending massive clumps of stone throughout the area. Friedrich and Vrill, who had been sifting through the debris and were closest to the blast, jumped for cover as the barrage headed towards them. The stones dropped with immense speed, but stopped short of crushing them. They looked up to see the segments of building hovering in the air above them. Then, as if thrown by an invisible hand, the stones were hurled away to an empty section of the ruins.

Looking up they saw what had emerged from the wreckage. There in the midst of the broken monument stood Christill, his robe stained with dirt and blood, with a solemn look on his face.

"Christill," whispered Dievu. He was finding it hard to believe what his eyes were showing him. One part of him was ecstatic to see his young pupil alive, but there was another part that wondered whether this young man was the cause of all of this strife.

Christill moved towards Friedrich and Vrill and helped them up.

Friedrich instantly noticed the change that had come over Christill, the calm manner of his movements and the resolute look in his eyes. Friedrich's brow shot up abruptly. "Christill, your eyes. They have turned green."

Christill smiled. "Many things have changed, friend. I must ask something of you two now. Listen to me carefully." Christill turned and noticed that Dievu, Mandigal and the three Elders were heading towards them. "I have need to travel to the City of Skiye. I may require your help to get out of Duathnin."

"What in the world are you talking about?" asked Vrill, suddenly wary of the haste in Christill's voice. "What have you done?"

"There is no time. They will not believe me and I predict that the situation may get heated. It is likely I will be forced to escape this city," replied Christill. "When the time comes, follow me."

Friedrich moved to reply, but was cut off by Bithi. "What have you done to our sacred Academy?" roared the Elder in an accusing tone.

"Be silent for a moment, my lord," responded Christill.

The bulky Elder almost toppled over. He had never been so offended. Sielvu took this chance to speak his mind. "How dare you address us in such a manner? Once we find out what has happened I will personally see to your punishment. And there will be no mercy."

"For once in your life cast away your arrogance and let me explain myself," shot back Christill, causing those around them to gasp in shock. "I was not the cause of this catastrophe. I did what I was ordered and travelled to the Third Plane, but it was not as it was before. Something was destroying Nyrune's realm. I watched as the ground around me fell into nothingness and the trees in Nyrune's home blew apart in spectral fire. The goddess herself came before me in strife."

"How would you know what she was feeling? You could not even begin to understand the meaning behind Nyrune's appearance," Sielvu interrupted.

"Sielvu is right, Christill," added Dievu. "We have all had different experiences on the Third Plane. It may have all been an act."

"This was no act, Master," replied Christill sternly. "Nyrune was attacked before my very eyes."

Mandigal jumped in. "What attacked her, Christill?"

"I am not sure. There was a presence there. I could not explain it to you had I a year to think on it."

"He is lying!" yelled Bithi. "It was he that attacked our goddess. I knew you were trouble from the moment you were brought before us. Someone bind his hands before he attacks us."

"How could Christill cause something like this, Bithi?" reasoned Dievu. "Think rationally."

"What happened to Nyrune?" probed Mandigal, ignoring the bickering around him.

Christill realised there was no hope of him explaining this to the Elders in their current state. Worst of all his two biggest adversaries in the Council where the only ones that were listening to him. Yhu was standing off to the side with a dazed look on her face and the other Elders were nowhere to be seen. Mandigal was his only hope. Christill focused his thoughts on Mandigal and spoke directly into the Honour Guard's mind. "She is gone, Mandigal."

"I know," responded Mandigal, without even a hint of movement. "I need to speak with you."

"I need to speak with Skiye," explained Christill. "You must stop them from keeping me here."

Mandigal inclined his head slightly to show his acceptance. Dievu and the Elders were still arguing. "Then we must leave now. Do you have the power to take Friedrich with you?"

Christill nodded.

"Then I will take Vrill," he finished. Mandigal stepped towards the young Dargonian and gripped his arm. Vrill eyed Mandigal suspiciously, but did not act against it. Christill moved towards Friedrich and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Call the guards. Have them bring the rest of the Elders," yelled Sielvu to a nearby disciple. "Yhu, place some bindings on Christill."

Yhu shook herself out of her daze and began to move towards Christill.

This was the moment that Christill had dreaded. He shifted his gaze to Dievu and could tell that his Master knew what he was planning. Dievu's crestfallen eyes betrayed his sorrow at Christill's choice, but there was also understanding.

"One day you will realise why," said Christill, sending his message into Dievu's mind.

He willed his mind back to the situation and called forth his new powers. Mandigal followed his example and enveloped himself and Vrill in a cloud of red energy.

Sielvu and Bithi moved to stop them, but were blinded by a dazzling explosion of light that had flown from Christill's hands. The Elders stumbled amongst the rubble, slipping on loose pebbles, as Christill and Mandigal vanished from the ruins in a blur.

"We must try and find out how far they have gone," yelled Yhu.

"How could Mandigal commit this treason?" asked Bithi as he rubbed his blighted eyes.

"We will not stand for it," cried Sielvu. He grabbed a bewildered Karmanian youth by the collar and roared into his ears. "Send word throughout the forest. The Guardians are to find them before they reach Feldonian ground. We know these lands better than the animals themselves. They will not be allowed to leave."

"Mandigal is a cunning foe," pointed out Bithi in a wary tone. "If he wishes to remain unseen he will do so."

"Go and get Kiril!" blurted Sielvu angrily.

Dievu watched the Elders arguing with an absent mind. His thoughts dwelled on a Feldonian boy who had in one night caused more strife than centuries of war.

Mystic forces, unfathomable to the small animals occupying the clearing, filled the forest with such intensity that the ground trembled. Innocent rabbits sprang into action and fled the vicinity as these primal forces formed into green and red light and shone throughout the trees. Then with a strangle sizzle Christill and Mandigal landed on the leaf strewn ground. Christill hunched his back and rested his hands on his knees, his breaths coming in abrupt gasps. "I was not ready for that. I need a moment to rest," he mumbled.

Vrill similarly leant his body against a nearby trunk and struggled for air.

Mandigal quickly took in the surroundings. They were extremely lucky to have made it this far from Duathnin. More so, Christill had been able to follow his path without any trouble, no easy task. It required a level of concentration beyond that of a normal person and an understanding of magic that few disciples held. The powers that had been passed to this young boy were unique. He could feel the magic emanating from Christill's body. It held a distinct aura of its own.

"What now?" asked Friedrich, fearing they were still in danger. "We are still in the Misty Forest. It is not exactly the easiest place to escape from."

"Nyrune's presence no longer haunts these woods," replied Mandigal. "We will not be stopped by any magic."

"We shouldn't be worried about magic. I am worried about the entire Karmanian army charging after us," commented Vrill in a peevish tone.

Mandigal ignored Vrill's remarks. Turning to Christill he asked, "Do you know what has happened?"

Christill looked up at the Honour Guard and felt completely lost. How could he explain something that he did not fully understand? There was only one thing that he knew for certain. He needed to speak with Skiye. "I fear the warning given to me during my last moments on the Third Plane may have been Nyrune's last. I watched helplessly as she was attacked by an evil veil of shadow." Christill did not want to believe his own words, but knew them to be true. His voice trembled as he mouthed the dire words, "Nyrune is gone."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

### REALISATIONS

"Confounded Nyrune," mumbled Ludvic under his breath. "What kind of farce is this weather?" He shook his heavy fur cloak causing the snow to fall off of it in thick clumps. The powdery snow soon covered his body in another layer of ice and he shook his head in resignation. There was nothing that he could do against these conditions.

The unfortunate gelding that he had procured for his journey walked with a tired head and often grunted its disapproval of the icy weather of northern Feldom. Ludvic had spent half of his life in these lands, but even he had never grown accustomed to the constant snow and rain. In the best of months the snow fell less frequently and the ground was turned to a slush that one could wade through with little difficulty. In the harsher months, it paid to stay indoors as the snowfall covered the earth in several feet of powder and the winds blew so strongly that even the heaviest of individuals could not keep their footing.

What does that fool see in this land that is so worth keeping? thought Ludvic as he spotted Auldney on the dark horizon. Baldoroff was so stubbornly opposing King Castaneda's demands for a city that was surrounded by perpetual darkness and storms. "As gloomy as a summer's day in Auldney," his mother had always said. Strange, as she had truly loved the city.

The heavy walls of Baldoroff's capital were covered in the grime and dirt thrown against it during the unending storms. The wood worked in amongst the buildings was stained black, rotting from the constant damp in the North. It was no pleasant site and the people he was heading to meet were no more appealing.

Rolling pastures that had seen little use fell away to the rocky ground that surrounded the city and soon Ludvic's poor gelding was losing its footing on the slippery stone path. The well fed Honour Guard slid from his saddle and walked the horse the rest of the way. By the time he had reached one of the city's gates he was completely out of breath.

"Who goes there?" called a guardsman from the top of a battered watchtower.

"Ludvic Hammerfell."

A loud shout followed and the gate began to creak open, the rusty hinges grinding together with a terrible screech. Ludvic passed into Auldney and did not bother to speak to the watchman who had bolted down the ladder in hope to see the Honour Guard. The streets were filled with cheerless individuals carrying baskets and sacks. All wore thick fur coats to keep out the chill and high boots to avoid the all-to-common frostbite. A disappointed moan escaped Ludvic's lips as he trudged through the desolate streets.

He made his way past dark buildings that were simple in design, with as few openings as possible to keep out the cold. The walkways were lined with vendors of all sort. Metal smiths, fish mongers, cabinetmakers, tanners, and everything else that an isolated city such as this would require. Workers called out to him as he passed, offering spices and clothes that would change his fortune. He offered them little attention and followed the path into the city.

"Ludvic, you old rat," came a call from the side of the street. The Honour Guard turned and found his mood lightening as he spotted a muscular man leaving a baker's stall. He approached Ludvic with a chunk of bread in his hands and crumbs covering his thin beard.

"Fesvic!" called out Ludvic happily. "What has my little brother been up to all these years?"

"Living the simple life," he replied.

Fesvic Hammerfell threw the chunk of bread on the floor and wiped his hand on his black vest. He moved up to his brother and embraced him in a bear hug that took the Honour Guard's breath away. "It has been an age since you have come to visit me."

"Eight years I believe," confirmed Ludvic.

"Aye, that sounds about right. So what brings an old fool like you back home?" asked Fesvic.

"Baldoroff," replied Ludvic plainly, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

"What else?" said Fesvic, with a roll of his eyes. "Well, Brother, they have promoted me to Marshal."

Ludvic let out a raucous snort. "You a Marshal. Dining and cavorting with the wealthy."

Fesvic threw Ludvic a hurt look. "Well not all of us can become Maloreichar. I do what I can to keep my life as pleasant as possible."

"And it looks like you've done well," replied Ludvic sternly. "You look more robust than you did when last I saw you."

Fesvic coughed uncomfortably. On Ludvic's last visit he had found Fesvic lying in a reeking alleyway, in a pool of his own vomit. The Honour Guard had sorted him out and taken the bottle out of his hands. Fesvic had been an impulsive drunkard, thrown out of his home with no coin and no hope. Now, thanks to Ludvic's help, he was a high ranking member of Auldney's army, with responsibility and a level of respect that he had never held before.

"When was the last time that you laid your hands on a bottle?" probed Ludvic.

"I have not touched a thing since your last visit. I promise you," he replied. "No ale, rum or wine."

"Good," returned Ludvic. "If I ever see you with a drink in your hand I will give you the last beating you'll ever receive."

"You are beginning to sound more like our father," commented Fesvic.

"And you are beginning to look more like our mother," shot back Ludvic with a deep laugh. Ludvic placed his hand on Fesvic's back and motioned for him to walk. They moved down the street and Ludvic listened as his brother recalled the last years of his life. He was proud of Fesvic. When Ludvic had joined the army at the age of sixteen, Fesvic had just been born. At the time, he had regretted not being able to spend time with his energetic brother. But once their parents had passed away and Fesvic turned down a dark path, Ludvic had made sure to set him straight. Now his brother walked proudly, keeping a smile on his face. At least there was some joy to be had in Auldney.

After Fesvic finished his long winded speech he stopped walking and turned to face his brother with a stern expression. "I know why you are here. With all my heart I advise you to turn around and return to the South. Baldoroff is insane. His madness will cause him to act rashly and, more often than not, violently."

"I am not afraid of that arrogant fool," replied Ludvic in a resolute tone. "He will listen to my demands and comply if he knows what's best for him."

"That's the problem," returned Fesvic. "He no longer sees right from wrong."

"I know you only mean the best, but I must talk some sense into him. Lest he bring the rest of Feldom down with him."

"Then go and speak with him, Brother. But don't expect much, for a sickness has gripped our old King's mind and he suffers from a severe case of bullheadedness," cautioned Fesvic.

"This sickness seems to have a preference for those in seats of power," commented Ludvic.

Fesvic embraced his brother in another hug. "Come see me before you leave."

Ludvic nodded and watched his brother stroll off in the opposite direction.

"Married!" exclaimed Oswald, as he heard the news for the first time.

"It still surprises me," continued Thibalt. Estallion sat off to the side in Oswald's small kitchen, chewing on a slice of pear with a mirthful smile on his face.

"It seems you have accomplished more since leaving here than I have in a lifetime," observed the old farmer.

"Not at all," said Thibalt. "Your ranch is famous throughout Feldom. Everywhere I have been they speak of Steelfist's horses."

"But you have seen adventure," retorted Oswald. "And are a captain in the Feldonian army!"

"I had some help," said Thibalt, motioning to Estallion.

Estallion let out a small huff. "Do not jest, Thibalt. I was merely an innocent bystander who got mixed up in your mad adventures. Incidentally, I think I best go and see if I can't find that mother of mine. I have put off the inevitable for long enough."

"I will come and find you later," called Thibalt.

Estallion turned at the doorway and saluted Thibalt in as foolish a manner as possible. "Yes Captain!"

"I hate it when he does that," said Thibalt sourly as Estallion shut the door behind him.

"Nevertheless, you have made good friends," said Oswald, shifting his weight in his seat. "And Christill wishes to become a disciple?"

Thibalt nodded. "He has his heart set on it. He will get his way. I have little doubt about that."

"Hah!" cried Oswald. "One of my own sons a disciple. And of Nyrune at that. What is our world coming to?"

Thibalt chuckled, realising that had he thought about Christill becoming a disciple of Nyrune a year back he would have struggled to control his laughter.

They sat in silence and Thibalt, for the first time since becoming a captain, was able to relax in familiar surroundings. The peace did not last long though. His thoughts soon shifted to the letter sitting snugly in his vest. A spot from where it had not moved an inch since Errollan had given it to him.

"It is short lived isn't it?" said Oswald, bringing Thibalt back to the present.

"What is?"

"The feeling of joy. These days it is so hard to keep," replied Oswald. "Seeing you again has made me a happy man, Thibalt. I only wish your brother could be here as well. I have had so little to keep me cheerful of late."

"It is not only you," mentioned Thibalt. "The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that when I come home, Miera and my close friends will be waiting for me. It is a simple thing, but it keeps me content."

"That is no simple thing, Son," said Oswald, causing Thibalt some surprise. He had never before addressed Thibalt in that fashion and it was the first real sign of acceptance from the old farmer. Thibalt smiled, hoping that Oswald realised what it meant to have heard those words from his true father.

"What you have described is what makes life worth living," continued Oswald. "Family and friends are the only thing that you should be searching for. Money and glory are for the fools. I wasted my chance long ago and will be damned if I allow you to do the same. Make sure you remember that."

Thibalt did not know how to react. Their conversations had never been so serious. "I will do my best," he quickly said.

"I have seen so many families enter the city from the East. In these dire times, where it seems that hope has finally run out, I see many of their faces filled with gladness. Even though their city has been captured by the enemy, their homes and livelihoods destroyed by a savage army, they have not given up. And do you know why?"

Thibalt, gripped by Oswald speech, shook his head without blinking.

"Because they still have each other," Oswald answered. "Everyday more families come to me in search of shelter. And even though my stables are overcrowded to bursting, I put them up. I cannot bring myself to say no when I see their tired faces."

"You are a good man," Thibalt said proudly. "An honourable man."

Oswald turned away, now uncomfortable. He quickly stood up and began to act as though he had something to do in the kitchen, moving plates and mugs around. Thibalt watched him with a peaceful grin.

"Well, when will I get to meet my new daughter?" asked Oswald after a short while.

"You shall have to come to the capital with me. We have plenty of room in our new home," suggested Thibalt.

Oswald let out a gloomy groan. "I may take you up on that sooner rather than later. Once Andron gets involved in the fighting I will have no place in this city. Guard Captain Falneren will take my horses for the army and I will be told to leave the farm so that it can be used as a training ground."

"They cannot do that!" protested Thibalt. "The ranch and horses are your property."

"They can and will, Thibalt," argued Oswald regretfully. "And who am I to say no? If my horses can help our men win this war then they will have done us a great honour. At this stage saving lives is more important to me than my assets."

Thibalt was irritated that Oswald was willing to give in so easily, but also knew that he was right. Once the West became involved in the war, there would be no room for arguments, only swift action. His mind returned to the letter in his vest and his mood darkened. "Once I am done with my business here, I fear that you may be taking me up on that offer."

"News from the King?" wondered Oswald.

Thibalt nodded sadly. "I must meet with Duke Poleus. I have some distressing information to give him."

Oswald nodded and let out a long and weary sigh.

The arctic wind that crawled through the city, leaving icicles and weather on every inch of structure, now blew stronger than ever. An ill omen of things to come. Ludvic took in the sight before him and felt a shiver run deep through his frame. Greonwold Hall loomed ahead, surrounded by snow-flaked pines that were planted centuries before, at the city's birth. The chamber of the northern rulers was a dark building covered in archaic runes that depicted long forgotten rituals and sacrifices, once a norm in the wastes of Feldom. Granite and black marble formed the high walls that surrounded the hall and a triangular roof, made of birch sleepers, gave the building an ancient appearance.

"You have come a long way, old friend," came a deep voice.

Ludvic looked to the bottom of the stairs that led up to the entrance and raised an eyebrow. "It seems that, no matter how hard I try, I cannot steer clear of the people I did not come here to see," he called back in good humour.

The man at the steps moved up to Ludvic. He was broad shouldered and had a trimmed black beard that matched his closely cropped hair, both speckled with grey. He wore a deep blue coat over a worn but still impressive shirt that marked his position as General. "I still have many bruises and broken bones to repay you for," he replied.

Ludvic clasped his childhood companion on the shoulder and felt an old warmth return to his bones. "It does me good to see you, Baethus. I have not seen enough friendly faces in the last few months."

"The fighting has begun," replied Baethus.

"That it has," repeated Ludvic solemnly. "And many good men have already died at the enemy's hand...We need your men. The forces of General Baethus Horrfull are still one of Feldom's most powerful weapons."

"It has been a long time since my knights have charged into battle under the flag of Feldom," replied Baethus. "But I assure you, this is not how I would have it."

"I do not blame you," Ludvic assured him. "I know there is nothing you can do whilst Baldoroff gives you orders."

Baethus sighed. "I long for the old days, Ludvic; rushing blindly into the enemy ranks. We were invincible back then."

Ludvic took a moment to remember his days in the army with Baethus. They had both fought together side by side until the very day that Ludvic had been enlisted into the Maloreichar. They had even commanded a ship together in the conflict against the Miirvkin of Numukh. "Those were good days," Ludvic agreed. "Simpler days."

"So I assume you did not come here to reminisce about our youth?"

Ludvic looked up to Greonwold Hall and shook his head. "I came to see if there is any shred of hope left to sway the mind of this deranged King of yours."

"Do not make me choose between you and Baldoroff, old friend. As much as I despise his judgement and rulings I cannot abandon our people. My loyalties will always lie foremost with the folk of the North."

"I ask nothing of you, Baethus. It is with Baldoroff that I must make my request. A request to put an end to this lunacy once and for all."

"Then go and bring peace to Feldom, Ludvic," returned Baethus.

"You make it sound as though this will be an easy task," replied Ludvic, rubbing his tired eyes. "It was good seeing you."

Baethus smiled and waved goodbye, but Ludvic could see a strong tinge of grief in his friend's smile. He passed Baethus and moved up to Baldoroff's council hall.

Four guards stood at the wide entrance, draped in thick leather armour and fur trimmed cloaks. They opened the doorway for Ludvic. He stepped inside the entryway and hung his cloak on a brass hook. The walkway to the next set of burnished doors was lined with fires that gave a necessary warmth to those entering from the cold outside. Ludvic thanked Skiye that he was finally granted a reprieve from the harsh fury of the elements. A small servant with a depraved look about him motioned for Ludvic to pass through into the next room and, as Ludvic stepped through, he cast the man a grateful look.

The doors opened up into a hall heated by so many fires that Ludvic felt he had been struck by a sudden fever. Fireplaces dotted the walls and throughout the hall lay deep pits that sent tendrils of smoke into the air. The windows in the room were positioned high up, causing the light to fall in strange angles upon the floor and giving the whole room a murky quality.

The first thing that Ludvic noticed was how decrepit Greonwold Hall now looked. Years before, when he had walked through this room of kings, it had been a thing of beauty. Where works of art and festive decorations lined the walls and columns, bringing a certain warmth and fondness to the heart. Now the cobwebs and grime of ages had crept into every crevice and it seemed as though it had been a lifetime since the hall had seen the touch of a servant.

Upon a long wooden chair, that was more a bed than a seat, sat the King of Auldney in his filthy, food stained, fur cloak. Ludvic gazed at him in disgust as he saw endless rings and items of extravagance hanging from the ruler's fat body. Yet behind the finery and jewels lay Baldoroff's dark eyes and pock marked skin that did little to hide his inner sickness. A long line of courtiers stood to the King's side, each waiting their turn for an audience with the corpulent monarch.

Ludvic waited patiently at the entrance and watched as Afhill Baldoroff listened with a bored expression to the requests and problems of the nobles addressing him. By his side stood a young serving girl whose only job was to place slices of fruit, a rare commodity in the cold north, into Baldoroff's already overfull mouth. Long moments passed and the King made no motion to suggest he was aware of the Honour Guard's presence. Despite this, Ludvic made no move to introduce himself.

After the long line of waiting nobles grew to only a few and the long shadows crept along the floor to show the passing of hours, Baldoroff spoke out aloud. "Master Hammerfell, how long are you planning to stand in my hall unannounced? If it is your wish to become a permanent feature of my chamber then please, take a place next to the statues aligning the wall, but pray do not stand in the entryway of my hall for much longer. You are becoming an eyesore."

Ludvic's brow furrowed angrily and he stepped forward into the light. "Afhill!" he greeted, causing the King much displeasure. "How I have missed your cunning nature and kind mannered tongue."

"Strong words from a traitor," spat Baldoroff.

"I could say the same," shot back Ludvic in a powerful voice. The servants and nobles watching the exchange moved back to avoid any sudden outburst by the two men. "A dark shadow blankets the pale sky above Auldney, as the rotting core of its monarchy seeks to sow the final seed of ruin."

"Do not quote me the sayings of old," replied Baldoroff. "That old adage died long ago, along with the false ideals and indoctrinations of the disciples that marked the northern kings heretics."

"You and those before you were marked heretics in fair judgement. What madness you speak of to create Durraas' forsaken nation. It goes against everything that is right."

"What is right!" screamed Baldoroff, sending himself into a coughing fit. Once he had recovered, he moved his hand from his mouth and looked Ludvic dead straight in the eyes. "How far you Feldonians have come with your misguided ideals to believe that you are the ultimate and final judgement in this world. Who is Dieter Castaneda to say what is right or wrong? A witless inbred like him is no smarter than the savage Miirvkin who so long ago isolated themselves from us. It is Feldom itself that is in the wrong."

"Why do you speak in the third person?" asked Ludvic. "From what I have heard you are still part of the Feldonian nation. King Castaneda may allow you the title of king, but he is still the ruling body of these lands."

"These are my lands!" cried Baldoroff defiantly, anger burning in his eyes. "You have become foolish in your old age to come here by the whim of your master to speak to me like this. I will have you hung from the gallows by the sun's setting."

"Don't turn this into a personal battle between me and you. I work for this nation, not for the King, and what I say is what I truly believe. You will not succeed in the creation of Durraas."

Baldoroff shifted in his seat, coming to an upright position. The fury in his eyes was barely contained and he once again burst into a fit of coughing, this one violently jerking his body. His attendants moved to help him and for a moment Ludvic almost pitied the man. Baldoroff pushed the help away and stood up. "So you have come here to tell me what I can and cannot do, Ludvic. You believe you are able to predict the future?"

"You have been given an ultimatum by King Castaneda and I am smart enough to realise that an arrogant mule such as yourself will not comply with his terms," replied Ludvic. "I have come here of my own free will to try and talk some sense into you. Prevent things from getting any worse. How can you do this as we stand at the beginning of the most crucial war that we have ever fought?"

"I do this because I now see the world through different eyes. I have made moves to ensure that my people will remain safe. Auldney will not suffer King Zephra's wrath when the Dargonians march their might out of Precedin."

These words shocked Ludvic deeply. "What deal have you struck, Afhill?"

"You need not worry yourself about such matters," answered Baldoroff. "Rest assured that I will go ahead with the creation of Durraas, with or without Dieter's approval."

"Then we will stop you," said Ludvic sternly.

"And risk civil war?" said Baldoroff smugly. "I think not."

"Don't take my warnings lightly. If necessary I will return and stop you myself," warned Ludvic.

Baldoroff erupted at these words. "You have threatened me for the last time." Ludvic felt strong hands grip his arms and struggled to free himself. "You have made your promises and I have made mine. You will hang before the sun sets. A fitting end for a swine, who long ago abandoned his people."

Ludvic cried out defiantly, but the scream died away as he was struck unconscious from behind.

"I recognise this face," commented Duke Poleus, as Thibalt bowed before the elderly man's throne.

Thibalt stood up, noticing that the Duke had not changed since he had arrived here with Reinar and Christill many months ago. The room unsettled Thibalt and brought back memories of the day when they had last seen Reinar. He peered around him at the empty rows of seats that had then been lined with robed figures and felt a shiver run through his spine. It did not please him at all to be back in this room.

"Thibalt Steelfist if I am not mistaken," continued Duke Poleus. "And it seems as though you have become a captain in the Feldonian army." The Duke rubbed his thin beard as he so often did when in thought. "How interesting."

"I bring a message from Errollan Dune, my lord," announced Thibalt. He stepped forward and handed the folded parchment to the Duke.

Thibalt waited and watched Andre's eyes scroll through the message. As he progressed through the long text, his eyes grew dark and Thibalt watched as the Duke's form slumped in his chair. He placed the parchment on his lap and blew out a long breath.

Thibalt did not move from the spot, waiting for Errollan's message to sink in.

"Tell me, Captain Steelfist," said Andre finally. "Did you see the banner of war hanging from the top of the Citadel?"

"No, my lord," answered Thibalt honestly. "I left before General Harrinus and Lord Dune had raised the banner from the Citadel."

"I only ever saw it once," said Andre, staring with an absent look through one of the few windows of the room. "It was a long time ago, but not upon the Citadel's peak. It was hanging on display in a decrepit hall, for those who wished to gaze upon old relics. I never thought that I would see the day it would be flown from the Citadel itself."

Thibalt did not see the great importance of a simple banner, but did not reply. He did however take note that the Duke's voice had become resigned. It was not the same authoritative and powerful voice that had set him and his brother free.

"Do you know what is in this letter?" asked the Duke, waving the dispatch in the air.

"I have not read it, but I think I know what it says," answered Thibalt.

The Duke placed the letter back down. "It was inevitable. We all knew that sooner or later the West would be asked to send their forces into battle. It has happened in every great campaign that Dargon has launched."

"This is different," replied Thibalt. "I have been to the East and have seen with my own eyes the power that has been unleashed against Feldom's faltering forces. It must be stopped now, and it seems that no matter how many times we say it, you Westerners do not understand how grave the situation is." Thibalt suddenly bit his lip. He could not believe that he had just said that. Not so long ago he had been a Westerner.

The Duke laughed, easing Thibalt's damaged conscience somewhat. "I like the fact that you speak your mind, Captain. It is most likely a repercussion of your Miirvkin upbringing, but none the less a good attribute. I also agree with what you are saying. Errollan has, after much debate, sounded the call to arms and asks for the united army of Feldom to marshal at the City of Skiye. It will be the first time in centuries that the soldiers of Feldom will march under one banner to fight against the hated Dargonians."

"It is the only way to ensure victory," remarked Thibalt, in the voice of a true soldier.

"Yes, and we will show them that Feldom is not as weak as they think," Duke Poleus replied passionately. Thibalt watched as Andre Poleus once again transformed, his sullen mood replaced by a fiery eagerness. "We will march back up to the walls of Precedin under one mighty banner and then Zephra will rue the day that he brought the West into this war."

Thibalt prayed that the Duke's words would hold true. He had finally found a measure of peace in Feldom and was ready to do anything to preserve that. Would Feldom's forces be able to stop the charge of Zephra's armies or would he lose those that he loved? So many had already lost friends and family in Precedin.

He had to hope.

Ludvic shook the cold bars with such force that the dark stone above him began to grind, sending chalk down onto the furious Honour Guard. The cell that Baldoroff's men had thrown him into was empty, but for a few remnants of rotten straw scattered in the corner. The bleak stone of this lower dungeon gleamed in the faint firelight and the small room on the other side of the cell held nothing more than a small stool for the soldier standing watch.

"Your King has lost his mind. Listen to me!" growled Ludvic at the watchman, the veins on his neck bulging dangerously. Never in his entire life had he been treated so disgracefully and he now fully understood that there was no hope for the mad ruler of Auldney.

The watchman looked up briefly from his bowl of soup and shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

Ludvic turned from the bars and spat on the floor in disgust. How was he going to get out of here? Errollan and Mandigal had to know how deep Baldoroff's treachery went. To throw one of the Maloreichar into holding and publicly threaten him was so far beyond reason that Ludvic felt like throttling Baldoroff with his own bare hands. He was about to drop to the floor to rest his aching legs when the door leading into this lower prison slammed open.

The watchman jumped out of his seat in complete shock, in the process spilling his boiling hot soup all over himself. Ludvic watched as General Horrfull marched into the room with a look of pure rage on his bearded face. Behind him came Fesvic, holding a large axe menacingly with both hands.

"Open that cell door at once!" ordered Baethus loudly.

The watchman looked into his General's eyes and visibly trembled.

"What are you waiting for?" yelled General Horrfull. "Open that blasted door before I force you through the bars headfirst!"

"I am under King Baldoroff's orders to keep him here until he says otherwise," whimpered the watchman.

Fesvic moved up to the soldier and grabbed him by the collar. "Open the blasted door!" he screamed.

The soldier, finally beaten by the intimidating Hammerfell, rushed over to the cell and fumbled to unlock the door. Ludvic pushed passed him and slapped Baethus on the back.

"I can never repay you for this," said Ludvic.

"There is nothing to repay," replied Baethus. "Baldoroff has finally overstepped the boundaries between sanity and lunacy."

Ludvic moved to the corridor that led to the outside and rushed to get out of the dungeon. They burst through the door into the cold air and Ludvic found two heavy mounts standing at the entrance with streams of mist leaving their nostrils after each deep breath. Both horses were laden to the brim with supplies and Ludvic noticed Crunch and Crack strapped to the side of the closest one.

"You have done so much for me," said Ludvic gratefully. "By doing this you have both risked your lives."

"Afhill is not foolish enough to harm me, Ludvic," replied Baethus. "I command the loyalty and respect of Auldney's troops and he knows that he will need my knights to protect this city."

"He will find no reason to keep you alive," Ludvic said to Fesvic.

His brother let the head of his axe rest on the floor and replied, "Aye, Brother. That is why I think it is about time for me to visit the South. I'm sure you could use some company on your journey home."

Ludvic understood how difficult it would be for Fesvic to leave Auldney. Yet staying within Baldoroff's grasp was now too dangerous. He turned to Baethus and promised, "I will return."

"To what end?" the General responded.

"To put an end to Baldoroff's tyranny," answered Ludvic. "If we lose the northern dukedoms, who knows what will happen. We may find Summerstone and Hulmtown detaching themselves from Feldom in an effort to evade Zephra's fierce march."

"Feldom is still united, Ludvic," Baethus assured him. "Have you so little faith in your own people?"

"From what I have seen over the last few months, there is little reason to believe otherwise. Polthney has already agreed to Baldoroff's proposal and Larthstone is but a wisp away from signing over rulership to him."

"They are both small cities who are afraid," reasoned Baethus. "They will be crushed if they are forced to fight against a horde of Dargonians. Can you blame Polthney, a city which has seen fighting since the dawn of time, for seeking a peaceful option?"

"This is no peaceful choice. King Castaneda threatens to march his troops against the North in order to stop the nation of Durraas from becoming a reality. It would be the end of the Feldonian nation as we know it. If this happens there will be nothing left but a ruined and bloody field, strewn with the bodies of our friends and family. Feldom will become a whisper in the annals of the future Dargonian Empire."

Baethus shook his head in frustration. "I can see no solution."

"We all know what will need to happen, but we dare not speak it," commented Fesvic. "Baldoroff must be stripped of his powers."

"He still has too many loyal followers," replied Baethus, his tone weary. "We must stop this conversation. The sun is but half an hour from setting and Baldoroff will send his men for you soon."

"That is why we must be out of the city before they find the empty cell," agreed Fesvic.

Ludvic climbed onto the high saddle and looked down at his oldest friend. "Stay alive. We will need men like you before the end."

"As long as I draw breath there will be no end," shot back Baethus with a smirk. "Move along the coast, past Larthstone, and do not travel the main roads until you reach Darkwater Bluff. Baldoroff will have runners travelling the highways. Skiye be with you." He waited for Fesvic to saddle up and slapped Ludvic's horse on the rump, sending it sprinting into the distance. He turned towards the dungeon entrance and walked back inside to have a talk with the petrified watchman.

By the sun's setting, Ludvic and his brother were two miles out of Auldney, their horses tearing the ground apart with their swift strides.

Baldoroff threw another log onto the roaring fire in his private chamber and pulled his cloak even more tightly around his fat body. Stumbling over to his favourite chair, he coughed wretchedly into his hand and removed it to find his palm stained red. He shook at the sight and quickly wiped the blood on his clothes. He was more scared than he could ever remember being. With each passing day the sickness was growing stronger, consuming ever more of his chest and causing his body to weaken to such a state that he often found it difficult to stand.

Without warning a thick cloud of black smoke entered the room. It swirled rapidly and increased in thickness. Finally it dissipated to reveal Zephra standing with an irate look on his dark face.

"What is the meaning of this?" stammered Baldoroff.

Zephra made no reply. He walked up to the sick King and moved his face up close to Baldoroff's.

Baldoroff looked into Zephra's pitch black eyes and felt like recoiling in terror, but he defiantly kept his posture steady. "You cannot come into my chambers unannounced."

Zephra's eyes scanned Baldoroff's face and the Dargonian shook his head. "You have little time left. This means that I will have to make use of you more quickly than I had intended."

Zephra's heartless tone infuriated Baldoroff and, despite the torturous pain in his chest, he stood proud and tall. "I still have my wits about me."

"That is good, as I will need to make use of them most of all," replied Zephra as he moved about the room, his black staff cracking loudly on the hard floor.

"You told me that all I had to do was keep my troops out of the war," said Baldoroff.

"I also told you that you would need to respond to Dieter's ultimatum," replied Zephra with a piercing gaze.

"I have done this," assured Baldoroff. "I sent my reply to him."

"Your messenger was killed," replied Zephra, with little in his tone to suggest that this bothered him. "Dieter disposed of him after he had relayed your words."

"Then I did what was necessary," shrugged Baldoroff. "I responded to his threats and now my part of our deal is over."

"No!" shot back Zephra. "I have added something to our deal. You will travel to the City of Skiye and deliver your message personally."

"He would kill me," protested Afhill.

"He will not. His precious Honour Guard would not allow it."

"Why should I do this?" asked Baldoroff.

"Because you don't have a choice," replied Zephra. "You will do what I tell you or Auldney will be the next city that I conquer."

Baldoroff frowned grimly.

"By the time you have done this I will be ready to unleash my powers against Dieter's pitiful defences," commented Zephra.

"You could have already taken Dunhelm and Rustown by now. Why are you keeping your troops locked up in Precedin?" Baldoroff dared to ask.

Zephra considered the question then shrugged his shoulders. "I have been preoccupied."

Baldoroff's eyes widened at the statement.

"I assure you though," continued Zephra. "This is no longer the case. I am now more powerful than any man on this world. With the City of War in my hands, I needed only to wait for the final move in my great campaign. That has finally happened. And, thanks to a young Feldonian boy, the Karmanians are oblivious."

"So are you going to move your troops out of Precedin?"

"Very soon," replied Zephra, pausing by the fireplace. "By the way, are you aware that Ludvic Hammerfell has escaped your clutches?"

"What!" cried Baldoroff. "When did this happen? I just sent my men to hang him."

"Not long ago. He was aided by his brother and your fine General."

"Baethus," roared Baldoroff angrily. "He will pay for this treachery."

"Leave General Horrfull unharmed," ordered Zephra. "Murdering him will only create unrest. It is a delay that I am not willing to wait for. You will focus all of your attention on meeting with Dieter."

"But they must pay," implored Afhill. "Especially Ludvic."

"The Hammerfell brothers are no threat to us at this moment," Zephra said, waving away Baldoroff's argument. "They will suffer sooner or later. You will do what I ask and that is final."

Baldoroff opened his mouth to retort but the wicked disciple had gone, leaving only a cloud of black smoke in his place.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

### FRIENDS AND FIENDS

Despite the dangerous conditions, the filthy alleyways of the City of Skiye were never quiet or empty. Therefore few people paid heed to the four hooded men walking through the streets, darting in and out of the dark passages and alleys.

"We have to enter the Citadel from the back," whispered Mandigal. "We do not know if word from Duathnin has reached the King yet."

"Would he not take your word over that of the Council?" asked Vrill, looking around to make sure no one was following them or eavesdropping in on their conversation.

Mandigal led the three into yet another stinking alley and picked up the pace. "King Dieter will not protect Christill, I know him well enough. On top of this, Perephine will do everything in his power to keep the Elders happy. A conflict with Karmena is the last thing anyone wants."

"Even if it means handing Christill's life over?" asked Friedrich in a doubtful tone.

"You do not know how little Perephine values his subjects, loyal or un-loyal," responded Mandigal.

As they left the shadows of the alley and moved into one of the larger streets, the Citadel came into view. Friedrich and Vrill paused for a moment to take in the sight.

"At least the Feldonians know how to do one thing right," said Vrill, not wishing to give too much of a compliment.

"Keep moving!" scolded Mandigal and the two Dargonians hurried to catch up.

The minutes dragged by and the four exhausted men trudged on. Finally a garden came into view in the pale light. It was surrounded by a tall iron fence, broken by a single closed gate in its centre.

"This garden will take us into the lower southern wing of the Citadel. We will be able to make it to Errollan's chambers from there," pointed out Mandigal.

"No!" Christill cut in. "I want to see Elephtheria. She will be able to help me."

"Errollan needs to know of this. He will know exactly what to do," argued Mandigal.

Christill's eyes tightened. "I will go to see Thee whether you wish it or not. I asked for your help in getting me here and I thank you for that, but you will not tell me what to do."

Mandigal's expression did little to hide his surprise. Friedrich turned to Vrill after the unexpected outburst and the skinny Dargonian simply shrugged his shoulders.

Christill then lowered his head as he realised how unnecessarily harsh his words were. Where had they come from? He turned once more to Mandigal. "Forgive me. I should not have been so inconsiderate."

"Something is changing you, Christill," mentioned Mandigal. "I sensed it as soon as you left the ruins of the Academy."

Mandigal's words were true. The foreign presence inside of him had made itself more apparent with each passing hour. It moved throughout his body and spoke to him in ways he could not explain. Everything that he had learnt in the Academy had suggested that there would be no change to his body after the second test. But his meeting with Nyrune had been anything but ordinary. The transition from student to disciple should not have felt so tainted, as though he had somehow been violated.

"Christill!" Friedrich called out, nudging him on the shoulder.

"What?" he replied, almost too loudly.

"You were drifting off," replied Friedrich, a frustrated edge to his tone.

"Let us move into the Citadel," suggested Mandigal.

"And how do you plan on doing this?" wondered Vrill.

"Walk through the gate," answered Mandigal plainly. The Honour Guard removed his cloak and began stepping towards the garden as though nothing was out of the ordinary. The others followed suit and within moments they found themselves at the iron gateway.

The guards at gate moved into defensive positions at the first sight of the four men and then cast each other unsure looks once they recognised Mandigal. The largest of the guards stepped forward and raised his spear across his chest.

"My lord," he greeted. "We were not aware that you had returned to the city."

Mandigal came up to within inches of the guard and used his most menacing gaze. "And what business is it of yours where I am and what I do? I was not aware that a guard needed to know the exact movements of the court."

Christill could see the guard's resolve melt away. He stepped aside and began to apologise hastily. The other guards stepped aside, despite their confusion as to why the Honour Guard was choosing to enter through one of the least used sections of the Citadel.

As they passed into the lush garden, Christill became aware of many other people around them. Hidden in the garden he sensed soldiers, as well as the distinct feeling of magic, which he judged to be disciples. "We are being watched," he announced to the others.

Friedrich and Vrill began to look around but could not spot anyone. Mandigal nodded to acknowledge the claim. "You can sense them."

"I can't see a thing," complained Vrill, peering about nervously.

"You do not think that we would leave an entrance to the Citadel unguarded?" said Mandigal. "This is probably one of the most heavily guarded entryways."

The lower end of the Citadel was no less lavish than the front, with wide stone steps leading up to the mahogany doors. A sculptured archway almost three times the height of a man loomed over the double doors, with the imagery of running steeds etched throughout the grey stone. A feeling of uncertainty washed over Friedrich as they passed under it and he felt a cold shiver pass over him.

The room they moved into functioned as a joining point for seven different sections of the Citadel. They passed statues of people long forgotten and drapes that hid the cracks in the ancient walls from peeping eyes. As Christill followed Mandigal towards the far left door, he looked at the guards standing at each doorway and could feel their presence in the air. The power that he had been given was not only changing his body, it was slowly changing his senses and perception. His mind was gradually attuning itself to this new state of being and it frightened him.

Vrill and Friedrich were feeling a different sense of fear as they trailed Christill. It had not passed them by that every guard in the room had kept their eyes glued to them since entering the building.

"Somehow I get the feeling we are a little unwelcome here," Vrill said softly to Friedrich.

"We are at war with these people, Cousin," Friedrich replied. "Did you expect a hug and kiss followed by a warm evening meal?"

"A smile would be nice," Vrill answered with an unfazed look.

The four unlikely companions continued through the door into a lengthy corridor that led them deeper into the Citadel and its many sleeping chambers. Slowly Christill began to recognise his surroundings and knew that they were not far from Elephtheria's room. What would he say? He had come this far knowing that he needed her help, but now that it came to it he was not sure how he was going to explain this all to her.

"This is it," called Mandigal from ahead. He stopped in front of her room. Christill moved up and knocked lightly.

After long moments a tired call came from with. "Who is it?"

"Christill," he replied. "I need to speak with you."

The sound of hurried footsteps followed from inside and the door swung open to reveal Elephtheria, still pulling her night robes around her. She stared at Christill in disbelief then blurted, "What are you doing here?"

Christill felt relief at seeing her again. "May we come in?" he asked softly.

She moved up to Christill and hugged him tightly, then pulled back fearfully as she felt the change in Christill for the first time. Her eyes widened with astonishment as she sensed the tremendous power in his body. She motioned for them to quickly move into the room and, after Friedrich and Vrill had moved in, she shut the door and stared at the group. Her expression did not hide her suspicions, so Mandigal moved to the door and turned the lock.

"We came to you because I thought that you would be the only one who would truly listen to my needs," said Christill.

"I do not understand. Is something wrong?" she asked apprehensively. Staring at Vrill and Friedrich she added, "Are these Dargonian spies?"

"Typical Feldonian prejudice!" spat Vrill in outrage. "And you wonder why we are at constant war."

"Hold your tongue!" yelled Mandigal, causing Vrill to almost jump out of his shoes.

Christill stepped up to Elephtheria and grabbed her hands in his own. "Please sit down Thee. I have something to explain to you."

Elephtheria took her seat cautiously and nodded, trusting in Christill's suddenly calm tone.

Christill moved towards Elephtheria's bed and sat down, taking in a deep breath before starting his story. "I have written to you many times since I left. It has not been long, but I advanced through the Academy in a very short time. In my last letter I spoke of taking my final steps on the path to becoming a disciple of Nyrune."

"Christill," Mandigal interrupted. "We do not have time to go through every detail. They could arrive at any moment. Keep it simple."

Christill nodded and saw Elephtheria shift uncertainly in her seat.

"I know that you are frightened and think that we may be placing you in danger," Christill continued. "But you have to understand the importance of my being here. When I travelled back to the Third Plane something terrible happened. I believe that I was witness to an attack on the Goddess Nyrune."

Elephtheria gasped. "What do you mean?"

"I arrived in her domain, damaged from a horrendous journey through the planes. What I found there was even worse. An unnatural force was tearing apart the world around me. And in that place I felt a presence that I can only describe as evil." Christill shuddered as he forced himself to recall the events. "Whatever it was made me more fearful than anything that I could have ever imagined.

"It was then that she appeared before me. Nyrune was standing in front of me, but not as it should have been. She was weak and frail. I saw in her the very same fear that had gripped my own heart. She spoke to me of things ordained and the end of her time. I did not know what was happening and the pain that I was forced to endure was too much to bear."

The others in the room waited whilst Christill paused to compose himself. They saw the sorrow in his expression and when he continued his voice was broken and soft.

"I wanted to help her. That presence took her and in her last moments she cried out to me in pain. I would have done anything." He swore, lowering his gaze. "But I was too weak to even move."

"I do not think there would have been anything that you could have done to stop this Christill," Mandigal said. "You should be glad that your life was spared."

Christill looked up. "I was not spared. I was sent back by Nyrune. To find out what it was that destroyed her and warn the other gods."

Elephtheria sat silently, her mind awash with this news.

"She told me things that I could not make sense of at the time. I was told that there was hope with one who was a child of both Skiye and herself." The comment caused Elephtheria to shift in her seat once more. "Then she asked me to warn Skiye," he continued.

"Of what?" Elephtheria asked.

"Whatever it was that attacked her, I imagine," replied Christill, at a loss. "I really have no idea what I am supposed to do."

"Others should be warned about this," Elephtheria said, rising from her seat.

Christill motioned for her to sit back down. "I have not finished yet. Just before I was brought back to our world I saw some visions. Some of them I can identify vividly and others are confusing and alien to me."

"You have not told me of this," Mandigal interrupted.

"Forgive me, but I felt the need to get here was too urgent to risk you abandoning me," replied Christill.

"Then you must have seen something terrible," said Mandigal.

"I saw the City of Skiye utterly destroyed and being consumed by a great fire," explained Christill.

Elephtheria brought her hand to her mouth.

"I thought you might have considered me to be the cause of something like this after what happened at the Academy. I feared you would not allow me to enter the city," Christill said.

Mandigal managed a smile, a rare thing for the stern Honour Guard. "I doubt that you alone have the power to tear apart the City of Skiye."

Christill turned back to Elephtheria. "This was not the only vision that I saw. There was also an eerie room, strangely lit with a statue in the middle of it. There were carvings on a great shield, the symbols of the guardian gods." Christill closed his eyes, trying to remember the details. "And a blood stained altar, black as coal."

"I have never heard of such a place," Elephtheria commented. Friedrich and Vrill shook their heads as well.

"Your mind may have just been conjuring up random images, Christill," Mandigal suggested.

"No!" Christill assured the Honour Guard. "I know that there was something about these images. They felt more real than anything I have come across."

"Were there any other visions?" Mandigal asked.

"Yes, there was one other. It was of a coastline, dotted with a vast fleet of ships. Each ship was covered with soldiers, an endless sea of them. Most terrifying of all was a great beast of a man, larger than any I have seen. He was wearing a suit of black and golden armour and wore a golden helmet, fashioned in the form of a snarling bear."

"Luschia!" Mandigal exclaimed.

"I thought that he was dead," Friedrich cut in.

"No," replied Mandigal. "There are few things on this plane that could kill that monster."

"Who is he?" asked Christill.

"He was once Zephra's right hand. His servant, you could say, but even the all-powerful King of Dargon could not hold onto that leash for long. I lost track of his whereabouts some time ago."

"I don't understand what these visions mean," Christill said in frustration.

"Nyrune must have meant for you to see these things," Mandigal reasoned.

"Maybe that is what you are supposed to tell Skiye," Friedrich suggested.

"How can I tell her something that I do not understand?" Christill protested.

Elephtheria cleared her throat. "What you have told me is something of great importance, Christill. Why have you not gone straight to the King and the other counsellors? Everyone must know of this."

"No!" Christill was quick to say. "I have not finished telling you why we are here. When I came back to Fellarrnur something happened to the Karmanian people. At once they were all struck by a tremendous pain. Thereafter the Academy of Nyrune began to fall apart."

Elephtheria closed her eyes, overcome by all this news.

"I found myself leaving the Academy just as the final pieces were toppling over," Christill added.

"We were all outside of the Academy as it came down. It was utter chaos," said Friedrich.

"As I came out of the rubble of that building and saw everything around me I knew that I was going to be blamed for what had happened. The Elders that were present were not going to listen to me and I realised that if I was to get a chance to speak with Skiye, I would have to leave quickly."

"Speak with Skiye!" Elephtheria struggled for breath.

"Yes," Christill replied resolutely. "So you understand why I could not go straight to the King or the other counsellors."

"This is madness," she replied jumping to her feat. "You have come to me to ask me to bring you into the Shrine of Skiye."

"I must speak with her," Christill demanded.

"You do not even know what to say," Elephtheria argued. She turned to Mandigal. "Surely you cannot agree with all of this."

"There is something about this which is beyond my own knowledge. There are things happening in Kovi for which we have no explanation. Christill's resolution in the matter gives me belief that he must speak with Skiye. If Nyrune felt that Skiye needed to be warned, then it is vital that this happens."

"Then why come to me?" she asked, her words flustered.

"I cannot take him into that room. Only one of her disciples can initiate the transition into the Shrine," Mandigal replied. "He has come to you in desperation Elephtheria. Will you help him or not?"

The mixed feelings inside of Elephtheria's mind brought her stomach to cramp and she looked away from the others, finding herself weak.

After a long pause Christill's soft voice brought Elephtheria out of her thoughts. "Please, Thee," he begged.

Christill watched her intently. He hated to ask this of her. This woman, who he had come to cherish as he had Siri in Hamal, was now being pushed to the limits of her conscience.

Elephtheria turned and looked into the young man's eyes. Christill's saw that she had come to her decision.

Kiril Poth paced around the council room impatiently, the weight of the last two days resting heavily on his mind. The other Elders sat in their seats with grim or lost expressions.

"Have we tried everything?" asked Bithi impatiently. "There must be something that we have missed."

"We have attempted every known way of contacting Nyrune," Vischia snapped. "Clearly something is wrong."

"It is not that something is wrong," cut in Kiril. "Our goddess is gone!"

The other Elders lowered their heads, not wishing to accept this answer. As much as they looked to Kiril as the wisest of the group, they were not willing to give in to the truth.

The doors to the council room slowly creaked open and a mud stained man walked in, closing the door behind him. Removing his helmet, the Elders saw that it was Kilthies.

"What are you doing here?" asked Dietrue, shifting the book in his lap.

"Has Hiethris been lost?" asked Yhu in a panicked voice.

Kilthies shook his head. "The Dargonians have taken control of most of the city, but we still hold a few major points." He paused for a moment. "The fighting is endless. So many of our brethren fall every day that I do not believe the city will hold much longer."

"Then pull back into the surrounding forest. Hold them in the city. Our soldiers will outmatch the Dargonians if they are forced to fight amongst the trees," Velski suggested.

"I have already laid down the plans for our retreat into the forest west of Hiethris. If I return too late, Fliethu will ensure that we do not let them gain any more ground," Kilthies reassured them. "Now I would like to know what in the planes has happened!"

The other Elders looked to Kiril who pursed his lips and motioned for Kilthies to sit. The proud leader of the Thaldun Blades moved to the only free seat and unceremoniously dropped into it.

"You have felt the absence of Nyrune's magic?" Kiril asked Kilthies.

"I have felt the absence of the goddess herself. Do not toy with me," he answered. "Why does she no longer answer my prayers? Why is my magic not returning to me once I have used it?"

Kiril raised his hand wearily. "Forgive me for misjudging your knowledge in the ways of magic. I forget that were it not for your prowess on the field of battle that you would likely be taking my place on this council." He began to pace the room once more. "The boy that you saved from the hands of the disciple Novokai is the cause of this whole disaster."

"Christill, what could he have done?"

Kiril told Kilthies of the events leading up to the destruction of the Academy and then of Christill's escape.

"There must have been a reason that he left," Kilthies suggested.

"There is no doubt to that," Bithi cut in. "The boy obviously has something in mind. He is on his way to the next target."

"How can one boy cause harm to a god?" asked Kilthies, his brow furrowed. "This is impossible."

"It is not impossible," said Kiril. "But I hope that there is another explanation that we have simply missed."

"So where is the boy now?" queried Kilthies.

"We have had our men follow him, but we are not sure of his exact whereabouts yet," Dietrue answered.

Sielvu, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "Let us hope that they find that fiend before he causes even more harm," he commented viciously.

Kilthies cast his eyes to the ground and said a silent prayer for Christill. He knew that what had happened here in Duathnin was going to change the entire world.

In the dim light of candelabras, the maze of corridors that the group walked through appeared malevolent and imposing. Christill was not sure if it was the urgency of their situation or the weight on his conscience, but it seemed to him that the walls were closing in around them.

Elephtheria stayed ahead of the group, peering first around corners to make sure that they were alone and then motioning for the rest of them to follow. Christill's resolve grew weaker with each turn as he realised the seriousness of what he was about to do. More so he found himself wrestling with the guilt that told him he was leading his closest friends into grave danger.

As they silently walked through a highly furnished passage, Mandigal suddenly grabbed Christill by the arm and stopped him whilst the others moved ahead. He locked eyes with Christill and turned his shoulder so that they were facing each other. "Do not hesitate for a moment. If you believe in your heart that this is what you must do, then make sure that you let nothing stand in your way. Do not give in to remorse or the whims of your conscience for they are simply the mind's way of stopping necessary progress."

"Why are you telling me this?" said Christill, startled by Mandigal's dire tone.

"I can follow you no longer," the Honour Guard replied. "I have risked much in getting you here, but I have a duty to Feldom that I cannot jeopardise."

Elephtheria paused at the head of the group. "Is there something that you know?" she asked worriedly.

Mandigal turned to her and paused for a moment. "The Karmanians have arrived. I can sense their presence in the Citadel already."

"Are they looking for Christill?" Friedrich asked.

Mandigal nodded his head then turned his attention once more to Christill. "I do not know what it is that happened to you in that Academy, but I sense in you something of great importance. Stay true to yourself and to the words of your goddess, Nyrune. If what you say is true and she is gone, then you must ensure that nothing happens to the other guardian gods."

"Surely they will know of what has happened," Christill reckoned.

"I am sure they will have felt the loss, as have we all, but we do not know if they understand how she was taken," replied Mandigal.

"Maybe that is why Nyrune wanted you to warn Skiye," Friedrich reasoned.

"We are wasting time, Christill," Elephtheria urged.

Christill thanked Mandigal for all that he had done. "I hope we find an answer for you."

"I am sure of it," Mandigal replied. Then the strange Dargonian made his way along an adjoining corridor, away from the group.

Christill turned to Vrill who was eyeing the disappearing shadow of Mandigal with suspicious eyes.

"Can we really trust him?" Vrill asked.

"I have no doubts on the matter," Christill answered decisively. "Now let us be done with this before we are found."

"We do not have much further to go," Elephtheria informed them. She then moved to open the door to her left, but it burst open before she had her fingers on the handle. She jumped back and raised her hands as several of the Citadel guards stormed into the room, their weapons held ready.

Friedrich jumped into action, grabbing a small statue from a nearby table and moving in front of Elephtheria. Heavy footsteps sounded in all directions and within moments they were surrounded by two dozen armed soldiers. Christill moved up to Elephtheria and she grabbed his hand squeezing tightly.

"I knew that we could not trust him," Vrill spat.

Christill did not speak. He did not believe that Mandigal had anything to do with this ambush.

"Make one false move and we will not hesitate to kill you," called a familiar voice from behind them.

They turned to see Perephine Aldehelm stepping through the line of soldiers. At his heels came King Castaneda and three Karmanian soldiers.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Elephtheria in as powerful a tone as she could manage, given the situation.

"You dare ask that question," Perephine snorted. "You are in the presence of two Dargonian spies and a deadly fugitive."

"Hold your tongue swine," Friedrich cursed angrily. "I am royalty."

Two soldiers moved up to the young Dargonian and raised their weapons to his throat and back.

"Even royalty knows when to keep its mouth shut, Friedrich Hermagoras," Perephine answered, causing Vrill to step forward aggressively. He was quickly struck at the back of his knees by the butt of a soldier's spear, causing him to drop to the ground.

"Enough!" yelled Elephtheria. "We have done nothing wrong. You have no evidence to arrest us."

"Your young friend here...," he replied, pointing at Christill. "Destroyed the Academy of Nyrune. If the Council of Elders did not want him for questioning I would have him executed at once."

"Take them all to the dungeon," the King ordered in a tired voice. "And make sure that you seal that one's cell to stop him from using his magic to escape."

Perephine turned to the King and Christill was sickened at the way that he bowed before the weak monarch. "It will be done your majesty. You can retire back to your chambers, I will handle this matter."

"You have no right to take me into confinement. I have not done anything," Elephtheria called out. "I was forced into this position."

Perephine cast a hateful glance at Elephtheria but the King spoke before he had a chance to reply. "I do not believe that one of my own advisors would have plotted against my own interest. Especially not Elephtheria," he said. "She will be set free, but she is not to go anywhere without an escort."

"But your majesty," Perephine begged.

"My decision is final, Perephine," the King announced. He then turned and left the passage. Christill could see the vexation in Perephine's eyes.

The Karmanians, who had waited for their chance to speak, now stepped forward. "You are to know that although you are holding these prisoners they are still the property of the Council of Elders," the closest one announced.

Perephine waved the comment away. "Take them now," he ordered.

Christill let go of Elephtheria's hand, allowing himself to be bound. He looked at his friend and saw the deep regret etched into her features. "Thank you," he whispered before the soldiers dragged Friedrich, Vrill and him out of the passage and towards the dungeon.

Elephtheria buried her face in her hands and began to weep. As she stood alone and overcome with sorrow, Perephine walked up to her and placed his hands on her back. He moved his mouth close to her ear and whispered so that only she could hear him.

"I will make sure that you and that damned boy burn for this," he said spitefully, before following the soldiers towards the Dungeon.

Helpless and still surrounded by the King's soldiers, Elephtheria dropped to the floor.

"If we move four hundred of our men into Dunhelm and secure the Hammer Bridge we will be able to hold off any movements against the City of Skiye or the West," suggested Guard Captain Falneren.

Thibalt and Duke Poleus stood next to the tall Guard Captain over a map of Northern Feldom. "We would not be able to stop Zephra's army if they chose to move out in full force," replied Thibalt.

"We cannot sacrifice more than four hundred. The rest will march to the capital and we will need to keep a substantial force here to protect Andron if worse comes to worst," Falneren said.

Thibalt nodded his agreement, realising they could not spare any more men. He had been working together with the Guard Captain over the last few days, preparing Andron's forces for the march to the City of Skiye. Thibalt had been surprised, yet at the same time relieved at Falneren's friendliness, considering their past, and had come to respect the man's tactical know how.

"Then I suggest that you move those men out immediately. The longer that we wait, the more opportunity Dargon has to overrun the city of Dunhelm," Duke Poleus advised.

Thibalt turned from the small table and rubbed his sore eyes. The strain of his new responsibilities was beginning to wear him thin, but he knew that there were others who were in worse positions. He thought of Harrinus and the burden that he now shouldered as General. Or Errollan to whom the whole nation now looked for salvation. Maybe his post was not so bad after all.

He moved to join the other two, but paused as a strange notion entered his mind. All of a sudden a flood of grief and disappointment filled his mind. He then heard his name being called out and recognised the voice. He could never have mistaken that voice and the dire tone in which it was calling his name. Thibalt knew that something was wrong. "Little brother, what has happened?" he whispered distraughtly.

In a damp cell below the Citadel, Christill sat on a wooden bench staring blindly into space. "Thibalt. What have I done?" he said to himself. The cell contained only the bench that he was resting on and a small blanket. There were no windows and only one small iron door. Christill could sense the magical barriers that had been placed in the room, but had no doubt that if he worked hard enough he could find a way out of this prison. The powers at his disposal were stronger than he could have ever imagined and he knew that were he to spend a few moments to learn from them, he could walk out of the cell unharmed.

Yet what good would that do? His entire plan had been to speak with Skiye and without the aid of one of the goddess's disciples he would have no chance of doing this. Elephtheria was still his best chance, but there would be no way for him to get near her.

The strongest feeling of helplessness that he had ever known engulfed him and Christill felt like crawling into the corner. He wondered what was happening to Friedrich and Vrill, his friends who he had pulled into this whole disaster. Would they be executed because of his decisions? Would they have been better off in Duathnin? The guilt was too much to bear. He sunk his head into his hands and cried out in anguish, "Nyrune, I have failed you. Forgive me."

Christill sat in silence and slowly a word repeated itself in his mind. Now that there was nothing around him he could think of nothing else but the single word that Nyrune had spoken before she had been consumed.

He looked up, realising that there was a great importance to this word and wished more than ever that he had his old mentor Dievu with him.

"Kahnustus!" he said over and over again, the word echoing maliciously from the cold stone walls of Christill's cell.

EPILOGUE

### A BITTER NIGHT IN DARGON

Novokai moved through the Guardhouse of Oril, distaste in his expression. He stopped at several points to admire a tapestry or sculpture that had survived the destruction, then moved further into the building.

Things had not gone well for the ancient disciple. After losing Queen Triel and Christill to the Thaldun Blades he had worked hard to avoid Zephra's punishment. A few months ago Zephra's threats would have caused only mild concern, but something had changed in the arrogant King of Dargon. There was a new power lurking behind his features that frightened Novokai, and he was not about to test Zephra's patience.

In order to avoid Zephra's wrath he had volunteered to oversee the campaign against the Alliance from the front line. Novokai had reasoned that there was no safer place for him at this point in time than the very border of the warring nations.

He pushed his way past a group of Dargonian soldiers and entered the amphitheatre in the centre of the building. He looked down to the floor of the room to see Zephra's monstrous General standing over a Feldonian prisoner who was tied to a bloodstained chair. The map which made up the amphitheatre floor was now stained with human remains and the sight of Azbaar's next victim brought Novokai's last meal back to his mouth. Even for the wicked disciple of Gushkall this was too much.

He waited a moment whilst Azbaar used a jagged knife to finally end the soldier's torment and then spoke from the top level. "Are you quite done there?"

Zephra's creation turned and cast his black, lifeless eyes towards Novokai.

"Your master brings news," Novokai continued. "Everything has gone as planned. Soon we will begin the next stage of this war."

The twisted face of the Dargonian general contorted into an evil smile and Novokai turned and left the amphitheatre.

* * *

Galdovan, the mighty bastion of Dargonian civilisation was awash with people. In the midst of the icy city, citizens lined the streets to watch the procession of men marching into the capital's centre. A group of two hundred men had entered the main gates during the sun's setting and within minutes the entire populace had moved to the main street to see if the rumours were true.

At the head of the mail clad soldiers walked a figure in fine silver armour. The onlookers recognised him instantly and the rumours soon turned into dire theories and predictions.

In the distance, in the eastern quarter of the city, loomed a massive domed building, peaked with a statue shaped to resemble a man's arm reaching for the sky. In its hand was the eight pointed star of Gushkall, made from crushed stone and rubies and lit from behind by torches. This is where the group was headed. They marched unheeded and in their wake the people of Galdovan followed.

Finally they reached the domed structure, within which lay the Academy of Gushkall and King's palace. From the front of the group the silver soldier broke off from the bulk and made his way up the steps into the building with twenty of his soldiers formed up behind him. Here the populace stopped and waited for they were not allowed into the Academy.

The intruder was not stopped as he walked through the entryway and into the great hall of the Academy. The arched windows aligning the walls were dark as the sun had set minutes before. He continued to the end of the hall where there stood two massive iron bound doors. He reached up to the doors with shaking hands and pushed the portal open.

As they entered the large room they saw the King of Dargon, Zephra Hermagoras, sitting calmly on his golden throne. The silver soldier stepped into the centre of the room and removed his helmet.

Zephra stared into Aldan's eyes and remembered the very moment he had entered this council room, with Luschia and Mandigal at his side, and murdered this man's father. "You dare interrupt my council, Cousin," Zephra said, smiling menacingly.

The men seated around the two figures, some of whom had been there when Zephra had murdered his predecessor, waited with their hearts pounding fearfully.

Aldan took a deep breath and thought of his son Friedrich. "Zephra Hermagoras, too long have you ruled from my father's seat of power. You are a plague upon the people of this nation, one that I intend to get rid of. I have come here to claim my rightful place as King of Dargon."

As the crowd burst into voice, Zephra's eyes narrowed dangerously and pierced into Aldan's own. The Duke of Vladistov did not turn his gaze away. He straightened his back and thought only of his son, who he loved more than anything in this forsaken world.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julian Saheed's love of fantasy came from reading the works of Raymond E. Feist and David Eddings as a youth. He fights dragons at night and works in the Australian banking industry by day. He resides in Melbourne, though most of the time he is wandering through dimly lit castles, tangled forests and forbidden dungeons.

You can find more of his work and receive updates at juliansaheed.com

Turn ahead to see a sneak peek at The Tyrant's Onslaught. Book Two of the Valerious Chronicles.

###  PROLOGUE

### ANSWERS

"It's more impressive than the tales," decided Borrin.

Skiddle kept turning, checking for shadows in the light peeping under the door from outside. "Alright, you've seen it, now let's get outta here."

"You know, for a former thief you have little sense of adventure."

"Captain Steelfist will castrate me if we're caught!" Skiddle hissed.

"Castrate us," Borrin corrected.

"Hardly, he's married your sister. Not gonna harm his own family."

Borrin doubted that. If anything, Thibalt was more likely to chastise him. Being Miera's brother only seemed to make Thibalt feel personally responsible for any misbehaviour on his part.

"Bring the light over, I want a better look." The small thief reluctantly shifted the lantern.

"It's just a bloody sword," said Skiddle, squinting down at the blade in Borrin's hands.

"Just a sword!" exclaimed Borrin. "Oril Firestorm's own sword. Dargon's Bane."

"Still just a sword."

Borrin shook his head. The blade was longer than he'd imagined, with a wide guard and round pommel. It felt light in his hands. There were no jewels, no fine leather around the hilt. Only an inscription running along the blade. A true soldier's weapon. A weapon befitting the first of the Maloreichar, the first Honour Guard. "Moon wax, moon wane, darkness remain, guided by flame, I am Dargon's bane," Borrin read.

"What a load of-"

Skiddle was silenced by a noise from the next room.

"You said the Duke was away!" Borrin whispered.

"He is!" Skiddle ground through his teeth.

Borrin quickly placed the sword on its stand and they crept back to the door, moving past tapestries and other exquisite items in Duke Poleus's private collection.

Skiddle carefully opened the door and checked the corridor. He signalled for Borrin to follow him outside. The Duke's chambers were sealed. They both looked at each other. If the Duke was inside, a guard would be stationed at the door.

"We'd better take a look," suggested Borrin.

Skiddle stared back at his fellow Scorpion, astounded. "We just broke into the Duke's collection. Now you want us ta check his rooms?"

"There shouldn't be anyone in there."

"We shouldn' be here!"

Borrin rolled his eyes and pushed past Skiddle. Carefully, he placed his ear to the door. It abruptly opened, leaving him standing there dumbfounded, face to face with a masked man. Rough hands darted out and slammed Borrin against the opposite wall. The figure sprinted down the corridor.

Regaining his composure, Borrin turned to Skiddle. They hesitated for a brief, confused moment, then gave chase.

* * *

A knife slammed into the wall and whirled past Torrlan's face. The agile mute swept around the corner in pursuit of the masked man. Borrin and Skiddle struggled to keep up with Torrlan's swift strides, cursing once they lost sight of their companion.

"They're too quick," Skiddle puffed. "I can't keep up."

Borrin peered down the road. Andron's streets were empty of their usual bustle. The dull moonlight cast a hundred shadows amongst the buildings.

"Where's Irrol gotten to?" asked Skiddle.

"Don't know. He turned a different corner," Borrin replied. After chasing the masked man through the barracks, their run had carried them straight into the path of their fellow Scorpions. The man had charged past Torrlan and Irrol, bursting outside into the street. The mute joined their pursuit without question, with his giant companion only taking a moment to begrudgingly follow.

Borrin and Skiddle ran down the main street. A fierce easterly wind carried the dust from the ground up and around them. Borrin cut right and leapt up onto an empty wagon. Skiddle followed and they climbed onto the roof of a nearby building. Scampering across the rooftops, they caught sight of Torrlan; he was already a block ahead of them and gaining on the masked man. Borrin found a suitable place to drop and jumped back down to street level.

They found him a few streets away, slumped on the floor, head in his hands. There was a small trickle of blood running down his scalp. Borrin helped him up, but Torrlan pushed the help away and resumed the chase. No one could deny the mute's stamina.

The pursuit took them west. They rushed down the streets, passing the last of the city's inner buildings and coming to the warehouses bordering the harbour. The noise of waves breaking against the Feldonian coast grew louder and Borrin urged his companions to increase their pace.

Coming onto one of the main paths to the shipyards, the three Scorpions skidded to a stop. A group of men blocked their way. They were as unsavoury a bunch as Borrin had seen, dressed in mismatched colours and covered in dirt and drink. Halting their drunken banter, the group spread out to block off the path with toothless smiles. Borrin cursed. This could only have one outcome.

Skiddle pulled Borrin and Torrlan back around the corner. "We try another way."

Running into the next passage, they regretted their choice. The homeless had taken refuge here. They dodged street urchins huddled under wooden crates, or playing beside piles of rubbish, little more than old sacks to protect them from the cold. Borrin looked away. His sympathy wasn't going to help them.

Reaching the other side of the passage, Skiddle ducked low at the last second to avoid a plank of wood aimed at his head. The nimble Scorpion fell into a roll and turned his body to come up standing. The group of thugs had cut them off. Skiddle charged at the man with the plank of wood and slammed him into the stone wall. The thug's head crunched against stone and he crumpled, allowing Borrin and Torrlan to leave the passage. To their left, the rest of the thugs pulled clubs and knives from their hiding spots, furious at the sight of one of their own being harmed.

"Run!" screamed Borrin. The companions bolted down the street. With each strenuous step, the sounds from the waterfront grew louder. They dived into another narrow alley and, with relief, saw the harbour through the opening at the end. The thugs followed them in, screaming taunts and curses. Only in Andron, thought Borrin.

Torrlan came to a stop and motioned for the others to turn. His fingers flashed out some simple instructions, enough for them to understand the mute's intent. The alley was thin enough to remove the thugs' advantage of superior numbers. Torrlan's hands dived in and out of his pockets, sending his knives into the two closest men. They fell to the ground with surprised grunts. Borrin looked for the closest thing to a weapon, finding a rock and broken piece of pottery. Better than nothing.

They charged at the group.

The thugs lost some of their resolve watching Torrlan's knives take down their comrades. They fell over one another to avoid the Scorpions' furious charge. A few of the keener gang members worked their way to the front to engage Skiddle and Borrin, but learned that drunken bravado was no match for hard training.

In the midst of the fight, Borrin reeled as a steel pipe collected with his forehead. He reached up to find blood pouring from a split in his skin and screamed. He had just wanted to see the sword of Oril Firestorm. Would it have really hurt to walk away without checking the Duke's chambers?

"Borrin, come on!" called Skiddle, who had moved back to join Torrlan down the alleyway.

Borrin realised the thugs had fled, having come to the conclusion that these three were no easy target. He pulled his sleeve to his forehead to stem the bleeding.

"You alright?" asked Skiddle.

"Of course," answered Borrin firmly. They were Steelfist's Scorpions. A small cut was not going to stop them. He joined the others and they left the alley, coming out into the fresh sea breeze. The shipyard spread out before them, littered with crates, fishing nets, cranes and a plethora of building materials piled up in fenced off sections.

The harbour was alive despite the hour. Captains barked orders to their crew, who loaded cargo for the early morning runs. Under the flickering light of lanterns, shipwrights inspected broken hulls. The local guard were lazing about the harbour, hoping for an uneventful night.

"Over there," called Skiddle.

Torrlan and Borrin saw the masked man moving to the northern half of the harbour. They once again picked up pursuit, pushing past angry sailors and merchants as they charged through the shipyard. Piers spread out like fingers from the wooden forefront of the shipyard. A forest of masts filled the horizon from ships that earned their coin from the Sea of Turmoil.

The masked man caught sight of them and began to sprint. The Scorpions followed him onto one of the smaller piers, but he'd gained too much time. They watched as he leapt onto a small sailing skiff and pushed it away from the pier. Skiddle cursed as the skiff's sail unfurled and caught the wind, gradually pulling the boat away from the harbour. They walked to the edge of the pier and were forced to watch as their target slowly floated away.

"Find a ship!" said Borrin, head darting around.

Torrlan shook his head. It was too late.

"All tha' running for nothing," added Skiddle angrily.

The skiff continued to drift out of the harbour.

A second fast moving shape then caught their attention. Ahead of the small boat came a larger vessel, speeding over the water, heading for the masked man's skiff. The fleeing man tried to shift his course. He pulled hard on the till, trying desperately to steer clear. His efforts were in vain. The second ship made short work of the distance and the two boats collided with a splintering crunch.

The three Scorpions watched as a large figure leapt from the bigger vessel and attacked the masked man. The fight didn't last long. They waited whilst the two ships were separated and watched as the unidentified boat drifted towards them. As the lantern light fell over the sailing ship, Skiddle and Borrin let out a chuckle.

Standing proudly on the prow of the damaged vessel was Irrol, a wide grin on his face, arms folded proudly across his thick chest. The giant unceremoniously dropped the masked man onto the pier and leapt onto the timber.

"Seems I'm always doin' your dirty work for you," the large man called out with a laugh.

Torrlan walked over to his lifelong companion and patted him on the shoulder with a coy smirk.

"What... How?" Borrin asked, moving up to their prisoner and lifting him up.

Irrol winked down at Borrin. "Took a horse. Figured the way he was running, he'd look for a boat outta here. If I was wrong, well, at least I got a chance to ride in a boat."

"You found a horse tha' could carry you?" asked Skiddle.

Borrin laughed. "Let's take him to the captain. Irrol can beat some answers out of him."

* * *

He needed to yawn, but now was hardly the time for it. One thing they never mentioned about being a captain was that you were always tired. It didn't seem to matter whether he managed a full night's sleep either. There was a perpetual weight, pulling at his eyelids, dragging him into a state of numb delirium.

Thibalt held the coat up to the light and studied the symbol on its breast. A howling golden jackal on a field of deep red. He flung the black coat over to Estallion and walked over to the prisoner.

"Seen it before?" Thibalt asked his closest friend, as he scowled down at the unconscious man bound to the chair.

Estallion, similarly put out at being roused from his bed, ran his thumb over the symbol. "Not that I can recall. However that doesn't mean much. I don't count myself as an expert on heraldry. Ask me to name the colours of the runners in the Ardistian races and I'll be more than happy to help."

Thibalt ignored the irrelevant comment, it definitely wasn't the first. He loomed menacingly over the prisoner. The man's face was purple from the beating Irrol had given him. His skin was pale, obviously Dargonian. Skiddle was standing behind the chair with a bucket of icy water at the ready. With a slight nod from Thibalt, he upended it over their captive.

The man awoke with a loud gasp, head darting around. He quickly regained his composure and groaned. "Argh... what do you want?"

"I ask the questions!" snapped Thibalt. "Who are you?"

The prisoner bared his teeth. "Ullden," he answered.

"A Dargonian name," commented Estallion.

Ullden's eyes rose to the ceiling. "Gushkall save me, I have been captured by idiots."

Thibalt's hand lashed out, sending Ullden's head backwards with an awful snap. He moaned and spat out blood.

"What were you doing in the Duke's rooms?" Thibalt probed.

"Spying!" replied Ullden loudly. He laughed as his tongue ran around his mouth, counting his teeth.

"If I were in that seat I wouldn't be laughing," Thibalt said, stepping up and placing a hand on both arms of Ullden's chair.

"Are you stupid enough to think I'm afraid?" Ullden replied. "My life was forfeit the day I was sent here. Torture me all you want. Question me, make me beg. I don't fear death. Whatever you do could never compare to my master's wrath if I returned empty handed."

Thibalt took a deep breath. Damn. That was unexpected. A physical approach might not work.

He stepped over to Estallion and retrieved the coat. "What is this symbol?" he asked, showing Ullden the golden jackal.

Ullden let out a dark chuckle. "Something you'll become more familiar with."

"I haven't seen this amongst Zephra's banners."

"And you won't," said Ullden. "That's the Fleet of Sinsai."

"Sinsai," mumbled Estallion, scratching his chin. "That's far to the east of Dargon. Over the sea. There aren't any people living there."

"You know so little about our side of the world," said Ullden condescendingly. "Then again, you barely know what's happening within your own borders."

Thibalt's tired mind attempted to sift through Ullden's words. He was confused, playing with issues larger than his command of the Scorpions. And it hurt his head. "Tell us what you mean and we will be lenient. We can protect you from your master."

Skiddle looked up from behind the chair and the other Scorpions in the room showed similar bafflement. After Irrol had beaten the man into unconsciousness, their captain's soft approach was unexpected.

Ullden was watching Thibalt, a slight curve to his bloodied lips. "I know your kind. Honour bound, driven by a delusion of upholding justice. You believe your actions are serving a greater good, that scum like me are an evil which must be stamped out." He spat on the floor. "You're all so lost in a fantasy world that you can't see the shit you're wading through. It's up to your knees and you can't even smell it. The world ain't nice and it never will be. There's no such thing as an honourable man. Only those that think they can fool everybody else and benefit from it."

"What would a Dargonian know of honour?" replied Thibalt.

"It takes a lot of dishonourable acts to know true virtue," replied Ullden. "Might be I know a lot more than you."

"This coming from a spy," said Estallion.

"We didn't tie you to a chair to be lectured on morals," interrupted Thibalt. "Tell us what you were looking for."

Ullden took his time to reply. "I feel sorry for you all. I know what I've got coming. You're all lost in the dark."

"Well then, enlighten us," said Thibalt.

"I'm not sure that's possible."

That was enough. Thibalt was too exhausted for this. He moved up and sent his fist hard into Ullden's chest. His hand came away throbbing, but he had heard the definite crunch of breaking bone. I tried nice, now it's time for answers. Despite what the prisoner might have said, everybody felt pain, no matter how ready for it they were.

Skiddle and the others smiled. This was what they'd expected.

Ullden's face was scrunched up but he didn't cry out.

Thibalt punched him again, holding his own tongue at the pain running through his fist. That was something else no one ever mentioned; punching someone hurt.

This time Ullden let out a groan. "You'll suffer soon enough. Treachery runs deep in your Alliance. Are you ready to learn the truth?"

"Speak," replied Thibalt, fists clenched and at the ready.

"When you realise how far Zephra's influence has spread, you will sink to your knees and look for a hole to crawl into. You will truly understand how lost the Feldonian race is."

Thibalt glanced over at Estallion. His friend had the same combination of confusion and concern in his eyes.

"You know who these traitors are?"

"I know some."

"Tell us and I will let you keep your teeth," threatened Thibalt.

"You may act tough, but you don't have the dark streak inside of you."

Thibalt couldn't argue with him. It was true. "I might not, but he does."

Irrol stepped up from his corner of the room, his bulky frame casting a shadow over the chair.

Ullden remembered Irrol. He remembered him well.

"Names," Thibalt demanded.

"You will be betrayed by those who rule you," replied Ullden. "You will be betrayed by those who you pass in the streets. Everywhere you look you will begin to doubt and question. Then, when you believe it could get no worse, you will be betrayed by those you would call friends."

The Scorpions all shared an uneasy glance.

"Now hurry up and torture me, you rotten piles of scum," snarled Ullden. "I'm done helping you."

Irrol moved up to the Dargonian and punched him hard in the face, sending him and the chair crashing to the floor.

Ullden's nose was bent at a sharp angle, but he began to laugh.

"Your lies don't scare us," said Thibalt, though part of him knew this to be untrue.

"Oh, you wish to be scared?" said Ullden. "Then prepare yourselves. For though you may be fighting my brothers on the battlefield, there are other things you will face. Things born of nightmares." The sudden seriousness in Ullden's tone frightened Thibalt. "I thank Gushkall that I will never live to see such horrors again."

Thibalt's mouth felt terribly dry. Why couldn't someone else have found this spy? "Lock him up," he ordered. As his Scorpions dragged Ullden away, Thibalt turned to Estallion. The Alliance was having a hard enough time dealing with Dargon. What else could go wrong? "What do we do?" he asked his friend.

Estallion's hands shot up. "You're the captain."

I'm the captain, thought Thibalt. The captain with no answers.

The Tyrant's Onslaught can be found where all good eBooks are sold.
