 
Visions of Magic - Invasion

By

Shane Griffin

Smash Words Edition Published by Poupichou Press

Copyright Shane Griffin 2017

Cover Design by Nadya Vahedi 2017

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Table of Contents

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About the Author

Other Titles by this Author

The Umijia Challenge

#

Kasa stood behind the makeshift wooden rampart and gripped his sentry pike so hard that his knuckles turned white. He looked out across the open plain to the base of the Metaran mountain range. There troops from the enemy army kept spewing forth from a narrow pass. They spread out along the edge of the plain as they set up camp, looking like locusts ready to devour a field of crops.

"If you hold that pike any harder you are going to break the shaft," said a gruff voice from behind him.

Kasa spun around fearfully and pointed the pike clumsily in the direction of the voice.

"Stay that weapon you jumpy fool!"

"Sorry Tobias, but you startled me!" apologized Kasa, quickly lowering the pike.

"The enemy is out there, our camp is behind you," replied Tobias as he walked over to stand behind the rampart with Kasa.

Tobias was a seasoned foot soldier who should have been retired, with the grace of the king, if it were not for the war that was about to begin. "I am here to relieve you, has there been any more activity?"

"No, but they just keep coming and coming. Why are we just waiting here?"

"You have a lot to learn about war son. If we blocked the pass they would have the high ground and they could sit back and try to pick us off with archers while the rest of their army would just pull back and find another pass to flank us. Sometimes it's better to know where your enemy is and make him come to you where you already have your strength."

"But there are so many of them!" insisted Kasa.

Tobias struggled to make out the details of the enemy camp, but even with his aging vision he could tell it had grown quite significantly in the last few hours. He turned back to look at their own camp which spread out across the top of a small rise at the edge of the plain. It had increased in size too as more troops had filtered from the various castle districts overnight in answer to the call to arms. Even though the king's entire northern army had marched from the capital Rasmel it did not take perfect vision or a mathematician to see that the enemy already considerably outnumbered them.

"Numbers are not everything," replied Tobias unconvincingly. "There may not even be a battle tomorrow. I just heard word that the Crimson Wizard is coming."

"What if they have their own magic users?"

"The Crimson Wizard isn't like those other magicians who are only good blowing a bit of wind around or turning up some earth to disrupt the enemy lines. The Crimson Wizard ended the Battle of Tattel single handed!"

"I have heard that story too. My mother used to tell it to me to put me to sleep at night."

"It's no fairytale son. I should know, I was there during the Battle of Tattel. He brought down such a storm upon the Metarans that he almost drowned them all. Without a single arrow fired their entire army surrendered."

"I hope that..." began Kasa just as he spotted movement in the distance across the plain. "Rider!"

"Where?" asked Tobias as he squinted hard in the direction that Kasa was pointing. At first he saw nothing, but as Kasa's fear started to rise again, rapidly approaching panic, Tobias finally saw it.

"Just relax Kasa, it's just the one. It's probably a scout. Give me the pike and grab your bow."

While Kasa fumbled around to grab his hunting bow and his quiver that were on the ground behind him Tobias watched the rider as it came closer. It was approaching at very high speed, much faster than any horse could gallop.

Kasa, who was now standing beside him at the ready with his bow, gasped loudly.

"What is that?" he said fumbling with an arrow, nocking it, drawing, then releasing it wildly and prematurely.

"Steady!" yelled Tobias. "He is way out of range still. You have hunted wolves and mountain lions before haven't you?"

"Y-yes," stammered Kasa.

"This is no different so stay calm and breath!"

As the rider continued to draw closer even Tobias found it difficult to keep his nerve. The rider appeared to be a man, unarmoured, carrying a small round shield and with a short bow slung across his back. His face was masked with a yellow cloth, but his arms and legs were bare and revealed light brown skin.

What unnerved Tobias was not the man, but the beast upon which he rode. He had seen many strange things as a veteran foot soldier for the king, but nothing like this before. The creature that raced towards them he had only ever heard spoken of by sailors and traders. Tall tales told after long hours of drinking in the taverns around Rasmel Harbour.

The creature was a lesser manticore, a dark brown beast with the head and body of a black maned lion. Although he could not make out the exact details himself from such a distance if the stories were true then the manticore also had sharp goat's horns, poisonous spurs in its mane and a scorpion stinger for a tail.

Tobias was about to sound the alarm when the rider suddenly pulled hard on the manticore's mane so that it came skidding to a halt just outside longbow range. He then proceeded to ride along the line of the camp. No doubt he was counting tents and trying to estimate the size of the king's army. There were shouts from the other lookout posts along the camp perimeter and several positions released arrows that fell tantalisingly short of the mark.

The rider was unperturbed by the pot shots and kept going until a small group of fast riders on horseback were sent forth. As they approached the manticore let out a ferocious sound that was half howl half roar and reared on its hind legs. It wanted to attack, but the rider kicked hard into its ribs and instead the beast turned and bounded off back towards the enemy line at a speed that even the fast riders had no hope to match.

"How on all of Umijia are we supposed to defeat any army riding those abominations?" asked Kasa shakily slinging his bow over his shoulder and backing away fearfully towards the camp. The boy was unnerved to the point of complete panic. Tobias had been around long enough to know that panic and fear in an army that was about to go to battle could be contagious and devastating.

"Kasa stop right there!" he ordered bringing the pike to bear and pointing it at Kasa's chest.

"I'm just a farmer's son, I am not a soldier!" he pleaded. "I can't do this!"

"You run and this pike will be in your bloody spine before you make it three feet!"

Kasa looked to the camp behind him then back at Tobias. For a moment Tobias thought he was going to run. He had no intention of actually impaling him with the pike, but Kasa did not know that so he moved into a position ready to thrust it forwards.

"Why are you doing this? I am just one man, letting me go won't make any difference!"

"If everyone thought like that there wouldn't be a farm for you to go home to. If you do not stand with us to stop them now then what hope do you have in stopping them when they come to your village, burn everything and rape your mother or your sister?"

Kasa's shoulders slumped and he looked at his feet in shame as his panic subsided. Tobias breathed a subtle sigh of relief and lowered the pike. Kasa slowly moved back beside him to the barricade to watch the enemy army across the plain again, but Tobias stopped him with a firm and supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Your watch is over, go back to the camp and get some warm food from one of the field kitchens."

Kasa nodded quietly and walked slowly back to the camp. Tobias turned back to watch the plain, he played nervously with the whiskers of his scraggly beard and hoped to hell that the rumours of the Crimson Wizard coming were true.

#

Kasa walked through the busy encampment towards the field kitchen. Daylight was waning as the sun started to slide behind the mountains. At home at this time he would be collecting wood and preparing the fire for the night where he could sit in silence and immerse himself in the sounds of the crackling fire. He was not used to being in amongst so many people at once. It was noisy and chaotic with men setting up tents, smiths clanging on swords and shields making last minute repairs.

A supply wagon suddenly rolled into view in the fading light and he had to dodge out of the way lest he be trampled as it rumbled past. At least it diverted his mind from the fear that was gripping him. He still desperately wanted to slip out of the camp and run, but he knew it was not the right thing to do. He was not like the other young men in his village who were all eager and filled with bravado when a detachment of the king's soldiers came to his village and proclaimed the king's call to arms.

His friends talked about going to war like they were all going to come back as heroes and be made knights of the realm, just like in a fairytale. He didn't know anything about fighting, but he knew enough to understand that it was not going to be like all the bedtimes stories. In fact, after what he had seen while on watch, he now started to wonder whether battle was going to be more like the stories about monsters that parents told their children to scare them.

As he approached the field kitchen he saw the long snaking line of soldiers waiting for their serve of hot stew. His own stomach grumbled at the smell and his appetite exceeded his angst suddenly. Yet he had no eating implements so he spun around and tried his best to navigate as directly as possible amongst all the tents to his own billet.

To get there he had to cut through the middle of the camp where the knights and lords were concentrated. Their tents were much larger and more resplendent with their brightly coloured flags, each proudly sporting family coats of arms. Squires raced about putting everything in order while their masters talked together in groups in closely guarded conversations.

Kasa kept his head down, he was out of place and did not want to attract any attention. He was not far from the huge gold and white striped tent of Lord Cortria, the highest ranked knight in all Risandea and general of the king's northern army, when the sound of heavy flapping wings brought him to an abrupt halt and snapped his head skywards.

A magnificent white griffin swooped down towards the camp. Kasa was about to run when cheers erupted all around as the rest of the army also became aware of the great beast. Kasa watched in stunned silence as the creature landed not twenty yards away from him just outside Lord Cortria's tent.

Upon the back of the magnificent creature sat the Crimson Wizard and the battle scared warrior call the Black Ram. The Crimson Wizard seemed at ease on the griffin's back, but the Black Ram was clinging to the Crimson Wizard like he was clinging to a lifeboat on the high seas.

The Crimson Wizard leant forward to get closer to the griffin's eagle head and spoke something to it. The griffin reluctantly dropped its belly to the churned earth so that its passengers could dismount.

"He is magnificent isn't he?" said a female voice from the shadows of a nearby tent.

Startled, Kasa turned to see a women dressed in black leather riding breeches and the type of tunic one would normally wear under light armor. Her hair was a brilliant copper and was braided tightly to keep it neat and practical. While she did not look lady like at all he was mesmerised by her beauty and her penetrating grey eyes. He was smart enough never to attempt to guess a woman's age out loud, but he surmised she must be in her thirties. What she was doing there in the middle of an army he could not guess.

"I used to know a young man whose tongue failed to work around me," she said with an air of forlorn nostalgia in her voice.

"I'm sorry madam," he apologised. "The griffin is a sight to behold."

The woman smiled and chuckled to herself.

"Hmm, the griffin, yes of course," she replied with a smirk. "It's getting dark, shouldn't you be with your unit?"

"Yes madam," he said and made a hasty retreat towards his billet. For once he was going to be able to share a tall tale about war with the other over eager young men from his village. He was certain that none of them had ever seen the Crimson Wizard and the Black Ram in real life before.

#

Farrel tapped Solomon on the arm firmly.

"You can open your eyes and let go now we are back on the ground."

Solomon slowly released his grip and dismounted unceremoniously. As he landed the pain in his left leg rose sharply and instinctively he tried to compensate with his right leg only to topple over onto his backside.

Farrel dismounted much more gracefully and offered him a hand.

"I did tell you to open your eyes," teased Farrel with a smile.

Solomon grabbed his hand firmly and squeezed hard as he pulled himself up, so that Farrel winced with the pain.

"Very funny, it's my leg. I still have pain deep in the bone."

"I've told you already that I have done everything I can to heal the wound. If you would let me take you to another healer they may be able to cure you."

"Just because I trust you with my life Farrel doesn't mean I have changed my view on all other magic users."

Farrel sighed, he knew that Solomon did not really believe his own rhetoric and it was just stubbornness that prevented him seeking help. In addition, there was perhaps an element of Solomon playing on Farrel's feelings of guilt for letting his friend be wounded in the first place.

"I will brew another lot of tarbry tonight. You will need to be at your best tomorrow, but this is the last batch or you will end up dependant. If you don't die in battle tomorrow I am taking you to the best healer I know whether you like it or not."

"I should have no problem surviving tomorrow as long as you don't lose all your good senses to another witch!" countered Solomon sarcastically.

Farrel's temper rose instantly and he stepped close to Solomon and pointed a finger firmly onto the faded and scratched symbol of the black ram on his chest plate as he spoke.

"I told you already, don't ever speak of her again! She might have given you that pain in your leg, but she gave me a pain far worse and one that cannot be cured!"

Solomon stood his ground too and stared back at Farrel unmoved except for his hand that dropped slowly to rest on the hilt of his sword. The gesture was not meant to be intimidating or aggressive; rather the cold of the hilt helped him reinforce his oath.

"I pledged my life and my sword to you Farrel. If you had heeded my advice when it came to that women neither of us would carry permanent wounds right now."

The two stood toe to toe in a silent staring contest for several moments. Farrel tried to hold onto his anger and really let it burn inside him, but his eyes were drawn to the scar that ran from Solomon's left ear and stopped half way across his cheek. It was proof of Solomon's dedication and a reminder of what his friend had given up to follow him. It caused Farrel's anger to subside. Eventually he bowed his head and leant against Solomon wearily.

"I'm sorry my friend...it's been a long journey and I did not sleep properly again last night."

"Dreams again?" asked Solomon suddenly concerned.

Farrel nodded quietly.

"That's every night for more than a week. That's not normal even for you. What did you see?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," replied Farrel dismissively.

"Your dreams always mean something and you have used them before to keep us out of trouble, but in the last few weeks you won't tell me a thing. Why? What is it that you have been seeing?" insisted Solomon.

"I don't know what I am seeing! It's all blurred and mixed up like someone is trying to stop my visions. It's like someone or something is hiding from me on purpose."

"But that's why we are here isn't it? There have been plenty of other battles with the orcs, the goblins and even the minotaurs since the Starvation War. Yet this is the first time since then that you have come to defend the people of the kingdom. We could have saved so many other lives before this. So why come back now?"

"Because what we have been doing the past thirteen years is more important than fighting pointless wars in this relentless cycle of death and destruction! I am trying to bring an ever lasting peace to the realm. My visions are confused and for the first time I am scared Solomon. I don't even know if we can defeat this army. I just have this strong sense that if we don't then all that work and all our sacrifice will be for nothing."

After all they had been through together and all the things that they had seen, it was sobering to see Farrel genuinely scared. Solomon stopped pressing him on the subject. His friend was going to need him by his side not as a thorn in it.

"You have my sword and my life."

"I know my friend, but I'd prefer that it was only your sword that I will need."

Farrel turned back to the griffin, who was sitting and waiting obediently beside them. He unstrapped his crimson knapsack and Solomon's plain brown one from the saddle upon the griffin's back. "Go and hunt Starria. Feed well and rest. Stay nearby the camp and listen for my call."

Starria stood again, half squawked half roared then leapt into the air and flew off to find an unsuspecting cow.

#

Farrel walked over to Lord Cortria's huge tent with Solomon close behind. When he reached the entry to the tent however, his way was barred by two stern faced guards. Solomon stepped up beside Farrel and rested his hand very visibly on the hilt of his sword again. This time he did mean it to be intimidating.

"Lord Cortria is holding a war council and is not to be disturbed," said one of the guards tersely while the other rested his hand on the hilt of his own sword.

"My apologies," replied Farrel with an exaggerated formal bow. "Perhaps you could pass a message on to Lord Cortria on my behalf? Please tell him the Crimson Wizard had come to offer his support in the battle tomorrow, but was turned away from his tent. Since he is not in need of my services I wish him luck in tomorrow's battle."

The two guards looked at each other in alarm then back at Farrel in his brilliant crimson robes and again at Solomon. The guard who had been standing silently with his hand resting on his sword stepped forward to look more closely at the battered and faded black ram on the chest plate of Solomon's armor.

Solomon nodded at them.

"Yes he really is the Crimson Wizard and yes that is a black ram on my chest plate."

"I believe you probably know of my friend here as the Black Ram...isn't that what they call you Solomon?"

"Never to my face," replied Solomon his tone ice cold. "Unless they think they can best me with the sword and that has never happened."

The guard who had been posturing with his sword quickly pulled his hand from it and moved aside. The other guard seemed like he wanted to protest, but his partner stared at him and shook his head vigorously, and he too stepped aside.

Farrel entered the tent throwing Solomon a private smirk as he did so. Solomon again followed close behind, his hand never having moved from the hilt of his sword.

Inside there were at least twenty of the top ranking knights, lords and various other nobles all standing around a large oval table. They were deep in serious discussion and did not notice Farrel and Solomon enter. The pair waited patiently for a few minutes, but the group's attention was focused on maps and troop displacements.

Solomon started to move towards the table, but Farrel grabbed his arm and gently pulled him back to his side with a shake of the head.

Instead Farrel decided to get their attention a little more dramatically and whispered the words of a wind spell. In the middle of the table a small whirlwind started to form that at first gently rustled the maps and papers on the table then grew in strength until hands started grabbing at them to keep them from blowing away.

"Someone close the tent flap!" ordered Lord Cortria from the head of the table.

Farrel brought his hands together in a sharp clap and the whirlwind instantly dissipated. Almost in unison all conversation stopped and everyone around the table turned towards him.

Farrel bowed deeply and formally.

"Greetings Lord Cortria, the Crimson Wizard at your service."

In his younger days Lord Cortria was known across the realm as a ferocious warrior. He was a huge hulk of a man and even now that he was well into his fifties he was still an imposing figure. As First Knight of the kingdom, a position he had held since the end of the Starvation war, he had proven himself as an excellent tactician and leader of the king's army.

He stood at the end of the table resplendent in his fine clothes, jewel adorned fingers, gold braided long coat and black boots made from the finest leather. His once jet black hair was now speckled with grey, as was his prominent flowing moustache. He was immaculately groomed from head to toe.

According to Solomon he did not suffer fools and was no fan of magic users, yet he was wise enough never to go into a major battle without them. He also lived strictly by the honour code that bound all knights.

Lord Cortria stepped away from the table and stood in front of them. He towered over both of them and despite smelling strongly of rich perfumes he was intimidating. He looked down at them angrily.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently.

"I am surprised my Lord. I had heard you were a man of great honour. Is it not customary to welcome a guest who has come to offer his service?"

"This is not the king's court it is a war council and you entered my tent unannounced and without invitation. You also dare to bring this dishonourable mongrel into my presence and have the audacity to expect a formal greeting! I have no obligation to welcome you and we have no need for your services. Now get out before I have you both removed!"

Farrel bowed again as Solomon simmered angrily beside him, the knuckles of his sword hand white as he used the feeling of the cold hilt digging into his palm to keep himself restrained.

"As you wish my Lord," replied Farrel nonchalantly. He turned to leave then stopped after taking just one step and turned back to Lord Cortria. "It is a pity that you are so short sighted my Lord. This army that you face successfully subjugated the orcs in a matter of weeks. Their troops ride all manner of strange beasts that could not be tamed without magic. They have strong magic on their side, stronger than anything you have encountered before. If you want to win the battle tomorrow you will need me just like you needed me at the Battle of Tattel."

"The Battle of Tattel was over a decade ago! Where have you been since then?" retorted one of the other knights in a sudden outburst. Several of the others in the room quickly chimed in with various derogatory comments.

Lord Cortria raised a hand to silence them all. "As you can see I am not alone in my distaste for you services. You were once considered a hero of the realm, but after so many years in absence you are just a pipe dream, something that soldiers wish for in the hope they will somehow be spared in battle. On the other hand I have dedicated my life to protecting this kingdom and I have lost many good men by my side over the years. Assuage your guilt if you even feel any, some other way."

The words cut Farrel deeply, especially since he had dedicated every waking moment to securing an ever lasting peace for not just Risandea, but all of Umijia. If only they could understand, but they could not and they never would. For long moments he could not speak as he swallowed the words of an acidic reply. When finally he was able to respond his tone was intentionally serious and foreboding.

"What you think of me or my motives is irrelevant. I am here now and that alone should make you understand how dire the situation is. Without me you will be routed, with me you just might stand a chance."

Lord Cortria was about to say something when another knight moved away from the table and stood beside him. It was Aren Ulan. He was only a few years older than Farrel. He was tall, athletic and handsome with his blonde hair and grey eyes.

Since the death of his father at the hands of goblins Aren had taken over as Lord of Castle Ulan and was now a highly ranked knight of his own accord. Women loved him and he used his stature to its greatest advantage for pleasure and political advancement.

Aren had never liked Farrel. He was an arrogant elitist and had always looked down on Farrel because of his peasant upbringing. Their distaste for each other had blossomed when Aren discovered Farrel's infatuation with his sister Gabrielle when he was still just an apprentice.

If the relationship between Farrel and Aren was poor then the falling out between Aren and his cousin Solomon was catastrophic. When Solomon turned down his knighthood to instead vow an oath to Farrel the argument between them almost ended in a duel to the death.

Given their past Farrel could not help, but raise an eyebrow in surprise when Aren spoke.

"My Lord, you know very well my personal view on these two. So you will understand that what I am about to say makes me sick to my core," he said with disdain for them both. "Everything the Crimson Wizard has spoken of the enemy is true. They already outnumber us by at least three to one and still more troops come down from the mountains. We should take any advantage available to us."

Lord Cortria turned back to look at Aren with one eyebrow raised himself. He played with his moustache as he mused.

"Perhaps even the Black Ram here might be useful working in the kitchens," added Aren derisively.

Solomon released his hand from the hilt of his sword.

"Perhaps you would like to finish that duel right now!" said Solomon fiercely.

"Do not speak in my presence unless I give permission you dishonourable and disloyal lapdog! Unless perhaps you wish to duel with me?" yelled Lord Cortria with equal intensity.

Farrel quickly stepped in front of Solomon, grabbed his sword hand and physically placed it back onto the hilt of his sword.

"Remember your oath," he whispered then turned back to Lord Cortria, Aren and the others. "There will be no fighting here unless you want me to burn down this tent with everyone inside!"

To emphasis the point Farrel whispered a few words and waved his hand towards a lantern that hung above the table. The flame inside suddenly doubled in intensity as it came under his control.

Everyone around the table took a frightened step backwards almost in unison and even Lord Cortria looked unsettled.

"We will fight for you in battle tomorrow and you will see us both in a new light when we do, of that I can assure you."

"So be it," conceded Lord Cortria reluctantly. "Now do us the courtesy of leaving."

Farrel bowed in an over exaggerated and sarcastic manner again and then followed Solomon to the tent flap. Solomon exited and Farrel was about to follow, but paused momentarily, then turned back to Aren.

"You speak of honour and loyalty like they are a shield that will somehow protect you. Yet Solomon has shown me greater sacrifice, loyalty and friendship than anyone I have ever known. So heed my words and heed them well, the next person who questions Solomon Ulan's honour will be duelling with me and my weapon of choice is the flame!"

#

After Farrel finally exited Lord Cortria's tent Solomon was already standing a good dozen yards away by himself and looking towards the last tendrils of sunlight reaching out above the mountains as the sun fully set. His sword hand was once again planted firmly on the hilt of his sword.

Farrel walked over to stand quietly beside him.

"I am sorry my friend, that must have been difficult for you."

"Difficult?!" replied Solomon in angry disbelief, his knuckles going white again as he gripped the hilt of his sword harder. "I gave up everything to go on this quest of yours! I have lost land, titles, a knighthood and the respect of those most dear to me!"

"You mean people like that pompous fool of a cousin with his pretentious and self serving code of honour?" countered Farrel angrily.

"Living my life by that exact code of honour has kept me by your side all these years and has saved your life more than once. Perhaps you could think on that next time before you antagonise them."

Farrel exhaled deeply and was silent for a moment. For the last thirteen years Farrel had quarrelled within himself through periodic bouts of deep guilt at keeping his friend tethered by his side like a loyal wolfhound. Each time it had passed when he focused on the importance of their quest. This time however, with his visions clouded for so long now, he could not see a clear way forwards in what to do next and it left him in doubt.

Watching the fresh pain and sorrow on Solomon's face being back amongst those people who had once respected him, but now despised him was too much to bear.

Seeing Aren again also brought back many old memories of his own, especially thoughts of Gabrielle. That was a pain that he had long ago packed away and did not want to re-visit. Perhaps it was time to return Solomon to the people of Risandea where he belonged. Farrel let out a long and deep sigh.

"You are right my friend, I owe you a lot and I have already taken too much from you. Perhaps it is time to release you from your oath?"

Solomon turned to look him in the eyes, a look of shock upon his face. He slowly removed his sword hand from the hilt of his sword then placed it firmly on Farrel's shoulder. He looked down for a moment as he struggled to clear his throat, his voice stifled with emotion.

"Do you know how many times I have wished to hear those words over the years?" he mumbled, a tear creeping down his scarred cheek. "If only you had spoken them a decade earlier perhaps I might have had a chance to regain my honour and my old life."

"Well I am speaking them now, you are free of your oath to me. You are again free to choose your own future."

"Farrel Tarse you are my closest friend and the smartest person I know yet in this you are a fool. It is too late for me now, I can never go back," said Solomon bitterly.

"For that I will surely pay penance in the afterlife, but free you are nonetheless. Tomorrow it will be your choice and your choice alone to stand and fight as a free man or walk away as one. Until then let us seek out the wizard's tent so I can brew you up some tarbry for your leg."

#

Farrel headed straight for the edge of the encampment then stumbled around the perimeter by the flicking orange light of the campfires. Solomon walked behind him silently, deep in thought.

He soon found what he was looking for. The wizard's tent sat at the very edge of the encampment and in isolation to those others around it. Not a great deal had changed in regards to how magic users were seen and treated despite Farrel's own notoriety since the Battle of Tattel.

The tent was large and made from a patchwork of mismatched and brightly colored fabrics that looked gaudy even in the orange tint of the campfire light.

If the tent was a challenge to the eye then it was overpowering to the nose. Solomon stopped beside Farrel and turned his nose up at the smell then grumbled something unintelligible.

Farrel on the other hand found the unique mix of odours comforting. It reminded him of the many days training with Varn Maun in his tower at Castle Ulan. He briefly wondered what had become of his old mentor, it had been at least six years since he had last seen him in person.

To this day they kept in communication via messages sent upon the winds. Speaking only of significant visions and what they may mean. However, Farrel had always been cautious in talking even with his old master lest he understand exactly what Farrel was questing for.

If anyone ever suspected that Farrel had retrieved the Book of the Makers from Beskar Aarl then the entire Conclave would be sent against him. He hoped when the time came that Varn Maun would support him, but there was no certainty even in that.

"Let's go and see which poor souls the Conclave offered up as a sacrifice for this battle," said Farrel. He was not hopeful of the help he was likely to find.

The Conclave always sent assistance for defence of the realm, however, it was a token effort done only to appease the king and keep magic users from more serious widespread persecution. Inside the Conclave it was viewed as punishment so those sent were normally doing penance for some indiscretion.

Farrel entered the tent and surveyed the occupants. There were nine wizards in total. Some were sitting quietly and independently studying their spell books. A group of four were at the rear of the tent preparing various herbs and brews. None of them really paid Farrel or Solomon any attention except for one man who looked up from his spell book. As soon as he saw Farrel he leapt to his feet and strode over to him, his hand outstretched in a friendly greeting.

"Farrel! What are you doing here?" asked the man in a combination of disbelief and relief.

"One could ask you the same Raamen," replied Farrel as he shook his hand firmly. "What did you do to end up on a punishment detail?"

"Nothing," replied Raamen seriously. "I volunteered."

Raamen was both a little taller and a few years older than Farrel. He was fit without being muscular. His shoulder length black hair already had the odd fleck of grey and so did his lengthy goatee. Farrel had a great respect for his intelligence. Although he was a skilled healer he was not the type of person to go into battle voluntarily.

"Why?"

"None of the elders within the Conclave are treating this invasion seriously or they would be here themselves. I have seen and heard enough about these invaders from across the sea. They have strong magic with them, a magic different from ours. I have heard reports that they have orcs on leashes and they are obedient like hunting dogs."

"I have heard similar tales," replied Farrel in agreement. "Meaning no disrespect, but you are a master healer. How did you intend on fighting in the battle tomorrow?"

"I wasn't. I will do what I do best and heal those wounded that I can." Raamen leaned in closer to Farrel and lowered his voice, "The others here are not worth a pinch of salt between them as far as fighting goes so I thought I would try to teach them as much about healing as I could. At least then they may also be of use tomorrow. What do you intend to do?"

"If the enemy takes to the battlefield tomorrow I intend to wreak havoc and send them back across the ocean wishing they had never brought war to this land," replied Farrel firmly.

Solomon suddenly cleared his throat and tapped Farrel on the shoulder firmly. "Unless your friend here has a large amount of ale I would very much like that tarbry you promised."

#

Farrel lay down on the ground inside the tent using his crimson knapsack as a makeshift pillow. The long hours spent flying on the back of Starria was catching up with him. Solomon had gone for a walk to clear his head, or more likely to be alone to enjoy his tarbry high in peace. Farrel was looking forward to a decent night's sleep. Not that he was likely to actually get one if the last week was anything to go by.

It was a moot point however, because no sooner had his head come to rest and his eyes closed when someone came bustling into the tent. It was a young squire and he came straight over to Farrel. He looked uncomfortable and fidgeted nervously while he spoke.

"My apologies for this late hour Crimson Wizard, but I was told to pass you this urgent note."

The squire handed him a very small scroll of parchment sealed with a plain wax seal. Whoever had sent the note did not want to be identified for some reason. This both intrigued and annoyed Farrel. He stared tersely at the squire then sat up and snatched the note from his hand.

' _There are some who have not forgotten that you saved us once before. Please follow the bearer of this note so we may speak in private. It is of vital importance that we meet before the battle tomorrow_.'

The note was not signed and the writing was printed with the formality of a scribe. With no further clues as to the origin of the note the only two options to solve the mystery was to torture the young squire or follow him as requested.

Farrel rose wearily to his feet and then gestured for the squire to lead the way. He followed the young man, who seemed much more relaxed now that he was outside the wizard's tent, back towards the centre of the camp. It appeared that whoever he was going to see was high in rank or nobility which only served to make him more curious.

When they finally arrived at their destination Farrel was even more perplexed. The squire stopped outside a tent flying the crest Kalar. Castle Kalar was the main keep protecting the south west border against the goblin tribes. He had never specifically been to the castle and as far as he could recollect had never met anyone from there. During the Starvation War the southern castles had been engaged against the goblins so it was unlikely that his reputation had anything to do with the summons.

"My master's tent," said the squire.

"After you," replied Farrel suddenly alert.

"I was given very clear instructions that only you were permitted to enter," replied the squire nervously.

Nothing was adding up so Farrel primed his mind with wind spell as he bent down to pick a single blade of grass, never taking his eyes from the squire as he did so. The squire for his part looked back quizzically at Farrel and gestured for him to enter.

"Please, my master is impatient at the best of times," he insisted.

Farrel squeezed the blade of grass between two fingers on his right hand so that it was not obvious that he was holding it. Since he had no idea what he was about to walk into it was better to be safe than sorry. It was always good to be prepared for any eventuality as a wizard including running into another magic user with the wrong intent. Not all members of the Conclave were unified and it was always possible that his return to the realm would be seen as a threat to some.

Farrel took a deep breath to focus and calm his mind then pushed apart the tent flaps and entered. The moment he stepped inside he was immediately assaulted by an alluring mixture of perfumes. He stopped just inside the entry and surveyed the interior of the tent, it was dimly lit by several small lanterns set to burn very low and in the flickering light it was hard to see.

In the centre of the tent was a bed of sorts, made from several thick wool skins underneath a liberal sprinkling of silk covered pillows. As far as an army camp went it was about as luxurious as one could expect.

There was a movement amongst the cushions, but in the dim light he could not make out who it was. He stepped closer with the blade of grass squeezed firmly between his thumb and index finger just in case.

It was a woman and when she spoke Farrel dropped the blade of grass in a combination of shock and embarrassment at letting his mind race so vividly towards treachery. This was not the type of ambush he was expecting.

"I was worried you would not come," said Gabrielle. Farrel's eyes widened as he looked down upon Gabriele lying in amongst the pillows wearing an emerald coloured nightgown that was barely covering and virtually transparent.

Farrel's eyes were drawn hypnotically up along her bare legs to the sensual curves of her hips, across her flat stomach and moderate, but firm bosom. Her long copper curls had been unleashed and lay wildly across several pillows. He finally came to look into her grey eyes and they were as piercing and fiery as always.

As an apprentice he had been desperately and secretly in love with her. It was an impossible love that was made briefly tangible after he had saved her from kidnap by goblins. Unfortunately the death of her father and the start of the Starvation War had dragged them apart. The last time he had seen her was the day he was forced to leave Castle Ulan on his quest to try and stop the war. That was just over fifteen years ago.

As a young maiden she had possessed an innocent beauty, but now she had the seductive allure of a woman who knew what she wanted and had the power to take it. Long ago he had pushed thoughts of her far from his mind in order to stay focused on his quest. It had not been easy to forget her and seeing her again after so long brought a myriad of cellared emotions racing to the surface.

At that moment, standing in front of her half naked form, his feelings were confused. His physical attraction to her and the resultant lust that accompanied it was strong and it overpowered everything else to the point that he could not tell if he still loved her anymore or not.

Gabrielle stood and moved close to him so that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek when she spoke.

"I remember you were speechless the first time we met too," she teased.

"I knocked you down by accident in the street. I was just a farm boy, not even an apprentice and you were a lord's daughter. I was in fear for the skin on my back."

"Now you are an infamous wizard and I am the wife of a lord. If anyone finds you here alone with me they will take more than the skin from your back. Is that what holds your tongue now?" she asked before kissing him passionately.

The feeling of her soft lips against his brought back memories of their first and only other kiss. It was like a lightning strike then and it was no different now. He could not help, but to kiss her back and then bury his nose in her hair. It still had that same wonderful smell and it made him feel briefly younger again. It brought back more memories too and he revelled in them for a moment before regaining his senses and pulling away.

"So...you are Lady Kalar now. You were never one for convention so how did that happen?"

"Do you really wish to speak of the past or would you rather take the opportunity to spend one night alone together in the way we were meant to all those years ago?"

"We can't just forget the past."

"I was prepared to for just this one night," replied Gabrielle deflated and annoyed. She spun on her heels and walked over to a small table and poured herself a cup of wine from a pitcher there. "You are still as stubborn as you where back then. I married Timothy Kalar's younger brother Alfred. I'm sure you remember Timothy," she said her voice trailing off as the sad memory enveloped her thoughts briefly. She was silent for a moment until she regained her composure. "It was a political marriage, the only way to keep Kalar from breaking from the kingdom and starting a civil war directly after the end of the Starvation War. It would have been the end of Risandea. Alfred is a good and honourable man, but it is a loveless marriage and we keep our indiscretions discrete."

"Is that why you summoned me? Am I a new discrete indiscretion for you?"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and gulped down the cup of wine. "For someone so incredibly smart you understand women not at all. I asked you here tonight Farrel Tarse because the moment I saw you land in camp I wanted to forget my loveless marriage and spend one night in the arms of someone I actually love or at least once loved. What of you? You left and never returned. I waited and hoped that you would ride back through the castle gates after the end of the war, but you never did. Tell me, what made you drag my cousin away from his family and his life? What was so important that it made you leave me?"

"I cannot tell you," replied Farrel bluntly.

"You were right then I guess. We cannot forget the past and if that is the only answer you have for me then I also cannot forgive the past. You should leave," she said angrily. Farrel didn't move so she threw the empty wine goblet at him in exasperation. "I said leave!"

"No," replied Farrel firmly without raising his voice. "I could not return and cannot return until my quest is complete. The fate of all Umijia rests on my success."

"Why did you come back now then?"

Farrel bent down and picked up the empty goblet, walked over to the table and poured himself a glass and swallowed a mouthful before he spoke.

"There is some very dark magic with that army across the plain. I have travelled to every corner of Risandea and even across the seas to other lands. Yet in all I have seen of Umijia I don't know where this army or its magic came from. That scares me."

"Do I still scare you too?" she asked stepping closer to him again.

"Yes," he replied as his fingers intertwined between hers with a timid gentleness of two teenagers experiencing such physicality for the first time.

"Why are you still here then?"

"Because I have learned it's better to face my fears head on than to walk away from them," he replied then kissed her gently on the lips once more.

They lay down on the bed and removed each other's clothes as they did so. As Farrel moved to lie on top of Gabrielle he stopped and stared into her eyes.

"You understand that no matter what our feelings might be for each other that this night is nothing more than a brief fantasy," he said, his tone melancholy.

She nodded and a tear trickled down the side of her face.

"I don't care. I just want the night we should have had before you left. I want to feel loved just once. You owe me that much."

The love making between them was slow, gentle and passionate. Farrel immersed himself completely in the moment. He briefly forgot about the sense of foreboding that had plagued him for months, the fear of the pending battle and he even forgot the dangerous consequences of the last time he had let his guard down with a woman.

When they had finished Farrel rolled over onto his back and stared at the roof of the tent while Gabrielle snuggled against him with her head resting comfortably on his chest. Reality came flooding back. First and foremost was the pain left by that witch that had broken his heart and tried to kill him. The raw emotions of that failed relationship intertwined with the old feelings now renewed for Gabrielle.

Solomon had once observed that he seemed to be drawn to impossible relationships and he wondered if his friend was correct. He smelled Gabrielle's hair again to try and clear his mind and return to senseless bliss a little longer, but it did not work. It was impossible to ignore the fact that whether they loved each other or not it was irrelevant because the best they could hope for were brief moments like this.

#

Solomon stumbled out of the wizard's tent on the best tarbry high he'd had in ages. The deep pain in his leg was gone, he felt good inside and he revelled in the sensation even though it was artificial and most certainly temporary.

Tarbry always made him hungry and his stomach was soon growling. He walked around the perimeter of the camp looking for the closest campfire. Only the lowest untrained conscripts were relegated to the outer edges of the camp. Always best to keep your expendable troops where they were most vulnerable to night raids in order to protect the elite core of the army.

If he was going to fight as a free man on the morrow he wanted it to mean something and what better way than to fight alongside peasants defending their lands and perhaps keeping a few of them alive with his skills.

He finally came across a campfire that was now just burning embers, yet still radiating an intense amount of heat. Above the fire several rabbits were skewered and slowly cooking. Crowded around the fire was a group of fourteen young men, farmers who had probably never lifted a sword in anger before let alone in battle.

Dulling their sense of collective fear and exaggerating their sense of false bravado was the wineskin that was being passed around. Solomon smiled; these were exactly the kind of people he was looking for.

He walked over to them and intercepted the wineskin as it was about to pass from one young man to another. He took a long swig himself. It was very potent and certainly not wine, probably fermented potatoes.

"Oi there!" said the young man that was supposed to be next with the wineskin as he turned to stare at Solomon annoyed.

"You should go easy on this stuff or none of you will be able to stand straight let alone swing a sword tomorrow," replied Solomon sternly as he grabbed one of the skewered rabbits and took a big bite. Before any of the others had a chance to react he then tossed the wineskin into the glowing remains of the fire. The embers flashed briefly with blue flame as the skin burst and the alcohol caught fire, testimony to the potency of the liquid.

There was a chorus of angry comments and one of the young men stood and went face to face with Solomon. He was a strapping big lad, all muscles and sinew with not an ounce of fat on him. He was clearly used to the hard physical labour of tending crops.

"That was not yours to throw into the fire. You owe me ten coppers," said the young lad through gritted teeth. There was more verbal support from his friends and several others also stood.

Solomon calmly stood his ground and kept eating the rabbit as he eyed them all one by one. They were all afraid and full of adrenaline. He had known this very mixture of emotions himself as a young squire many years ago. He also knew that being young and charged with fear and adrenaline did not help your chances of survival in a battle.

"Sit back down unless you want me to remove your head," ordered Solomon as he tossed the rabbit aside and slowly placed his sword hand onto the hilt of his sword.

The other young men still sitting around the fire went quiet and even those who had stood sat back down again. The big lad who had demanded his money however, started to draw his sword.

"Faolan stop!" yelled another young man who jumped up and grabbed at Faolan's sword arm to stop him.

"Why don't you just go back home Kasa and tend your father's pig farm if you are too afraid to fight!" replied Faolan shoving Kasa back so he could draw his sword without further interference.

"But that is the Black Ram!"

"Your tall tale about the Crimson Wizard and his dirty black sheep was a fine campfire story Kasa, but this is real. There is no way Lord Cortria would let the Black Ram fight in his army," replied Faolan spitting on the ground in front of Solomon. "Even if he is then nobody will care if I cut out his heart from his chest!"

Ordinarily Solomon would have taken that insult to his honour personally, but the young man in front of him was no warrior and it was the exact reaction he had been trying to provoke, so instead he just stirred the pot a little more.

"Perhaps you should stop talking and actually use that sword of yours...or are you a coward?"

That was the spark that started the fire. Faolan lunged clumsily at him, swinging his dull looking short sword wildly. Solomon easily dodged the blow, his own sword still sheathed.

As Faolan stumbled by him, partially off balance due to the enormous air swing, Solomon drew his sword and quickly slapped him across the back with the flat side of it.

Faolan was now enraged and turned back to face Solomon. He had that all too familiar fevered look in his eye, the one driven by anger and frustration. He launched himself at Solomon again, this time with a series of vicious slashes that Solomon easily deflected.

The lad had a lot of strength in those arms, but it was being used aimlessly. Solomon let him keep swinging and continued to parry and dodge around the bigger man. Most untrained soldiers would have been sweating and gasping for air after a minute, but Faolan's stamina impressed him.

Now that he had the full attention of the group Solomon brought the fight to a rapid conclusion. He waited for Faolan to over extend at the end of one of his many wild slashes. As soon as his did Solomon stepped inside his sword arm and smashed him in the face with the hilt of his own sword. The blow sent Faolan tumbling over backwards onto the ground.

Solomon quickly moved to stand over him and pushed the point of his sword uncomfortably against his chest.

"Do you yield?" he demanded. Faolan looked around at his friends angrily willing them to join the fight. Solomon pushed his sword a little harder so that it began to break the skin and draw blood. "Do you really want my sword through your chest?"

"I yield, I yield," winced Faolan.

"Smart choice," said Solomon sheathing his sword. Then he turned to the others and spoke loudly. "I am the Black Ram and as of right now I am in command and I will be leading this flock of little black sheep into battle!"

"But Tobias Grun is our master-at-arms," said Kasa timidly.

"Not anymore."

"Why should we follow someone who has disgraced the knighthood?" asked one of the young men.

"Because tomorrow will be a real battle fought with an enemy that does not observe the rules of honour that we do. Tomorrow I fight as a free man for the first time in over a decade and I intend to reclaim my honour. Would you prefer to fight next to the best swordsman in all of Risandea or should I go search for more willing men?"

There was silence as the young men looked around at each other. Faolan stood and Solomon kept a wary eye on him to make sure he was not going to try something stupid.

Kasa stepped over to stand beside him.

"I will gladly take any help in staying alive," he said.

The others remained motionless and silent until Faolan cleared his throat and moved to stand beside Solomon as well.

"Disgraced or not I'd rather stand beside your sword arm than against it. If we live perhaps they will write new tales about the Black Ram and his flock of black sheep."

This seemed to soften the others and soon they were all making gestures of support.

"Good! Now everyone go and get some sleep and that's an order. The army will start forming at dawn so we will be up well before that!"

#

Farrel stood at the edge of the plain in the radiant early morning sun. He bent down and rubbed his hand on the grass and felt the damp of the dew on his hand. It felt tantalisingly close to reality, but after so many years of visions he knew it was not.

This vision in particular was like none he had ever had before. This one had a shallow sensation to it, as though he could scratch away the surface and reveal nothing behind it.

Despite the strange sensation this was the first clear vision he'd had for some time and it intrigued him. He turned back towards the army camp behind him to see everyone was moving in slow motion. Every sound slurred in time so that he had no idea what the people were saying.

He walked slowly around the camp trying to see anything of significance. Normally his visions were of the events of others and often from places far away, but they all meant something important.

He saw no clear signs in the camp and he wondered what it meant. He willed himself awake, something he had been able to master after so many years, but it did not work.

Then he heard a roar from out on the plain and he ran back there. Right out in the centre of the plain was a large black manticore and on its back was a woman.

She dismounted the beast and placed her hand gently on its nose, completely unperturbed by its razor sharp lion's teeth and its deadly scorpion tail. The beast bowed its head and sat beside her in complete obedience.

The woman turned to Farrel and beckoned for him to come to her and he felt compelled. As he started to walk out onto the plain he heard a loud drawn out slurred noise that vaguely resembled someone shouting.

He stopped and spun around to look back towards the camp, but they were all going about their business completely oblivious to him. He turned back around and continued towards the woman.

As he approached the woman he was able to make out her features. She had beautiful olive skin and black hair that flowed down over her shoulders. Her eyes were perfectly almond shaped, almost as though they were sculptured, light brown and speckled through with flecks of black.

She was short, yet delicately curved in just the right places. There was a sense of mischief about her as she smiled at him and gestured that he should hurry.

Behind him again there was a loud slurred noise that this time sounded more like a long drawn out shout of frustration. He stopped and turned around, but once again there was nothing behind him.

He turned back to the woman and she gestured to him again more urgently this time. He felt pulled towards the woman as though something was now dragging him. He tried to slow his steps, but his legs would not obey. The woman outstretched her hand to take his and he found himself reaching out to her.

Just as their hands were about to touch there was a loud shout directly into his left ear followed by a sharp pain in his groin that sent him crumpling to the ground. He pitched forwards with all the wind knocked out of him. As he hit the ground the plain, the manticore and the woman, who was now overtly angry, dissolved in front of him.

When he was able to breathe again and extract himself from the foetal position he looked up to see that it was still night time and Gabrielle was kneeling beside him.

"My apologies, but I did not know how else to wake you," she whispered loudly.

"What do you mean?" he asked wincing through the sick feeling in his stomach.

"You were sleep walking," she said as she urged him to his feet. "Quickly we need to get back to my tent before we are seen!"

Farrel stood gingerly and looked around. They were standing out on the plain a good hundred feet from the camp! He spun quickly, ignoring the pain momentarily, to look out towards the enemy camp. It was too dark to tell if the black manticore or the woman were out there and he did not want to find out.

This was a magic like none he had ever experienced before and he had studied both elfish and fairy magic. The stories were true about these invaders it seemed.

It worried him that someone could so easily manipulate him through his own visions and it served to reinforce his sense of foreboding about the forthcoming battle.

"Hurry!" insisted Gabrielle pulling on his arm.

"No, I have already put you in enough danger, it's better if I go back to the wizard's tent."

"But I..." she began before stopping herself abruptly. Her expression became cold and emotionless. "Of course good wizard I should expect nothing more from you than leaving without a proper goodbye."

Farrel stepped towards her and kissed her passionately on the lips. At first she resisted, then relented, then kissed him back with equal ferocity.

"Just as the last time I do not desire to leave, but I must. I have a duty to the realm that even you cannot fathom," he said as he turned and walked away.

"I am sure the hero of the Battle of Tattel will see us through," she replied confidently. He stopped and turned back towards her.

"I know you have a sword arm that would be the envy of many men my lady, but please promise me that you will not join the lines tomorrow. The king will need strong leaders to hold the castles if we are defeated."

#

Tobias marched with purpose towards the tents of his conscripts. The first tendrils of sunlight had already started to sneak above the horizon. The trumpet would soon sound to rouse the army and it was his responsibility to ensure his men were formed up in the battle lines on time and in good order.

As soon as he arrived he burst into the first tent and started barking orders, but stopped short when he quickly realised that the tent was empty. He moved rapidly to the second tent and also found it vacated.

Tobias cursed loudly. His conscripts had deserted and he regretted not posting a guard with them when he had been called away by his commanding officer to listen to the battle plan. He and several of the other masters at arms had taken the opportunity afterwards to enjoy a fine bottle of rum that one of them had confiscated from a nearby farm.

That drinking session was going to cost him his neck at the end of a rope and he briefly considered deserting himself. It was a fleeting thought as he rapidly assessed his realistic options. They were all on foot so could not have gone that far. If he could sneak away a horse he could round them up and frog march them all back.

He looked around for evidence of which direction they had gone. He quickly located a trail of boot marks leading directly away from the camp upon the dewy grass and they were very fresh so he followed them. He had not gone more than 20 yards when he realised that, in amongst the sound of the waking army camp behind him, he could hear the unmistakable sound of sword clanging against sword.

About another hundred yards ahead in a field his entire group of conscripts was practicing their swordsmanship and battle formation! He could not believe his eyes and was still in disbelief as he walked briskly towards them. He stopped just a few feet from them and was still unnoticed as they were all facing away from him.

Tobias banged his sword against his round shield to get their attention.

"Who in all of Umijia showed you sons of pig farmers how to do that?" asked Tobias gruffly.

"I did," replied the Black Ram as he turned around in unison with the rest of the conscripts. Tobias cursed his poor eyesight that he did not see him before, but his armor was battered and dull. He looked more like a common foot soldier and was a stark contrast to the polished shining armor of the lords and knights.

The only thing that was distinctive was the large black ram painted on his breast plate. Tobias remembered him as a much younger man at the Battle of Tattel. He was serious and idealistic, already a swordsman of considerable skill, brave yet still untainted by the horror and reality of battle.

As the Starvation War had progressed the Black Ram quickly became a seasoned veteran, something that would normally have taken years instead of mere months. His bravery and skill earned him an early knighthood, the dream of every young boy. Like everyone else Tobias could not understand why he would turn down that honour and choose disgrace to follow around the Crimson Wizard like a lap dog.

The Black Ram's expression was still as serious as he remembered, but there was also now a dark and intense rage in his eyes that looked like it was just waiting for an excuse to be unleashed.

"Begging your pardon, but these are my men," said Tobias firmly, but respectfully.

"Then you should have been the one out here training them for the last hour," countered the Black Ram bluntly.

"I have trained them as much as I was able during the march here. You might want to complain to the other army across the plain since they have dictated the brevity of our preparations."

"What about their weapons? Where is the smith that should have sharpened and repaired these glorified utensils your men are carrying? Not a single one has a shield. Were you planning to keep them all behind your own?"

"You would have to ask Lord Cortria about that because I have requested all of these things," replied Tobias trying his best to keep his anger in check. Black Ram or not he was not about to give up command of his men. Seeing the Black Ram step towards him and casually rest his hand on the hilt of his sword Tobias tried a softer approach. He was wise enough to know that you don't attempt a frontal attack on a stronger opponent.

"My apologies good sir, but I believe we have the same intention."

"And what is your intention?" asked the Black Ram starring him down, almost like he was willing Tobias to pick a fight. Tobias reacted by jamming his sword into the soil then resting his shield against it to signify he had no intention of starting a fight.

"My intention is to command these men that are in my charge, to lead them to victory and try to keep them alive in the process. Granted, I am not an infamous warrior like the Black Ram, but I also fought in the Battle of Tattel, the battle of Obath and every other skirmish between the two in the Starvation War. I am no fool when it comes to war. I have seen your bravery and your skill first hand many years ago and I would be honoured to fight by your side today. However, I will not allow you to take away the men charged to me by the king's decree, so if that is your intent then you should cut me down right now."

The Black Ram stared at him thoughtfully while tapping away with his fingers on the hilt of his sword. Then suddenly he drew the sword and several of the conscripts gasped expecting the worst. However instead of slitting his throat the Black Ram shoved his sword hard into the soil and then rested his own larger black shield against it in the same way Tobias had.

"Now that I am a free man again perhaps we will be able to relive those glory days once more today, if only briefly," said the Black Ram thrusting out his hand. Tobias obliged with a firm shake.

"That time is now," replied Tobias. "They will already be starting to form up so we need to get back to the camp."

#

Farrel stepped out of the wizard's tent with Raamen close behind him.

"I must advise against this course of action Farrel! Did you not listen to what I said to you last night about the capabilities of your brethren?"

"I did not say I needed them by my side when I stand between the two armies. I want you and the rest of the wizards to stay in the rear and do what you do best. No matter what the result there will be more than enough work for them before the day is done."

"This plan of yours is still folly! Not even you are that powerful to face an entire army alone! Bringing down a mighty rain storm will not abate the resolve of the enemy this time. This is not the Starvation War," argued Raamen.

Farrel stopped so abruptly that Raamen ran into the back of him. Farrel turned on him and glared at him, his eyes volcanic with fury.

"No, this is not the Starvation War and I am no longer an apprentice! You may be surprised at the extent of my abilities. Both you and the precious Conclave would do well to respect them!"

Farrel spun back around and left Raamen speechless and reeling from the tirade. He strode rapidly towards the edge of the camp so that Starria would have plenty of room to land without hurting anyone. Around him foot soldiers, pikemen and archers were gathering their weapons and forming into their squads.

He ignored them all, the shouting, the sound of the horses and the clang of metal. He needed to clear his mind and he could not wait to be in the middle of the plain where he could stand alone.

He reached the rear edge of the camp and cupped his hands together over his mouth. He then gently blew warm breath into his hands and whispered the words of a spell.

"On the wings of my breath a message you must carry – Starria come to me."

He opened his hands and let the wind whisper go. It was invisible so he could not see it leave, but he was able to sense it racing across the sky as it searched for his griffin.

He scanned the skies nervously as he waited. He hoped that she had not wandered too far. He was not exactly sure how loyal the beast was to him. Their relationship was still relatively new and had started unexpectedly when he had freed her from the Witch of Borglachen. The moment he had unchained her from her imprisonment within the witch's tower Starria had bonded to him.

He did not know how deep the sense of debt was for the griffin and each morning since then he half expected the beast to suddenly disappear. Yet even after several months of travelling she had never strayed.

He was more than mildly relieved when after ten long minutes he finally saw her brilliant white wings in the distance. A moment later the griffin had landed in front of him and he walked forward to pat her bowed head. She tilted her head slightly at his touch, looked directly into his eyes and screeched sharply.

It was not an angry screech and she pushed her head into his hands enjoying the attention. It felt more like she was asking him a question.

"I'm sorry Starria. I know several languages, but Griffin is not one of them. If you are asking me why we are about to do what we are about to do I can only say this; if you feel you have any debt to me I will need payment in full today because I need you by my side."

Starria snapped her head away from his hand and turned to look away from him and screeched again in several sharp bursts. If she understood him then she was certainly not happy.

"You must trust me Starria, the people on the other side of this plain have a magic much worse than the Witch of Borglachen. They will do terrible things here if we do not stop them."

Starria turned her head again and her eyes looked piercingly into his own. Then she slowly dropped to her stomach so that he could climb onto her back.

Seconds later they were in the air and Farrel asked her to take him high above the plain. He looked down to the battlefield below. The king's army was still forming its lines, especially on the outer flanks where the majority of the conscripts were situated.

On the other side of the plain the enemy was already formed in orderly neat rows and it was massive. Not only did the enemy lines stretch half again as long as that of the king's army, but there were still columns of men and materials filtering down out of the mountain passes.

In all of the Starvation War he had never seen an army that size. In fact all the armies of Metara, the goblin clans and the orcs combined would not have been so large.

Although he could not see clearly from so high up there was no mistaking the large dark shapes of the manticores that prowled up and down the enemy's formation. There were also other strange shapes in the rear lines that did not appear human, but he had no idea what they were.

The army itself was problem enough, but he could also sense the strange magic that they had with them. His logical mind told him to fly high and fly far yet he tapped the back of Starria's head and pointed down to the centre of the plain.

Starria tucked her wings in and dove like a hawk diving for its prey and Farrel had trouble holding on as the wind rushed passed his face and threatened to blown him right off her back.

Just as Farrel thought they might plummet straight into the earth Starria spread her wings wide and thrust hard to slow their descent. She landed heavily which was fine for her, but knocked the wind out of Farrel.

He dismounted unsteadily to the excited shouts of the men from the king's army behind him. He did not turn back towards them, they would all be expecting a miracle from the hero of the Starvation War.

Unfortunately the Battle of Tattel was won by removing the need to fight for the Metaran army, not by destroying it. The victory turned the war in their favour and brought the Metaran's to their side in the war against the orcs and goblins. If he was going to break the morale of the enemy today, without sacrificing lives needlessly in battle, it was going to require a much greater show of power.

Farrel looked out along the lines of the enemy army and realised they were not advancing. He glanced back towards the king's army and could still see shuffling in the outer parts of their lines. He could not understand why with such a numerical advantage the enemy commander was being so cautious.

He sensed they were all waiting for him. Perhaps whoever it was that had tried to coerce him from the camp the previous evening wanted to see what he was capable of before showing their own hand. If they wanted a show of power then that was exactly what he was going to give them.

"Stay, but be ready," he ordered Starria. He strode forward purposely and fearlessly until he was just within the range of the enemy archers. He stood there defiantly to more cheers from the king's army behind him.

He waited patiently to see if the enemy wanted to parlay. His question was answered a moment later when the morning sky turned dark with arrows. Farrel watched them arch into the sky, reach their apex then start to plummet towards him like a deadly rain. Before they reached him however he concentrated his mind and roared the words of a wind spell. With a strong sweep of his arm across the sky a mighty wind howled around him and sent the arrows scattering in all directions.

"Go back to where you came or I will destroy you all!" he yelled fiercely, but the army stood unmoved.

Farrel still felt like we was being watched and tested so he decided it was time to return the favour rather than revealing more about the extent of his own abilities. He spoke the words for a whirlwind spell as he waved his right arm in a wide circle above his head. It required immense concentration to sense the air around him and control it.

After just a few seconds the wind was racing around him like a mini tornado picking up dirt and more importantly the enemies fallen arrows. They swirled around in front of him in a deadly wall of air and threatened to consume him until he stopped rotating his arm and pointed directly at the enemy lines.

The mini-tornado raced across the plain towards the enemy army sucking up more dust as it went. However just as it was about to plough into the front row of soldiers the whirlwind stopped abruptly as though it had hit an invisible wall and dissipated as quickly as it had formed. The arrows carried by the whirlwind dropped harmlessly to the ground short of their mark.

The cheers from the king's army were silenced and were replaced by a rhythmic clash of weapons on shields from the enemy. The gesture spread rapidly along the entire length of the enemy army. It was both loud and intimidating even from a distance.

Farrel looked back at the king's army and they were now more subdued. He could see flags being waved madly along the lines as orders were sent to the formations. He was not sure what they meant, but it was clear he needed to up the ante with his opponent if he wanted to prevent the wholesale bloodshed that was imminent.

He briefly contemplated the extreme, but quickly drove it from his mind. Enemy or not he did not want to be responsible for that level of devastation or loss of life unless he had absolutely no choice.

There was a sudden sharp screech from Starria and it was filled with urgency. Farrel spun back around towards the enemy army to see that a small pack of six manticores and their riders were now bounding towards him at high speed.

He quickly started to back up towards Starria who was a good fifty feet behind him.

"Starria come to me, we need to get out of here," he called urgently over his shoulder. Starria had her eyes firmly fixed on the manticores and screeched again, but seemed reluctant to come towards him. Farrel had not really taken the time to contemplate what a griffin might be afraid of, but apparently manticores were on that list.

There was no way he was going to be able to cover the distance between them before the manticores reached him. Trying to stay calm he stopped and went down on one knee so he could place the palms of both his hands flat onto the ground.

"Sands and soil beneath my feet a moving wall of earth you must make!" He spoke the words of the earth spell loudly and firmly then raised his palms up from the ground briefly before slamming them down again heavily into the soil.

Keeping both hands firmly against the ground he willed the earth to move at his command. A sudden wall of dirt and rock thrust up from the ground in front of the charging manticores and rolled towards them like a wave. The rear most manticores and their riders were crushed under the wave of earth as it crashed over them. However the three at the front of the pack were able to leap over it before it could rise high enough to stop them.

Farrel focused his mind and tried to raise another wall of earth, but the remaining three manticores were too fast, their riders too skilled and they managed to leap over his second wall just like the first.

In seconds they were going to be on top of him so he quickly grabbed a handful of the soil in his right hand while keeping his left firmly upon the ground. He squeezed the handful of soil as hard as he could until his fingernails were digging painfully into his palms.

"Golem rise from the ground and be my shield!" he ordered as he hurled the lump of dirt towards the oncoming manticores. They were now less than twenty yards away from him when the clump of dirt landed between them and Farrel. As soon as the clump touched the ground the soil beneath it stirred and started to morph into a giant earth golem.

The golem was almost eight feet tall and half as wide. It was vaguely human in its shape except it was faceless and had no neck; its head merging directly onto its body. It had no mouth and made no sound as it stood unmoving in front of the charging manticores until they reached it.

The riders tried to simply dodge around it, but the golem was surprisingly fast and had a very long reach. It swung its powerful arms as it surged at the manticores and managed to knock one down while grabbing a second in its huge dirt hand.

It then proceeded to pound the manticore in its grasp like it was mashing a potato. It was relentless in its silent pursuit. Farrel did not notice however, because the third manticore had managed to slip by and was now leaping at him with its sharp lion claws and teeth intent on tearing him to pieces.

Farrel cursed his arrogance and stupidity as he closed his eyes and waited for the end to come. Then suddenly there was a ferocious screech from above him and Starria smashed into the manticore and its rider. Farrel opened his eyes to see Starria slashing away with her own claws as well as pecking and tearing at the manticore with her sharp eagle's beak.

Although the rider was now dead the manticore was fighting back ferociously. Farrel quickly turned the golem onto the last beast and it wrapped a trunk like arm around the manticore's neck until it had crushed the life out of it. However, not before the manticore had managed to strike Starria with its deadly scorpion tail.

Starria reared back and squawked in agony from the strike. With the final manticore dead Farrel took his hand from the ground and the golem dissolved back into the plain as though it had never existed. Farrel ran to Starria, who was still squawking madly, and grabbed her firmly by the feathers on her neck and pulled her head down towards him.

"If you want to live you need to get us back to the camp!"

She started to sway and continued to squawk as the poison started to take effect, but she appeared to understand and dropped to her belly so he could mount her.

She leapt into the air and started towards the camp, but her wings faltered and she dropped back to the ground after just a few feet and stumbled forwards unsteadily as though she was drunk.

Farrel looked back at the enemy army and it was now slowly moving forwards in a very disciplined formation.

"Starria, you have to fly! Please!" yelled Farrel desperately. Starria responded by jumping unsteadily and weakly into the air and flying haphazardly back to the camp. She had just enough sense to clear the heads of the king's men when her strength gave out completely and she dropped to the ground in an undignified crash landing at the outer edge of the camp.

Farrel was flung off her back as she rolled over. He was badly winded, but ignored the pain and jumped quickly to his feet.

"Raamen! Raamen!" he yelled frantically.

Behind him the king's army was making itself ready to meet the onslaught of the enemy.

A minute later Raamen came running up to Farrel. Starria had now collapsed and her breathing was now rapid and shallow.

"She has been poisoned by a manticore! Do whatever it takes to save her! I don't care if it takes the blood of the king to make your healing potion, do not let her die!"

Farrel did not wait for a response from Raamen and charged back out onto the plain. He looked frantically up and down the lines to find Solomon, but could not locate him. He was frustrated that he could not stop the coming bloodshed and when he was frustrated he became angry, very angry.

#

Solomon stood calmly in the front line with the rest of the conscripts. Between himself and Tobias they had managed to get their men in good order, the same could not be said for the rest of the volunteers in their section of the line.

"Look at the size of their army! They have to outnumber us ten to one!" said Kasa fearfully.

"Shut it boy!" snapped Tobias to his left.

"If you want to live fight as one and protect each other just the way we practiced," shouted Solomon confidently.

"In truth I don't know how Lord Cortria plans to win this fight," mumbled Tobias into Solomon's ear.

"Look at the length of their lines. They can outflank us at will. Lord Cortria is smart having us on the flanks," replied Solomon quietly. "If he stands any hope of winning this battle he is going to need to bleed the enemy before they reach his regulars. Perhaps then when he charges with his knights on their war horses it won't be an act of suicide."

"And we supply the bleeding..." nodded Tobias with a long sigh. At that point Farrel swooped down between the two armies on Starria and the entire army erupted in cheers.

"Not if the Crimson Wizard has anything to do with it we won't," replied Solomon with a sliver of hope in his voice.

"For the sake of the realm I hope you are correct," replied Tobias.

"If you turn back this army all on your own Farrel I will forgive you for everything you have made me endure," thought Solomon as he watched Farrel dismount and stride defiantly towards the enemy lines.

His hope was quickly dashed along with the rest of the king's army and it took all his willpower to stop himself from leaving the lines and running to Farrel's aid as the manticores approached.

Solomon was forced to drag his mind away from worrying about Farrel as various horns sounded along the line. He looked out across the plain to see that the enemy army was finally marching towards them. It would soon be time to regain his honour or die trying.

The enemy formations were tight and their movement forwards was well coordinated. They were clearly well trained and battle hardened troops. As they slowly approached Solomon could see for the first time that the soldiers were a mixture of men and women and all had the same olive skin complexion. The stories that they were from a sun drenched land across the great western ocean appeared to hold some merit it seemed.

It was not just their skin colour that was different. Their armor and their shields were all of similar design and appeared to look more lightweight than those he was used to seeing. Their weapon of choice seemed to be either a long sharp two handed spear or long curved scimitars with vicious serrated blades.

The enemy did not seem to have any cavalry, however they did have the manticores and their riders who carried short bows designed to be fired on the move.

As the enemy drew ever closer Solomon could also make out several chariots following slowly behind the main army. The chariots were pulled not by horses, but by orcs! The chariot riders were thin and tall and wore heavy robes and hoods.

"By all Umijia..." muttered Solomon as he rested his sword hand on the hilt of his sword to try and calm himself ready for battle.

"What is it? What do you see?" asked Tobias squinting towards the enemy lines. Solomon drew his sword and shouted loudly down the line for all his men to do the same.

"I envy you your eyes right now old man because you really do not want to know."

#

Farrel stood on the light rise in amongst the rows of archers so that he had a commanding view of the battlefield as the two armies closed upon each other. There was a shout to his left as an archer captain relayed Lord Cortria's order to open fire.

The archers released their arrows and they arced across the sky. As soon as they were released the enemy army stopped its march and the front lines dropped to their knees and crouched behind their shields. At the same time the second row of men placed their shields above their heads and quickly interlocked with the front row of soldiers to form a shield wall that was very effective at negating the hail of arrows from finding their mark.

Farrel seethed as he looked down on the approaching army.

"So much senseless death and destruction and they wonder why I dedicated my life to my quest," he thought angrily. "If it is death and destruction that you crave then that is what you shall receive!"

Farrel pulled a small vial of water from a hidden pocket inside his robes and poured it onto his hands then rubbed them together vigorously. As he did so he chanted the words of a water spell.

"This water upon my hands, vaporise and rise into the air. Form first a cloud and then a storm and let lightening strike with each clap."

The water on his hands started to first turn to mist then into a cloud. The cloud grew quickly and floated higher into the sky as it drew more water from the atmosphere and continued to expand as it went. Soon it was fifty feet above him and had started to turn black.

Moments later the first flash of lightening appeared to jump from one part of the cloud to another. He closed his eyes to focus his mind again as he started to rub his hands together even faster. Then suddenly he stopped and clapped loudly and sharply.

As he did so lightening arced down from the storm cloud and smashed into the ground in a flash of purple brilliance right in the middle of the enemy army. Enemy soldiers were flung in all directions within a ten foot radius of the strike, many of them dead and the rest badly burned.

Once again the enemy stopped to form their shield wall in reaction to another volley of arrows that had just been loosed. While the shields held back the arrows yet again they were no match for another lightening strike as he clapped his hands sharply again and another handful of men perished instantly.

For a few moments there appeared to be some confusion within the centre of the enemy army at the point where they had taken the brunt of Farrel's attack. However they soon recovered and were methodically moving forwards again. Farrel threw down several more lightening strikes each having the same effect and each creating a small hole in the enemies lines that was quickly filled by troops in the rows behind.

The longer he held the spell in place the more concentration and energy it required to sustain it. It quickly became too much for him and he had to release it. It was a moot point however, as the two armies were now so close together that he risked hitting the king's troops if he continued.

Farrel watched in despair as the front lines of both armies clashed in a wave of battle cries. The clang of swords and spears against shields and armour was quickly followed by the inevitable screams that pierced the air when metal met flesh.

His hand went instinctively into another hidden pocket and clasped firmly around a small vial of lamp oil he kept there. He squeezed it as his anger grew at the sight of the battle and the carnage it created. It was tempting to put a swift end to it all, but he quickly dismissed the idea and dropped the vial back inside his pocket.

The fighting had only been going for a few minutes and despite a valiant charge from Lord Cortria's knights the king's army was already being pushed back and outflanked. It would all be over quickly and tragically if he did not do something. He bent down and carefully picked a single blade of grass. It was time for some fairy magic!

Farrel was the only human to have ever been allowed into the Bastion, a secret place deep within the southern forests where fairy magic was taught. There, thanks to Poppin, he had been given the unique opportunity to study and become a master.

It had given him a whole new perspective on magic and nature. Of course like all fairy magic it was never meant to be used in the action of harming others. He thought briefly of Poppin and her melodious voice and smiled. He wondered what she would think of all this senseless killing. He was sure she would not have approved of what he planned to do next.

Farrel squeezed the blade of grass between his index finger and his thumb and rubbed his digits back and forth so that the blade of grass twisted between them. He sang the words of a fairy spell in the ancient fairy tongue.

As he did so he could feel the life energy of the grass out on the plain. He could feel its willingness to bend gently with the wind, the firmness by which its roots clung to the soil and its pain as it was crushed underfoot by armor clad soldiers. He sensed its sorrow as their blood dripped down upon it from the wounds of men and beast alike.

He connected to that life force and bent it to his will. Suddenly beneath the feet of the enemy soldiers the grass snaked up and wrapped around their ankles, entangling them, quickly making any type of movement clumsy and cumbersome.

With their movement being ever increasingly impeded the enemy's drive forward came to a halt and in some places they were even pushed back. If one could not move one could not properly defend themselves and that rapidly began to show as the enemy's losses quickly mounted.

Realising the gravity of their situation the mysterious chariot riding hooded figures, who seemed to be controlling the army from its rear echelons, signalled for their army to retreat.

It was no rout, the enemy soldiers hacked at the grass that held them and pulled back in the same orderly fashion as they had come forward. Lord Cortria seeing the folly of pursuit also withdrew his men back to the edge of the plain.

Farrel dropped the blade of grass and half sat half fell to the ground, mentally exhausted.

#

"Stay close to each other, block first then swing hard!" yelled Solomon loudly, his voice carrying easily above the battle cries of the approaching enemy who had now broken into a charge.

Solomon braced himself for the oncoming human wave. As the lines of soldiers came together Solomon surged forward violently, deflecting an oncoming spear with his shield. He then immediately followed up with a thrusting stab that penetrated up under the now exposed left underarm of his foe, that was caused by the deflection of the spear.

He quickly extracted his blade and pivoted in the one motion so he could slash downwards across the back of another enemy soldier who was in the process of trying to spear Tobias in the chest.

He then quickly turned back towards the enemy's line as two more spearmen pushed forward to take the place of the fallen. This time his opponent was a woman. She was a head shorter than him and the olive skin of her arms and legs bristled with lean hard muscle. Her curly dark hair was cut short, but still managed to escape from under her helmet. Her face was hard and cold yet bordering on beautiful.

Solomon hesitated for a moment. In Risandea, with the notable exception of his cousin Gabrielle, women did not bear arms so he had never been in battle against a woman before. His sense of chivalry was quickly overwhelmed by the sound of battle around him and the spear that she was thrusting towards his chest.

Solomon deflected the blow by reflex alone. The woman moved much quicker and more fluidly than his first opponent so his moment of indecision allowed her to dodge his counter blow. His mind finally caught up with his body and he intentionally fell back a few steps and let her over extend on her second attempt to skewer him. This time he pushed down with his shield as he deflected her spear which forced its sharp end into the ground.

Once again she recovered quickly, but not quick enough and Solomon was able to smash the spear from her hands with his sword. He looked into her dark brown eyes expecting to see fear, instead he saw fierce determination as she quickly drew a long curved dagger from her belt and launched at him again.

Something inside would not allow him to run her through so instead he stepped inside her plunging dagger strike and smashed her hard in the face with his shield. The blow knocked her out and most likely broke her jaw.

He turned yet again to face the enemy directly only to see even more soldiers filling the gaps of the fallen. He quickly glanced along his own line. To his left Tobias and Faolan were managing to hold their ground. However, to his right several of the other conscripts were already dead or dying and that section of the line was being pushed back. Even further out towards the flanks he could see the enemy were manoeuvring to try and get in behind them. If they managed that it would be a slaughter.

"Close the gaps and fall back!" ordered Solomon as he too started to step backwards cautiously whilst blocking another attacker and slashing back to keep them at bay. That was when he noticed Kasa standing petrified in place as chaos swirled around him.

Solomon threw out his shield arm to block a sword blow from one of the scimitar wielding foot soldiers. The blow was hard and Solomon felt the shock in his forearm right though his shield and his arm brace.

Solomon shoved Kasa forcefully behind him with his sword arm, knocking him over backwards in the process.

"Wake up and swing you're damned sword!" he screamed over his shoulder as he blocked another deadly blow. The warrior trying to kill him this time was a good six inches taller than Solomon and had a sword arm as thick as his leg.

Solomon struck back, but the big man easily brushed aside the slashing attack with his shield then stepped towards Solomon and kicked him directly in the stomach knocking him over backwards with brute force.

Fortunately Solomon was experienced and his instinct was to grasp onto his sword and shield even harder as he fell rather than letting them go to try and break his fall. As a result he was able to pull his shield up over his chest and face to stop another hacking blow aimed at cutting him in two.

He tried to roll out away from his attacker, but the big man anticipated the move and kicked him hard in the side again to prevent it. He yelled something in a strange language fiercely and accusingly as he raised his scimitar for the final blow.

In the failed attempt to roll away Solomon had managed to pin his own sword and was not able to get it into position to defend himself, so he closed his eyes and prepared himself for the end.

The scimitar was stopped sharply in its trajectory however, by another blade. Solomon opened his eyes to see that it was Faolan who had managed to save him. Unfortunately in the process of blocking the fatal attack the swing from the big man was so hard it knocked Faolan's sword from his hands.

Solomon ignored the pain in his side, rolled out of the way and quickly regained his feet. He leapt forward to try and get between the big man and the now defenceless Faolan, but he was too late to stop a slashing cut that sliced a deep diagonal line from Faolan's right shoulder down to his left hip. The serrated blade easily cut through the conscript's shoddy leather armor and his blood spurted forth freely as he fell to the ground and started writhing around in agony.

Solomon's reaction was immediate. Triggered by the blood of a young man, who should have been tending fields instead of fighting in an army, his anger was volcanic. It was a deep burning anger born of a decade living with dishonour and ridicule.

As a seasoned veteran Solomon had long ago learned to curb his fear and his anger in battle. He was no berserker and he had always found that a cool clear mind was a better path to staying alive and besting your opponent. However, this time he let the anger feed him. He became single minded and emotionless, intent only on killing.

He launched at the big warrior with ferocity, slashing and thrusting hard with his sword. The attack was so intense that the big warrior fell backwards a few steps as he desperately deflected the series of rapid strikes.

Solomon pulled back briefly and the big warrior swung hard back at him in a counter attack, but Solomon ducked under his swinging blade and cut him across the back of the legs as he stepped behind him. It dropped the big man to his knees and Solomon did not hesitate in taking the chance to leap into the air and drive his sword down hard in through the back of his neck and deep down into his chest.

Solomon ignored the blood that spattered across his face as he withdrew his sword and then launched at the next nearest foe. He cut and hacked down three more enemy soldiers and the remaining conscripts rallied around him to hold the line.

Solomon felled yet another opponent then stopped as he withdrew his sword from the man's side. His bloodlust had started to subside and his conscious mind took over again. He quickly surveyed the situation. Their part of the line had now been surrounded and although the centre of the king's army was holding strong it was clear that the flanks were about to disintegrate.

The only way for them to have any chance of survival was to link up with the rest of the army. Solomon bellowed at Tobias, who was still unscathed, but breathing raggedly as he neared exhaustion.

"We have to fight our way back towards the centre right now or we are done for!"

Tobias nodded and started barking orders to the surviving conscripts and the smattering of regular foot soldiers that had been trapped with them.

Solomon lead the way forwards and the surge sideways across the front of the enemy initially caught them by surprise. Just as he thought they might actually make it back there was a blood curdling roar from behind him followed by terrifying screams.

Solomon turned back to see a huge dark brown manticore had pounced right into the middle of his men. The beast mauled the nearest conscript with its sharp lion claws while the rider on top loosed several arrows in rapid succession from a short bow with deadly accuracy.

Surrounded by the enemy there was nowhere to go so the manticore was easily able to pounce on top of another conscript and rip out his throat. At the same time one of the regular foot soldiers attempted to thrust his sword into the manticore's side only to have the beast's deadly scorpion tail strike him in the neck with whip like speed before he could land his blade.

The man screamed in agony for several seconds as his blood turned to fire inside his veins, before falling dead to the ground from the terrible poison.

"Keep them pushing towards our lines!" yelled Solomon at the top of his lungs as he stopped and turned back towards the manticore.

"What are you doing?" yelled Tobias who has pushing the survivors to attack towards friendly lines, now less than 20 yards away.

"Just get them back to the main army. It's time that I reclaim my honour!"

Solomon ignored further protests from Tobias and walked intently towards the manticore just as it finished dismembering yet another conscript.

"Let's see how you like the taste of a Black Ram!" yelled Solomon waving his arms wildly in an attempt to have the manticore focus on him and not any of the other men still cornered by the beast.

The rider turned immediately towards him and rapidly loosed two arrows at Solomon, but he was able to deflect them with his shield. In the process of doing that however, the beast was briefly hidden from his view by the shield. When he lowered it again the manticore was already bounding towards him.

Instinct and experience saved Solomon from a quick death. He stepped hard to his left to avoid the beast while at the same time he swung his shield out in a wide arc to stop the manticore's deadly tail from striking him in the chest. The stinger at the end of the tail was nothing but a blur. It moved so fast it was nothing short of luck and anticipation that he was able to time the deflection with his shield.

Having missed its prey on the first attempt the manticore skidded to a stop and spun quickly. The beast was very nimble for its size. It was already charging back towards him again before he could raise his shield once more.

As Solomon starred down death for a second time something unexpected happened. The manticore, still in mid charge, suddenly tripped, throwing its rider from its back as it lurched forwards face first onto the ground.

The rider recovered quickly and rolled back onto his feet drawing a short scimitar as his did so. However, as he attempted to move towards Solomon the rider found he could not move his feet as they were now entangled with grass.

Solomon looked around and realised that the manticore was also struggling to regain its feet as it fought against the snaking entangling grass that appeared to be intent on dragging it down into the earth.

Solomon had seen too many strange things over the last decade travelling with Farrel to be truly surprised by what was now happening across the entire battlefield. While the enemy soldiers struggled with their dilemma and his comrades paused momentarily in shock Solomon took it all in his stride and quickly finished off the manticore rider and then approached the beast itself.

Every time the manticore freed a paw and put it back onto the ground more grass would entangled it. Its tail was however, quite free and still deadly. The manticore saw him approach and roared angrily in frustration as it tried to pounce on him only to fall forwards again.

Solomon took the opportunity to dash forwards towards the tail before the manticore regained its footing. The tail whipped towards him, but Solomon's sword sliced the entire tail in half and the stinger dropped harmlessly onto the ground.

The severed tail wriggled around like an angry snake as its muscles continued to twitch spasmodically. Solomon ignored it, leapt onto the back of the manticore and drove his sword deep into its back. The manticore bucked hard in pain which threw Solomon into the air and onto the ground.

Enraged the beast managed to pull free of the entangling grass long enough to turn on Solomon, but just as it opened its mouth to bite down on him it stumbled and collapsed to the ground dead.

Solomon quickly regained his feet and turned back towards the enemy lines only to see them hacking at the grass around them and retreating as fast as they could.

Solomon sheathed his sword and rested his hand firmly on the hilt to clear his mind. His lungs were burning and his arms and legs felt like lead. Around him cheers suddenly erupted from the survivors when they realised he had defeated a manticore on his own and Tobias was the most vocal.

"To the Black Ram, slayer of beasts!" he shouted to anyone who would listen as he walked up to Solomon and patted him hard on the back. "If my sword was not already pledged to the king I would pledge it to you right now!"

Solomon looked around him at the faces of the men still standing. They were bloody, battered, tired and scared, yet they cheered him like a hero with hope in their eyes.

He had regained his honour with them at least, but at what cost? He looked around at the battlefield strewn with the fallen, friend and enemy alike. Most were already dead, others still slowly and painfully dying. Then he looked back across the plain at the retreating army and knew that hope was folly. Their lives rested in the hands of Farrel and his abilities, but he could not tell them that so instead he barked orders at them with the same confidence that was in his voice at the start of the battle.

"The enemy has retreated, but you have fallen comrades who can still be saved by the healers so let's get to work finding them and dragging them off this godforsaken battlefield!"

#

Farrel pushed urgently through the crowd of soldiers who stood gathered around Starria.

"Get back!" he yelled as he knelt down to be close to her. Starria's eyes were open, but she did not appear to see or hear him. He reached down and stroked the side of her head gently as he looked at her more closely. Both eyes were severely bloodshot and blood seeped from her nostrils and dripped slowly from the end of her beak. Her breath was shallow and rapid.

"We should put the poor creature out of its misery," said a nearby archer as he nocked an arrow. Farrel stood up instantly and shoved the archer hard in the chest.

"If anyone so much as touches her I will burn them alive!" he yelled. "Does everyone here understand me clearly?"

The archer placed the arrow slowly back into his quiver and stepped backwards hands raised. The rest of the crowd were silent and several started to quietly back away. Satisfied that they were all sufficiently fearful he stormed off to find Raamen.

He located the master healer inside a large tent set up to treat the wounded. He and several of the other wizards were busily brewing various healing broths, balms and potions to treat the myriad of injuries laid out before them.

Farrel walked directly up to Raamen as he was rubbing a healing balm into a large gash in the chest of a foot soldier. The wound started to close over before his eyes, but Farrel had seen it all before so he ignored the small miracle and grabbed Raamen by the shoulder firmly.

"Why are you not with Starria?!" he said angrily spinning Raamen around to face him.

"I have done everything I can for her. There is nothing more that can be done other than wait," replied Raamen calmly, as he gently pulled free from Farrel's grasp and turned back to his work.

"This is not some farmer's cow you are treating!" insisted Farrel grabbing Raamen again. This time Raamen shrugged him off curtly.

"Look around you! All of these men's lives are in my hands, so I am sorry if I cannot nurse your griffin through the night!"

"If she dies you will see a side of me you do not want to see!" threatened Farrel. Raamen shook his head and looked back at Farrel with pity.

"Although I am your senior I have a great respect for you and I have always treated you as an equal, even when others in the Conclave have not. Therefore I will ignore what you just said. Your griffin was stung by a manticore, one of the deadliest poisons known in all Umijia. I do not know how she has even survived this long, but then what I know about griffin's would not fill a single page in a book. Trust me when I say that I have done everything within my power to save her. It's now down to the will of the gods."

Farrel bowed his head and slumped forward to lean heavily against Raamen.

"I'm sorry, she has come to mean a lot to me in a very short time," replied Farrel forlornly.

"I can see that my friend," replied Raamen more gently as he rested a reassuring hand on Farrel's shoulder. "You should really go and get some rest. The word around the camp is that the enemy is expected to attack again before the sun sets, so you are going to need all the energy and concentration you can muster."

#

Solomon walked amongst the fallen, with Tobias to his left and Kasa to his right, checking for survivors. The healers were concentrating their efforts on the centre part of the battlefield where the regular soldiers and knights had fought and fallen. Solomon shook his head in disgust, equality in death, but the privileged saved first. As a consequence they were alone on their section of the battlefield.

"Make sure you check each one, open their eyes and see if they react to the light. They might still be saved," he ordered.

"Solomon!" called Kasa urgently. Solomon rushed over to him to find him on his hands and knees vomiting violently. To his left was a grizzled foot soldier sitting propped up against the dead manticore with the better part of his stomach and intestines sprawled out on the ground in front of him thanks to a claw strike from the beast.

Tobias arrived by his side a moment later then cursed and dropped to his knees beside the man.

"I don't think the healers will be able to fix me this time!" said the grizzled soldier through gritted teeth.

"Arkan you old fool I thought you had retired!"

"Y..you know me I could never...say no to the king." replied Arkan his speech interrupted by uncontrollable groans due to the pain. He suddenly reached out and grabbed Tobias with all the strength he had left in his hands. "Finish me by...your sword...so I don't die by that devil of a beast!"

"No I will not!" said Tobias shaking his head as he tried to pull away. "Kasa control your stomach and help me carry him back to the camp!"

Kasa wiped the vomit from his mouth, stood up and started to move shakily towards Tobias, but Solomon stepped in front of him.

"No Kasa, you get back over there and keep checking for more wounded," ordered Solomon as he placed a firm hand on Tobias' shoulder before speaking more gently."Go and help him Tobias and don't turn back."

"No, I cannot," replied Tobias defiantly.

"Go!" said Arkan half yelling and half screaming from the pain.

"I am sorry my friend, but it will have to be by the hand of another..." said Tobias disconsolately as he stood then slowly walked away.

"The Black Ram eh," grimaced Arkan. "I'd have spat on your shield a day ago. Give me my honour in death and don't forget to find your own you wizard's lap dog!"

Solomon did not respond or react, instead he just picked up a nearby sword from the ground and gently placed in into Arkan's hand. He then silently drew his own sword and gave a knights salute.
"Better to die with a sword in your hand old man," said Solomon as he swung hard at Arkan's neck and neatly removed his head.

After that Solomon was not in the mood to clean his sword or to look for wounded so instead he started checking the enemy soldiers. Any that he found with even the remotest sign of life left in them he ran through the heart with his sword.

Slowly and methodically he made his way along the line of dead back towards the outer edge of the battlefield. That was when something made him stop. Just a few feet away was the woman he had smashed in the face with his shield during the battle and she was trying to stand up.

He ran over to her and kicked her back to the ground and she fell onto her back with a yelp. She did not stay there for long and was quickly back on her stomach scrambling for a weapon. His first instinct was to drive his sword through her back, but he resisted. A live prisoner might just be able to give them vital information so instead he drove his boot down hard onto her outstretched hand as she grabbed for a nearby spear.

She cried out in pain and tried to pull her hand free, but to emphasis her situation Solomon pushed the tip of his sword into the base of her skull just hard enough to break the skin.

"Don't move!" he ordered, hoping that the tone of his voice was enough to make her understand. She cursed loudly in her own language, but she did not continue to struggle. In his years of travel alongside Farrel, Solomon had heard many different languages spoken, but this was completely different from anything he had heard before.

He looked around to see Kasa and Tobias not far away still checking for wounded. "Kasa!" he yelled.

"Yes Solomon," Kasa shouted back.

"Go back to the camp, get some rope and bring it back to me. And hurry! Tobias get over here I need some help!"

Tobias came running up to him and stopped short when he saw the woman.

"A prisoner! Lord Cortria is going to pay us handsomely in silver for this!"

"Shut up and strip her armour. I want to get her back to our tent before anyone else sees."

"What?"

"You heard me. I want to find out what she knows before we hand her over."

"If anyone finds out Lord Cortria will have us both flogged, maybe even hanged!" protested Tobias.

"Then we will die a few hours before everyone else because the only hope we have of winning this battle is the Crimson Wizard. Trust me when I tell you that it's more important for him to interrogate this one than Lord Cortria, for all our sake's."

"In the name of the almighty! First I am fighting alongside the Black Ram and now I am committing treason for the Crimson Wizard," muttered Tobias under his breath as he reluctantly removed the woman's armour.

#

Solomon sat down on a small wooden stool inside the tent. He unsheathed his sword slowly and then drove it firmly into the ground so it stood by itself.

He stared at the prisoner who was sitting on the ground in front of him bound by hand and foot and gagged with part of her own tunic. She stared back at him defiantly.

"Kasa, go and stand guard. If anyone tries to come into this tent you tell them the Black Ram will remove the head of anyone who disturbs him." Kasa scurried outside the tent and Solomon turned to Tobias who looked agitated. "Go find the Crimson Wizard and bring him back here. It seems the enemy is not willing to attack us again today after all, so wait for the sun to set before you make contact. I have no doubt my cousin will have his lackeys keeping close watch on him for Lord Cortria so be subtle."

"I still don't see the point of this. Lord Cortria has the Breaker for this type of thing. If anyone figures out we are holding a prisoner and haven't turned her over then that's exactly who you will find yourself sitting in front of before they hang you from the nearest tree!"

"Then make sure you are not followed back here by anyone."

Tobias cursed loudly and then left the tent. Solomon turned back to stare at the woman. She looked so different without her armour or her helmet and if not for the fierce hatred in her brown almond shaped eyes he would have thought her harmless.

Her face was covered in blood and her breathing was laboured through what was almost certainly a broken nose. He looked around behind him and grabbed a pitcher of water from a small table inside the tent.

He moved over to kneel in front of the woman. He put the pitcher down and slowly drew his hunting knife from his belt and placed it against the woman's throat. She did not flinch or try to pull away.

"Shh," he said putting his finger to his lips to emphasise the command, hoping that one of the two gestures would make her understand to be quiet. She seemed to comprehend because she nodded ever so slightly.

With his free hand Solomon removed the gag and the moment he did the woman spat defiantly in his face, then tried to bite him on the nose despite having to push against the hunting knife to do so.

Solomon managed to pull away just in time and was then able to put his free hand around her neck and force her over onto her back. He jumped on top of her and kneeled on her chest. He grabbed the water pitcher and emptied the contents over her face then wiped the blood away roughly with the cloth from the gag.

The woman coughed and sputtered as the water drenched her face and as soon as Solomon had finished cleaning her she cursed at him angrily and loudly in her native tongue. Solomon was not actually sure what she said, but it did not sound complimentary.

"You really need to be silent unless you want to be tortured," insisted Solomon as he used a firm hand to push her mouth shut and cover it at the same time. She quickly found it hard to breathe again and this time struggled under his grip to free herself. Solomon pushed the blade of his hunting knife against her throat a little harder until she stopped moving and then very slowly removed his hand.

This time the woman was quiet and calm. With her bent and swollen nose she was no picture of beauty. Yet, as he stared at her face he noted how attractive her eyes were, set under dark eyebrows and surrounded by her wild curly black hair. Her cheeks were round and her lips were full and wonderfully shaped. He had not been with a woman for a very long time and he felt a sudden urge to kiss her. Instinctively he leaned closer to her for a moment. As he did so her eyes widened in dismay and the change snapped him back to reality. He quickly climbed off her chest and let her sit back up.

"Fear not my lady. Despite what many others would tell you I have my honour and I would not lose it by raping a woman, even an enemy one."

Solomon sat back down on the stool, grabbed his sword from the ground and started to clean it with the cloth from the gag.

The woman looked longingly at his sword and said something harshly in her native tongue. Solomon still had no idea what she was trying to say and just shrugged.

"This would be so much easier if you knew how to speak my language or I knew how to speak yours. Don't worry though when my friend gets here he will get you talking in a language he can understand whether you like it or not."

#

Farrel knelt down next to Starria and patted her gently again. He desperately needed to sleep, but he was too afraid to go back to the wizard's tent and leave her alone. The enemy had not attacked again as expected and the sun had just set a few moments ago.

"It's ok girl, I am here and I won't let anyone hurt you," he whispered gently.

Starria made a strangled sounding squawk and tried to sit up, but he pushed her head back down gently. It was testament to how weak she was that he was able to keep her still.

Farrel changed to a sitting position with his back pushed up against her chest and snuggled in against the soft underside of her wing then closed his eyes just for a moment.

There was a loud roar suddenly from the middle of the plain. Farrel sat bolt upright and turned to look out onto the battlefield. He expected to see the enemy army marching towards them again. In the half moon's light he was just able to make out a huge lone black manticore and on its back was the olive skinned woman who had invaded his dreams the night before.

The woman dismounted the manticore and stood out in the middle of the plain just beyond the bodies of the fallen. It all felt very real this time, yet even with the entire camp alert for fear of infiltrators not a single person reacted to the roar of the manticore.

The woman beckoned him and once again as in the dream of the previous night he felt compelled to go towards her. He stood slowly and started walking. The logical part of his brain screamed at him to stop, yet he still found himself walking out onto the plain.

The more he resisted the faster his feet moved towards the woman and the manticore. Unlike last time there was nobody yelling at him to wake up so he reached the woman and her outstretched hand. The moment his fingers touched hers the vision shattered like a broken mirror.

Instead of standing out in the middle of the plain he suddenly found himself standing in amongst a thick clump of trees several hundred yards away from the camp. The only thing that did not change was the vision of the woman and the manticore that were now really standing in front of him!

Before he could react the woman brought her hand up to his face in a closed fist. She then turned her hand over and opened it to reveal a small amount of black dust, which she promptly blew directly into his face.

He tried to step back away from her and bring a spell to mind, but his legs felt like they were melting from under him. As his legs gave way the woman spoke to someone.

"Bind him and cover him so he looks like one of those that fell in battle."

He tried to look around to see who she was speaking to, but his mind went blank. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell to the ground unconscious.

#

Solomon struggled to keep his eyes open as fatigue from the battle set in. Even the deep aching pain in his leg could not prevent the overwhelming seduction of sleep. Many years on the trail in hostile territories had taught him to sleep sitting up, so he sat cross legged on the ground and leaned against his sword which he had driven hard into the earth.

He had bound the prisoner himself so he wasn't too worried about her escaping. He had bound an orc for three days once while Farrel interrogated it. It never got away and it was at least twice as strong as any human.

He was not sure how long he had been asleep for when a firm hand on his shoulder woke him with a start. Instinctively his hand went to his sword behind his back and he leapt to his feet.

"By the almighty stay that sword!" cried Tobias as he lurched back away from Solomon. Solomon's mind caught up to his reflexes and he sheathed his sword.

"My apologies...force of habit."

The prisoner let out a short derisive laugh then said something in her language and pointed at them both while shaking her head.

"So you think that's funny do you bitch?" said Tobias as he raised a fist and made a move towards her. Solomon intervened and pushed Tobias back before he could strike the woman.

"Calm yourself!" he ordered. "The Crimson Wizard is going to need her conscious and with all her wits if we are to get any information out of her."

"Then you best let me strike her so we can take her straight to the Breaker, because I couldn't find your wizard anywhere."

"What the hell do you mean you could not find him? Did you check the wizard's tent?"

"I looked everywhere in camp!" replied Tobias angrily. "The last place anyone saw him was beside that griffin of his. Apparently he would not leave its side."

"He has some strange connection with that beast that I will never understand. He would not leave it unless it was very important or...it was not by choice."

Solomon paced around the room extremely agitated. Without Farrel the next battle with the enemy was going to be a bloodbath and Farrel had to know that by now. He could not believe that Farrel had abandoned them on purpose. Yet who could possibly have forced him to go anywhere against his will, he was possibly the most powerful wizard in all of Risandea.

Nothing made sense and in frustration he drew his sword then hacked at the small wooden stool that he had been sitting on earlier, until there was nothing left except splinters.

The prisoner looked at him wide eyed and started to wriggle away and pull against her bonds. He saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned on her. He wanted to cut her clean down the middle, but stopped himself.

He sheathed his sword again and placed his hand firmly upon its hilt to calm himself. He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the cold metal grip in his hand. He started to recite his oath to Farrel in his head then stopped. It was meaningless now. The only thing he had left was the hope of regaining his honour.

He opened his eyes and pounced on the woman, grabbed her by her bound hands and dragged her roughly to her feet. She spat in his face again and yelled something in her language, but he ignored it and threw her over his shoulder.

"It's time for you to go meet the Breaker."

Solomon carried the woman kicking and screaming out of the tent, but just as he stepped outside shouts of alarm erupted around the perimeter of the camp. A tent off in the distance suddenly caught fire followed by several others in quick succession.

"Raiders!" yelled Tobias who had now rushed out of the tent as well. He raced around the nearby tents yelling at the top of his lungs. "To arms you lazy farmers! Grab your swords or you will all die in your beds!"

Solomon turned to Kasa who had still been standing guard outside and was now petrified.

"Kasa, get back inside the tent and stay there. Do not take your eyes off the prisoner!" ordered Solomon as he spun around, rushed back inside the tent and dropped the woman like a bale of hay hard onto the ground.

A second later he was outside again and running towards the sound of battle. He sprinted between two tents and almost had his head cut off buy a scimitar wielding rider who was riding at top speed through the camp in the other direction.

The rider did not stop so Solomon kept moving as well until he came upon a series of tents on fire with men fighting in skirmishes all around. Solomon raced up to an enemy that was engaged in a fight with one of the king's foot soldiers and cut him deep across the back from behind.

Suddenly there was a loud sounding horn from directly behind the camp and a line of at least fifty horsemen came charging out of the dark towards camp. Some of them carried scimitars, but most of them rode with their reigns in their teeth firing short bows as they went.

They were deadly accurate and Solomon without his shield found he was quickly running for his life to get out of their path. He had few options and even less time to think about it so he dived into a burning tent then quickly crawled out the other side as the flames singed his skin where the armour did not cover.

Coughing violently from the brief intake of smoke he stood again and moved away from the burning tent. He looked around feverishly for a shield among the fallen as he dodged another pass by a scimitar wielding horsemen. This time however, he managed to slash as he ducked and cut a deep gash into the rider's leg as he passed.

The enemy rider fell from the horse with an agonising cry. Solomon ran over to the fallen horseman and drove his sword deep into the man's chest without remorse then stripped the dead man of his shield.

At that moment Solomon heard the ancient battle cry that had been used by the protectors of Risandea ever since the first king had been crowned. A band of knights on horseback lead by his cousin Aren charged forth to meet the raiders head on.

Solomon was about to join the fray when a huge fireball erupted in the distance. It was likely another attack and with the knights taking care of the horsemen Solomon charged towards the flames again.

When he arrived the enemy were already retreating back into the dark leaving just one tent blazing, the wizard's tent. Solomon charged towards it, but the heat was too intense and an explosion from within forced him to dive to the ground.

"No!" yelled Raamen frantically from behind him. Solomon stood to see him running towards the tent. He was not going to stop so Solomon sprinted towards him and cut him off by tackling him to the ground just a few feet short of the burning tent, which was now falling in upon itself.

"It's too late!" yelled Solomon.

"I can still save them!"

"No," said Solomon pushing him back to the ground as another explosion erupted from within the tent. He grabbed Raamen's face firmly so he could look him in the eyes. "Where is Farrel?"

"I don't know," replied Raamen his voice despondent.

"Was he in the tent?" insisted Solomon shaking his head to snap him out of it.

"I don't know! I had just finished tending the wounded and I was checking on his griffin when the attack started," snapped Raamen and shoved him away.

Solomon let Raamen go and took a moment to think. The sounds of the raid were dissipating. The enemy had not attacked again that same day even though they had vastly superior numbers and now they were resorting to a night raid. They were obviously fearful of Farrel's magic or they would not have put such a great effort into killing everyone inside the wizard's tent. Or perhaps it was just meant to look like they killed everyone.

There was only one person who might be able to shed some light on the enemy's true intent and she was currently his prisoner. There was no honour in torture, but he had seen people with the skin peeled back from their fingers one by one when he had been briefly held captive by orcs. Strong or weak everyone talked by the second finger.

While he had no intent of actually doing it his prisoner did not know that. Perhaps he could bluff information out of her before he had to pass her over to the Breaker.

He raced back to where he had cut down the enemy horsemen. He bent down and grabbed one of the man's hands then went to grab his hunting knife. His intent was to remove one of the dead man's fingers so he could demonstrate graphically what he intended to do to her.

To his surprise his hunting knife was not in its sheath. He cast his mind back. The last time he had it out was to threaten the prisoner after which he had re-sheathed it. Then it suddenly dawned on him that he had flung the woman over his shoulder to carry her to the Breaker!

Solomon cursed loudly and vehemently for being so stupid and sprinted back towards his tent.

#

Razma fell back to the ground heavily, so heavily it knocked the wind out of her. She did not cry out. Like all Nizari warriors she was trained not to show pain or fear in front of the enemy, that would be cowardly. She also pushed her hands together as hard as she could when she fell so the hunting knife stayed hidden between her bound wrists.

She had been subtly working away at her bonds ever since she had been captured. However the warrior called the Black Ram was very skilled and she had made no progress even after several hours.

The Black Ram was certainly a wily one. Even the way he slept made it impossible for her to lift anything from his pockets or belt. She also had to begrudgingly accept that he was a skilled warrior with every laboured breath that she took through her broken nose.

She was desperate to kill him by her own hand. Regrettably that was going to have to wait because escape was now imperative if she wanted to save her sister Kimiya. Once the Azdaha found out that the Crimson Magi was nowhere to be found it was only a matter of time before they went to Kimiya.

She thanked Zartosh silently when the Black Ram dashed out of the tent ready to fight. She hoped with all her will that none of the Hashashin killed him before she could. He left behind the wide eyed boy called Kasa. He was no warrior, that was for sure, he looked more like a herder of goats.

She carefully wriggled into a sitting position. Kasa was standing at the entry to the tent with his sword drawn and he watched her fearfully. He flinched at every shout and clash of sword on sword that came from outside.

She stared at him for a moment then shrugged and rolled over onto her side facing away from him as though she planned to try and sleep. She lay there for a few agonisingly long minutes before she started to slowly wriggle the hunting knife out from between her wrists and onto the ground.

There were heavy footsteps outside the tent so she stopped and held her breath. If the Black Ram returned now she would have no hope of escape. Fortunately the footsteps passed as whoever it was kept running by.

She carefully grabbed the hunting knife between her bound hands and deftly spun it back around so the blade was against the rope. She then curled tightly into the foetal position to further hide the slow motion of her wrists back and forth against the rope.

It took what seemed like an eternity, but the rope finally started to fray. She started to move more vigorously now with the noise outside distracting her young guard. A moment later her hands were free. She peered subtly back over her shoulder towards Kasa. His sword was still drawn, but now he was focused at looking out of the tent flap at something happening just outside.

This was her chance. She pulled her legs up and cut as fast as she could through the rope that bound them. Kasa was still intent on what now sounded like a sword fight outside. She stealthily got to her feet and crept up behind him.

She said a quick silent prayer to Zartosh, grabbed his head and thrust the hunting knife deep into his neck to cut his jugular. As he started to flail about in shock she quickly pulled out the knife then thrust it hard up into the base of his skull. The knife blade crunched its way into the his brain and killed him quickly.

In her religion it was important to kill a man fast. The spirit of a man killed quickly was free to move to the after world, the spirit of a man left to die slowly and painfully would be bound to the world to haunt the dreams of its killer and she did not want that.

She dropped the hunting knife and grabbed Kasa's sword from the blood soaked ground. She pulled back the tent flap and could see the old soldier called Tobias in battle with a Hashashin.

Several enemy soldiers who also looked like sheep herders lay dead nearby along with two of her brethren Nizari. Tobias was skilled with the sword, but he was outmatched by the Hashashin and fought a desperate defence.

The Hashashin made a lunge at Tobias which he barely deflected. In the process the Hashashin's scimitar made a shallow wound on his right hip. All Hashashin were master swordsmen and they always fought with a poison blade. With just a small cut the poison would start to paralyse the body within just a few minutes.

The Hashashin stopped his attack and now only defended. After just a few more thrusts with his sword Tobias had trouble moving his right leg as the poison spread. A moment later his right arm, which was his sword arm started to droop and he quickly toppled forwards. He was still alive, but the Hashashin simply kicked aside his sword and ignored him.

Razma dared not wait any longer to escape, but if the Hashashin saw her and realised she had been captured he would kill her without hesitation. Being taken prisoner was punishable by death. Instead of hiding she stepped confidently out of the tent.

"Quickly before more of them come! I have the Crimson Magi!" she called urgently. The Hashashin paused, but then moved quickly to her.

"Where?" he demanded.

"He is inside the tent unconscious and bound, but he was too heavy for me to move myself. You came just in time!"

The Hashashin pushed past her into the tent. As soon as he realised the only thing in the tent was the dead body of Kasa he started to turn, but even a Hashashin was not that fast and she cut him down with a single slashing blow down through his left shoulder.

It took her a moment to pull the sword free again and she stabbed him in the heart just to make sure he was dead and hoped his death had been fast enough.

She left the tent and raced towards the perimeter of the camp. She was fast approaching the final row of tents before she could disappear into the darkness when she was barrelled over by what felt like a charging horse.

She landed face first with a great weight on top of her and experienced a whole new level of agony. She could not help but let her sword drop. She almost blacked out from the surge of pain and struggled to remain conscious.

She found herself spun onto her back roughly and shaken like a dog shakes the life from a rabbit. She was dragged by the hair back into a vacant tent nearby. Inside there were two occupants, both dead on their bedrolls.

The Black Ram stared at her with the fever of death in his eyes. It shocked her and she reeled back from it. If someone who had the death fever took your life they would own your soul forever even in the afterlife.

"Why did you have to kill Kasa? He was just a boy! He was just defending his family!" screamed the Black Ram as he put the tip of his blade against her neck. He seemed as though he was going to kill her, but then something changed his mind and suddenly he was on top of her again pinning her to the ground.

Her head was still spinning and she felt like vomiting. She tried to resist, but he had her firmly held to the ground. He knelt on her shoulders and sat on her chest, pushing what was left of any air out of her lungs. He sheathed his sword and grabbed his hunting knife, retrieved from the base of Kasa's skull.

He grabbed one arm and pulled it into the air at an awkward angle. The new pain caused her to yelp involuntarily. It was also enough to snap her out of her stupor. She looked up into his death eyes as he brought her fingers up against the blade.

"Unfortunately for you I have yet to regain my honour, so I am going to ask you some simple questions and when you don't understand them I am going to peel the skin from a finger. Then when you tell me the answers and I don't understand them I am going to peel another one you filthy bitch! When you have no fingers left then I will take you to Lord Cortria's Breaker and he can remove your toes!"

Razma did not understand the Black Ram's words exactly, but it was very clear what he intended. It was a barbaric torture that the Nizari had not used ever since the Azdaha had begun their reign. It was one of the few good things about the Azdaha.

She would not die slowly this way and dying quickly would not help Kimiya. She prayed to Zartosh to set her free from this enemy so she could save her sister. With her prayers as yet unanswered she did the only thing that she felt she had left as an option.

"Black Ram...you are called Black Ram!" she blurted out in the barbarian's language. He let go of her arm instantly and pushed the hunting knife against her neck again.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"I speak barbarian," she replied.

"You mean Risandean, you are the barbarian! " he spat. "Now at least I will get an answer for each finger!"

He still had death eyes and if she could not break free she was going to die a slow and painful death. She stared into his eyes and tried her best to look womanly with a swollen face and broken nose.

"Please, no cut fingers. I talk."

The Black Ram looked back at her then to her hand then back to her. His death eyes faded and he slowly got off her chest. She struggled to sit up. As much as she still wanted to kill him she was in no shape to fight. In fact she was not sure she even had the strength or ware withal to make it back to her camp alone, even if she could manage to escape again.

"What are you called?" demanded the Black Ram.

"I am Razma."

"Why did your men attack the wizard's tent?"

She did not understand the word 'wizard' and stared blankly back at him. He went to grab her hand again when she did not respond.

"Not understand this word!" she said desperately pulling her hand away.

"Wizard? They make magic. Metaran's call them magicians."

"Magi?" she asked.

"Yes Magi."

"Hashashin come to kill them."

"Why?"

"Azdaha is scared."

"Who is Azdaha?"

"Azdaha is not who it is many. They come from the snake. If you don't know what is Azdaha then soon you will," she said ominously.

"I am not afraid of these Azdaha. I have cut the head off many snakes," said the Black Ram confidently. "So you are not Azdaha?"

"No, I am Nizari," she replied proudly.

"Where do you come from and why do you invade us?"

"Nizari is great and ancient people. Our empire across the sea is great, we conquer many and make them like Nizari to follow our god."

"In the three hundred years since the first king of Risandea we have never bowed down to anyone except our king. Like many before you will return home defeated."

"Like all others you will bow or die," she replied dismissively, momentarily forgetting her current situation. "Your army is small and we are many. You will all fall tomorrow."

"Your army is large, but we have magi and we defeated you today," countered the Black Ram. The conversation was getting her no closer to escape or to saving Kimiya. Frustration and concussion got the better of her momentarily.

"Across the plain you see not even one quarter of the Nizari and Hashashin army! You are nothing to the Nizari, just more barbarians to tame! Your magi cannot stop us. The Azdaha have strong magi too and they make dark terrible magic."

Solomon stepped forward and shoved her down onto her back again with his boot. He waved the hunting knife in front of her.

"Then why are the Azdaha so scared of our magi?" he demanded.

"Not scared of all, just scared of the Crimson Magi," she replied trying to sound submissive again. Her head was clearing so if she could just catch him off guard she might still be able to get the best of him and escape. As unrealistic as it was she had to try or she would never get to Kimiya.

"Why? Why are they scared of the Crimson Magi?" insisted the Black Ram.

"I not know. Not matter now, Hashashin take him to Azdaha," she lied.

"How do you know they took him?"

"Hashashin only come at night to kill or kidnap. I know where they will take him. I can take there."

The Black Ram sheathed his hunting knife and rested a hand firmly onto the hilt of his sword. He looked at her in the eyes then his lips slowly curled into a sneer.

"You are smart to have learned my language, but it gives you away when you try to lie because you have to think too much about your words. Something my friend Farrel taught me. You really must think me a barbarian if you think I would believe that you suddenly want to help me out of the kindness of your heart." The Black Ram's grip on the hilt of his sword sent his knuckles white as he squeezed it tightly. "You had better speak fast and speak the truth and convince me or I will be removing your head."

Razma slowly climbed to her feet, still a little shaky, yet she stood defiantly in front of him. If it was not for Kimiya she would have spat in his face and dared him to finish her fast, so she could at least rest in the afterlife.

Instead she had come to the realisation that Zartosh had answered her prayers for deliverance after all. Unfortunately her god had given her the Black Ram as her guide.

"I give you truth," she said with a sadness in her voice that seemed to touch him. "Nizari do not even want this wet cold land! Azdaha make us come here."

"So you hate Azdaha and now you will help me...this is another lie," replied the Black Ram.

"Not lie. You no understand. Nizari is great and many. Our empire is for more than one thousand years great, but Azdaha make us come. They control Nizari, they control Hashashin, they control Orcs and soon they control you. They have magi with strong evil magic. They can make a poison in the mind. They only fear the Crimson Magi. It is not good for Nizari if they kill him and not good for anyone if they poison his mind."

"How do you know all this, you are just a foot soldier?" he demanded. It seemed he was still not convinced. She dared not tell him the entire truth lest he fall into the hands of the Azdaha himself. Yet she had to tell him enough of the truth so he would let her lead him back to her camp and hopefully let his guard down along the way so she could kill him.

"I am guard of the Dreamweaver. She told me," she admitted reluctantly. "Azdaha let her mind be free because she can see the future. She sees the Crimson Magi can defeat them."

"Why would she tell you this?"

"My mind is also free and I help her to free my people. Very secret or they will poison our minds too."

The Black Ram paced back and forth as he digested everything she had just told him. Her eyes darted around the tent as he paced, looking for anything she could grab that was a weapon. The Black Ram was after all just another warrior so she had little faith that he would really understand or believe anything she told him.

"If we save my friend he will help us defeat your entire army not just the Azdaha," replied the Black Ram with religious belief in his voice. She shrugged not wanting to tell him exactly what she knew about that aspect of the future.

"Many sacrificed for freedom already. Not different if more die."

The Black Ram stopped pacing suddenly, drew his sword and pointed it at her as he spoke cursing words that she did not fully understand. He then waved the sword in the direction of the tent flap.

"Move!" he ordered. He prodded her with the tip of his sword to hurry her along, but warily kept his distance from her so he had a full swing if she tried anything.

They crept around the camp, as it recovered from the chaotic night skirmish, until he located a fallen Hashashin horse. He proceeded to strip it of its reigns then bound her hands so tightly with them that she feared he would cut them off completely.

"I would just as soon as cut your throat than trust you, but my friend is gone and I believe your friends have kidnapped him. That makes you my only chance to rescue him. Take me to the Crimson Magi without getting us caught or killed and I will give you my word under oath that I will let you go unharmed. Then we may meet properly on the battlefield and this time I will run you through instead of breaking your nose!"

"Only oath to Zartosh has meaning to Nizari," she replied with contempt as they left the camp and moved into the darkness.

"In Risandea the words of an oath are binding until it is fulfilled by action or death. If you don't believe me ask the Crimson Magi when we find him."

#

Farrel woke with a start as a pitcher of water was thrown in his face. He was still disorientated from the strange dream and it took him a few moments to regain his senses.

He found himself looking at a large man with skin as black as night whose eyes were rolled into the back of his head. He stood motionless in front of Farrel still holding the pitcher.

He was inside a very large tent and it was still night judging by the low level of orange flickering light made by various oil lanterns burning away.

He tried to move, but found that he was firmly bound to a sturdy wooden chair. He struggled against his bonds unsuccessfully and under other circumstances might have noticed and appreciated the intricate runes carved into the wood.

The woman who had entranced him walked into view and spoke something softly to the man in her native language. The black man did not speak or acknowledge her, yet he turned slowly and left the tent. He moved not unlike the undead.

Farrel had not heard the woman's language before, but it had some similarities to the sailors who came from the islands in the north sea. He had heard talk from north sea islanders about another continent across the Great Sea, but he had never found anyone who had actually travelled there. It was supposed to be a hot and dry place with perpetual summer. He had previously just discounted it as a sailors yarn, but now he was having second thoughts.

The woman turned to Farrel and smiled. It was his first opportunity to really look at her while properly awake and she was beautiful. Her olive skin had the perfection only found in oil paintings. Her hair was long and straight and was darker than the deepest night. She wore it in a long pony tail that was wrapped in a spiralling gold cord from one end to the other.

She wore a flowing black silk dress with long sleeves and gold buttons that ran down the front. It emphasized the natural curve of her hips and her breasts. Farrel found his eyes lingering on the latter for longer than they should have before he looked her in the eyes again.

"I am sorry to wake you this way, but we have little time," she said seriously, speaking perfect Risandean. "My name is Kimiya."

"I am glad you speak my language because I will tell you this only one time. Release me," he said firmly.

"I wish it were so easy Farrel Tarse," she replied casually running her hand through his hair. He pulled away from her touch and she looked hurt when he did.

"How do you know my name?" he demanded. He was unsettled by her.

"I have watched you for such a long time in my dreams. I am so happy to finally meet you in person," she said coming close to him and running a hand gently across his cheek. "You are even more handsome in the flesh."

"Strange that in all my dreams and visions I have never seen you until the night before last when you entranced me," countered Farrel.

"Only because I did not let you. There were so many times when I wanted to let you see me, but it was too dangerous."

"You were the one blocking my visions these last months!" he said loudly and angrily. "How did you do that? Are you a wizard?"

Kimiya put her hand over his mouth and gestured for him to speak more quietly.

"You must be quiet, we are right now in the middle of our enemy. I am not magi. I am a dream weaver. Like you my dreams show me the future, but I can also enter the dreams of others and take control of them. You must understand I brought you here to ensure your legacy and to protect the future of my people."

"My legacy? What have you seen?" he demanded. He started eyeing off one of the lanterns just in case. If Kimiya understood the power of an open flame to him she would have extinguished them all already.

"I will tell you everything and you will understand. Since I was five years old I have seen you in my dreams. Each time it was you. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years apart, but always you and always the future.

Even as my skills grew and the elders in my village recognised my talents I did not tell anyone about you. Then when I was seven the Azdaha came from the Rocky Wasteland with their dark magic. Now they control the minds of my entire people. The once great empire of the Nizari is now nothing more than a nation of mindless slaves."

"So that's how they defeated the orcs," mused Farrel out loud. "Where does the power for this magic come from?"

"I do not know, but once it has infected your mind you too will be a slave to them. At any time they can bend your will to their own and there is nothing you can do to resist. I was lucky that I was just a child when they came. They did not need to poison my mind with their magic. I was too naive to understand what was happening around me so I helped them freely with my talent," she said shamefully. "Yet I never told them about you, something held me back. Then just over a year ago I saw you fight this army on this plain on the back of your white griffin where you died at the hands of the Azdaha. I brought you here to convince you to save yourself by bowing down to the Azdaha voluntarily."

Farrel sat silently taking a moment to digest everything he had heard. There was no advantage in capturing him and then lying so he chose to trust her words were truthful for the moment.

"If you want to save me then let me go."

"I cannot," she replied. "If you return to your army you will die. It is just a matter of time for the Azdaha to conquer your people, but if you willingly fight with them they may accept you. You would not be the first magi they have turned to them and brought into their fold and you would still be alive."

"If that is my choice then your vision will come true tomorrow because I would rather die than to allow the people of Risandea to become enslaved. Now release me before I show you the true power of my magic!"

"Please Farrel you must stay with me tonight! When I was a child I saw you as this distant hope for my people, a reality that was always just out of reach. As I matured into a woman I realised you are more than that to me. I have known you almost my entire life in my dreams and I cannot get you out of my mind."

Farrel looked back at her and noted the desperation in her eyes. She was genuinely sad and she was looking at him like he was her long lost love. He felt for her, he had watched Gabrielle in his dreams many times too when he was still just an apprentice.

"I am sorry," he replied shaking his head. "You might know me Kimiya, but I do not know you and my heart has always been for another."

"I know this one with hair the colour of fire!" said Kimiya as she turned around angrily and walked away from him to a large wooden table in the middle of the tent. It was covered in bottles of all shapes and sizes. She grabbed a long purple glass bottle, pulled out the cork and poured the contents into a silver goblet.

She drank from it until it was drained without stopping or spilling a drop then turned back around and walked up to him.

"When she kisses you does it feel better than this!" she said as she pushed her lips hard against his in a forced kiss. He tried to pull back from her, but it was not possible with his hands and feet so tightly bound.

He waited patiently for her to stop without kissing her back. When she finally pulled away there was a tingling in his lips that remained.

Farrel's patience was at an end and it was time to leave. He did not really want to hurt Kimiya so he started to form the words of a wind spell in his mind.

The words of the spell started to fade however, as the tingling in his lips spread to his face, then through his chest to his arms and legs.

"What have you done?" he asked in panic.

"Don't worry its nothing harmful, but soon you will start to see me like I see you my darling," she said as she produced a knife. He struggled against his bonds as she came closer yet at the same time he noticed how beautiful she smelled.

As she started to cut away the ropes he felt an uncontrollable urge to kiss her neck and smell her hair. She stepped back away from him once he was totally free. Somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind a voice told him to choke her. Instead he stood and watched in awe as she slowly unbuttoned her dress and let it drop to the ground at her feet.

"I wish it did not have to be this way," she said as she led him by the hand to a bed of soft furs in the far corner of the tent. "Yet freely or not I will have your first born, the one who I have foreseen will free my people."

#

Farrel opened his eyes and everything was blurry. He had a terrible headache and felt not unlike someone coming down off a good batch of tarbry. He sat up, rubbed his temples gently and blinked rapidly until his eyesight returned to normal. That was when he realised he was sitting naked on a bed of heavy furs. Kimiya was standing next to him doing up the last button on the front of her dress.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded grabbing his own robes and scrambling to his feet so he could also get dressed.

She turned away from him, ashamed to look him in the eyes. "I am sorry it had to be this way. I do what I do for my people. I know it must be impossible to understand."

"I understand when I am being manipulated and I don't like it!" he replied angrily.

"What would you do in my place if you knew that the first born of the Crimson Magi could save your people from a future of slavery? A slavery of the mind that they cannot even see?" she said bursting into tears.

"What if I decide to kill you right now? Who will save your people then?"

"You won't," she sobbed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and still refusing to look at him directly.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked as he set his eyes longingly again on the flame bouncing around inside the nearest oil lamp.

"Because I have never had a vision that has not come true and I have seen myself with your baby. I have seen your first born defeat the Azdaha. It will happen just as you will stubbornly go to your death tomorrow."

"I have visions too and I assure you that I have not seen my death amongst them."

"Exactly how clear have your visions been over the last few weeks? How far into the future have you seen recently?" she asked earnestly and Farrel's eyes widened with realisation. She nodded. "Why do you think I kept them from you?"

Farrel grabbed her by the arms and spun her around to face him directly."Tell me exactly what you saw in your dream!"

Kimiya gave him a doleful look then took a deep breath. She was about to speak when there was a commotion outside the tent, followed by a heated discussion, none of which he was able to understand.

"In the name of Zartosh you have to hide! Gul will not be able to keep them out for long and if they find you here they will kill us both!" she whispered loudly.

Farrel did not move. "Why?" he challenged. "According to you I will die tomorrow not today, you will live to have my baby and your visions are never wrong."

Kimiya pulled at his robes to drag him back towards the thick bed of furs. "Please," she said pleadingly. He resisted and pulled free.

"What part of what you told me was the lie?"

"I did not lie." replied Kimiya as she wrung her hands nervously. The heated conversation outside reached a sharp conclusion when the reptilian voice of an Azdaha interjected.

"What are you not telling me then?" he urged stubbornly, one eye still on the open flame of the nearest lamp. He was not afraid of being caught, he would burn them all if he had to.

"I don't know where the Azdaha found their magic, but it is very ancient I think. When they have known my visions they have had the power to change the future...and it is always for the worse. They are the only ones who can stop our destinies!"

Farrel still did not know what to make of the woman in front of him. She was either a master manipulator and spinner of lies or he needed to be very afraid of this new magic and his gut feeling was to be very afraid.

Farrel was able to sense magical energy around him, a talent not many others possessed and for some time now there had been a strange magic energy tugging at him and now he knew its source. Not only did the Azdaha pose a threat to Risandea they also posed a threat to his quest. If they ever got their hands on the book of the Makers nowhere in Umijia would be safe.

He wondered briefly if the Azdaha had come for him to get the book and whether his coming to the battle had played into their hands. If so then it was an elaborate trap and he had clearly underestimated his enemy. Yet at the same time he wondered whether the source of the Azdaha magic might in fact be something he had been searching for these past thirteen years. He needed to find out more about these Azdaha

As the tent flap was pushed open Farrel quickly dived into the thick bed of furs and buried himself flat under them.

#

Solomon and Razma finally reached the edge of the enemy camp after making a very slow and careful approach across the plain in the dark. The pair laid flat on the ground as a sentry walked past them less than twenty feet away.

Along the way they had stopped amongst the dead where Solomon had reluctantly removed his traditional Risandean armour, armour that had been his father's before him, and disguised himself in Nizari armour instead.

"Your armour is terrible," complained Solomon under his breath. "I feel almost naked."

"Better for attack quickly. Your armour is too much heavy. Better die fast than slow like turtle," she retorted.

"When I find you on the field tomorrow you will die fast indeed," he threatened in return.

"It is you who will die fast. I make sure for that," she replied with an angry confidence that was just that little too familiar to him. "First we find your magi. He is only one who can save us all from Azdaha and their mind poison, he must not die tonight."

"At least we can agree on that. Where exactly will they be keeping him?"

"Untie first," she insisted.

"Sorry, but I just don't trust you not to cut my throat as soon as my back is turned."

"You must trust. We are close to Nizari. If I make shouting they will come and you will die anyway."

Solomon stared back at her angrily. She was right, he was already in a stupidly vulnerable position and likely on a suicide mission in a vain attempt to save his friend who may not even be in the enemy camp. Yet he could not bring himself to trust her. If she shouted out her comrades would hunt him down, but he would kill her first and she knew that too.

"By Zartosh I will not kill you until tomorrow in battle," she insisted. He stared at her and she looked sincere. Despite his better judgement he felt somehow reassured. She seemed to take the promise to her god as seriously as he would take an oath.

Uneasily he cut through the reigns around her wrists with his hunting knife. As soon as he did she put out her hand expectantly waiting for him to hand her the knife.

"I want that back and not in my back," he grumbled and drew his sword.

"Follow," she said as she moved into a crouching position and waited for the closest sentry to turn away then scurried stealthily into the camp.

#

Kimiya knelt in the middle of the tent, her head bowed and hands outstretched in front of her on the ground in the position she normally took to enter people's dreams.

She heard several sets of footsteps enter the tent accompanied by a familiar heavy slithering sound. A moment later she felt the firm hand of Gul on her shoulder and she pretended to be shaken from her trance. She looked around pretending to be startled by her visitors. It was Seluku and his two Hashashin bodyguards.

"I apologise for the sudden intrusion Lady of Dreams, but I have urgent business" hissed Seluku. Seluku was not large for an Azdaha, yet he was still able to raise his head above hers while the majority of his snake like body was still coiled on the ground.

The Azdaha had a snake like head complete with sharp poisonous fangs and hypnotic reptilian eyes. Apart from the sheer size the main difference between an Azdaha and a real snake was its short skinny scaled arms that protruded from its body not far below its head and ended in sharp lizard like claws.

An Azdaha was a formidable beast. Its poison was deadly to humans, its body was strong and could crush a man at leisure. They were cunning predators and with their dark magic impossible to defeat.

Kimiya stood to face Seluku, she tried to remain calm, but she was sure that her eyes widened involuntarily. Seluku was the commander of the Vanguard army and he was the most intelligent and deadly Azdaha that Kimiya had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

"It is I who apologize master. I was in trance and did not expect you," she replied dropping back to her knees and specifically bowing down to him.

"Stand," he commanded. She complied obediently and without hesitation. "What new futures have you seen since last we spoke?"

"I have seen no new futures this day. If I did I would have come directly to you my master," she lied. "I have been walking in the dreams of the enemy while they sleep, looking for the Crimson Magi as you ordered."

"Did you find him and kill him as I also ordered?"

Kimiya bowed again deeply feigning great shame. "I am sorry my master, but I cannot locate him."

"Understandable given that the Hashashin also came back empty handed from their raid tonight. Yet still I find it ever more curious that this magi has never been in any of your visions when his magic is so dangerous to our future. Even more disturbing to me is that he seems invulnerable to your dream weaving and somehow knows exactly when to disappear."

Kimiya felt her muscles tense. She had not known about the night raid and she suddenly realised that Seluku was in her tent not for visions, but because he suspected something. She consciously regulated her breathing so she stayed as calm as possible. Azdaha had a sixth sense for detecting fear.

"I have heard some of the other masters say that he has a powerful magic inside him and I believe them after seeing the battle today," she replied.

"Even the most powerful magi must sleep. How is it that he can hide his dreams from you?"

"I do not know my master. I only know that if I cannot see his dreams I cannot enter them."

Seluku slithered around behind her so that the bulk of his body lay on the ground in a small circle around her feet and she could not help but let out a short gasp.

"Why so nervous Kimiya?" hissed Seluku. "Do you have something more to tell me?"

"I am sorry my master, my sister is still missing and it affects me. I was hoping you had come to give me word on the matter."

Seluku brought his head over her shoulder and touched his forked tongue briefly against her skin. He was trying to sense whether she was nervous or lying by tasting the essence of her smell. Fortunately for her the last statement was complete truth, she was desperately worried about Razma and was afraid to even contemplate that she may have died in the battle.

"Unfortunately I have no word to bring you," said Seluku after a moment's pause. "It would be a great shame if she was lost to us as she is a resourceful and loyal warrior."

"Yes master," she replied her voice despondent.

"Perhaps I should leave you to continue your search. It will help you keep your mind off your sister."

"Thank you my master," she replied trying to hide her relief as Seluku slithered towards the back of the tent which meant his body was no longer coiled around her feet.

She turned to face him and prepared to bow when she realised he was now right next to her bed of furs! She kept her eyes firmly on Seluku and did not look at the bed in fear that the look in her eyes would give her away. Seluku stared at her and did not make a move to leave.

"You understand that not all of my elders agree that your mind should be kept free and that I have been an advocate for you and your sister. Do you know why?"

"Because of my abilities master," she replied sheepishly.

"Your abilities make you dangerous! I put my name to you because you have been loyal and so has your sister, because I have never been able to detect a lie with you...until now! Lies are something I cannot tolerate, least of all from you. So please explain to me why I can taste the stench of sex on you if you were in trance up until a few minutes ago?" said Seluku angrily as he reached down and pulled away a handful of furs to reveal Farrel underneath them.

Farrel jumped to his feet instantly and the sight of his crimson robes startled Seluku and he reeled back fearfully. She was not sure who Seluku had been expecting to find under the furs, but it was definitely not the Crimson Magi.

Farrel spoke words in a strange and beautiful language that she had never heard before and a burst of wind smashed into Seluku before he could recover. It knocked the Azdaha backwards and he fell to the ground.

Seluku's Hashashin bodyguards were not so put off by the appearance of the Crimson Magi and they immediately drew their scimitars and lunged towards him.

Suddenly the left side of the tent ripped apart with the slash of a heavy sword and in burst her sister with a warrior dressed in very badly fitting Nizari armour. The warrior moved in front of the Hashashin to prevent them getting to Farrel while her sister grabbed her and pushed her towards the back of the tent.

"Razma, bless the hand of Zartosh, you are alive!" she cried overwhelmed by the sight of her sister.

"Is it done?" asked Razma urgently. Kimiya glanced back at Farrel and nodded as he fired another burst of wind at the Hashashin who were now in a pitched sword fight with the warrior. One of the Hashashin took the air burst in the chest and flew backwards several feet and landed unconscious. "Then we must escape!"

Razma turned back towards the remaining Hashashin who was skilfully parrying the attacks from the warrior, who she now recognised from her dreams as the Black Ram.

Razma started towards the Hashashin with the intent of making it two versus one for a quick death. However, Seluku had now recovered and reared up in the middle of the tent. Razma spotted him just in time to avoid a whip like swipe from his tail that was intended to knock her from her feet. However, she was not able to avoid the stream of poison that Seluku squirted from his fangs. Razma had no shield and despite trying her best she could not prevent the poison hitting the bare skin of her face and neck.

"No!" screamed Kimiya. Razma took two of three more steps towards Seluku and swiped randomly in his direction with a large hunting knife before she fell to her knees. Meanwhile the Hashashin was now on the attack against the Black Ram who was tiring quickly and struggling to hold his own.

Kimiya ran to Razma's side and as she reached her sister Seluku coiled his body ready to strike down on her with his sharp fangs.

"I was a fool to allow you a free mind! You are as self serving and deceitful as all other humans. You are a traitor!" hissed Seluku. Kimiya grabbed her sister tight and awaited death, but it did not come. Instead she heard the beautiful strange words from Farrel again. This time he shouted them and this time it was not wind that burst forth from his hands, this time it was fire!

Bright red flames streaked from the lanterns in the tent and engulfed Seluku. He fell backwards and writhed around trying to escape them, but they seemed to stick to his scaly skin until the tent was filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh.

The Hashashin who was still fighting the Black Ram saw the magical flames and immediately fled the tent in terror. Although Hashashin were not the same as Nizari they were closely related brethren and they shared the same belief in the ancient god Zartosh, who it was believed lent his spirit to the world in the form of fire. Where the Nizari embraced Zartosh as a saviour and protector the Hashashin feared him. To control the flame was to anger Zartosh and tempt his wrath.

The original divergence of Hashashin from Nizari was because of this difference in belief. In ancient times Nizari priests practiced controlling the flame and it was the cause of many wars between the Nizari and the Hashashin over the ages.

However no Nizari had been able to control the flames for over two centuries. It was seen as a sign to the Nizari that Zartosh was unhappy because they had not taken his word out into the world as he had commanded to the first Nizari and the first Hashashin. So began the expansion of the Nizari empire.

Farrel dropped to his knees suddenly as though he had run a mile and the flames vanished as fast as they appeared. Kimiya stared at Farrel in open mouthed awe and she now knew why the Azdaha were so afraid of him.

The Black Ram sheathed his sword and rushed back to Farrel. "Are you ok?"

"Yes I just need a moment. I have not tried that for a while and I forgot how much it can take out of you if you are not careful."

"My sister!" cried Kimiya in the barbarian tongue. "You must help her!"

The Black Ram turned towards her in shock. "She is your sister! Then who the hell are you?"

Farrel placed a firm hand on the Black Ram's shoulder and stood up. "I can explain it all later, but they are not our true enemy. How fast does the poison work?" he asked Kimiya.

"It paralyses almost instantly, but we have maybe an hour before her heart beats no longer. Azdaha poison is meant to keep their prey still so they can safely consume them whole."

"Can you even heal her?" asked the Black Ram of Farrel.

"I am not sure, but I know somebody who can. First we need to get out of here alive!"

As the alarm was sounded throughout the camp the sounds of soldiers converging around the outside of the tent were now ominously apparent. As if to emphasis their predicament an arrow zipped through the tent at chest height.

"Stay down!" yelled Farrel as he spoke the words of another flame spell. The open flame from the lanterns inside the tent suddenly burst forth and snaked into a steady stream of fire that spewed out from both of his hands.

Farrel stood and spun in a circle as he cast the spell and the two streams of fire burst out of the tent burning everything and everyone within 20 feet in every direction. The soldiers outside the tent that were not engulfed in flames retreated quickly in fear. The flames spread to other tents in the camp and it started a panic.

Farrel dropped to his knees again, this time his face was covered in sweat and he was struggling to breath.

"That should give us some time," he gasped. "The rest is up to you Solomon."

The Black Ram grabbed Razma and flung her over his shoulder then urged Kimiya to drag Farrel to his feet. They left what remained of the tent and headed towards the plain. However, the flames were too intense from the nearby tents and there was no way of moving forwards. They were trapped by the one thing holding the enemy back.

Then suddenly there was a loud shrieking noise from the sky directly above them. Farrel's magnificent white griffin came diving down to land next to them. It was unsteady on its feet when it landed and quickly dropped to its belly.

"Starria!" cried Farrel stumbling over to the griffin and wrapping his arms around its neck. "Are you strong enough to take us all?"

The griffin shrieked loudly giving the distinct impression to Kimiya that it was offended by the question. The Black Ram slung Razma over the beast's back then helped them onto it too. Finally he also reluctantly climbed aboard and the griffin leapt unsteadily into the air.

#

Starria dropped down into the camp nearby where the wounded were being treated. Farrel was sure he would find Raamen there, especially after he had found out about the night raid and the fate of many of his brethren.

Starria stumbled as she landed and it was all Farrel could do to prevent being flung over her head. She was breathing hard still and her flight was laboured and slow. He wished that he could have let her be, but there was simply no time. As soon as she came to a stop he jumped off her back and patted her firmly on the neck.

"Stay and rest!" he ordered. She squawked back at him loudly, but he stood his ground. "Don't argue! I still need you to fly us back to Solomon and the others."

She snorted, but did not try to follow and instead lay on the ground.

Farrel entered the long tent where the wounded were being tended. It was not a nice place to be and Farrel had trouble looking at the wounds of the injured and dying.

Raamen was on the far side of the tent doing his best to comfort a foot soldier with a deep gash across his belly. The young man was crying out from the agony of the wound. Raamen was trying to calm him and held onto the man's hand so he had something to squeeze while he endured the pain.

"Raamen," called Farrel as he approached, but Raamen did not turn. "Raamen," he said again as he placed a firm hand on Raamen's shoulder. "Why haven't you given him tarbry for the pain?"

Raamen turned around, but did not let go of the man's hand. He was exhausted and had tears of frustration and defeat in his eyes.

"Because there is none!" he said bitterly. "Or were you out picking some when they raided the camp?"

"I am sorry I was not here when you needed me, but I did not have a choice in the matter" replied Farrel with deep remorse.

"Most of your brethren are dead and we have nothing left to help any of these poor souls! Sorry is not good enough Farrel. You should have been here!" yelled Raamen, so angry that spit came out of his mouth.

Farrel calmly placed his hand over the top of the Raamen's man's hand and squeezed with him then looked Raamen directly in the eyes.

"I have always respected you Raamen more than any other wizard because your passion is to save lives not take them. You know that I share this same passion. You saw what I did at the Battle of Tattel and you know how many lives that I saved that day, on both sides. Trust me when I say I had no choice in leaving the camp."

"Then help me save these people. Take your griffin and get help and supplies!"

"I wish I could, but I cannot..."

"How can you deny me this? How can you let these men, these boys die in agony?" demanded Raamen.

"Because there is more transpiring here than meets the eye. I need your help and I need you to leave with me. You know I would not ask this of you unless I believed with all my heart that this was for the greater good and will save more lives in the long run."

"It is not your place to decide what is the greater good Farrel, that has always been your folly. What you are asking is too much of me. I will not abandon people in need."

Farrel let go of Raamen's hand and started to walk away, but stopped after just a few steps. To his left another young man, one of the farmers who had come to fight stared up at him. He was pale from the loss of blood yet with a look of hope in his eyes when he saw Farrel's crimson robes.

The boy smiled weakly up at him. Farrel remembered when he was still just a farm boy, before he decided to tread in the footsteps of his grandfather and become a wizard. He remembered how hard that life had been and how little was gained by tending the lands of the lords and barons. Yet here this young man was defending his land and dying for it.

Farrel wondered whether saving Kimiya's sister was worth it. Logic would dictate that it was not, but something deep inside him made him think otherwise. He and Kimiya were linked in a way he was yet to understand and that somehow included her sister. Yet there was no way Raamen was going to follow him unless he took him by force or by some miracle.

Farrel turned back to Raamen and placed a firm hand on his shoulder again.

"Let his hand go and step back," said Farrel.

Raamen spun around angrily.

"Just go!"

"Raamen, I need your help and to get it I am about to break a solemn promise to someone very special to me. Now let him go and stand back."

Raamen reluctantly extracted his hand and the man let out another painful cry. Farrel knelt and placed his palms onto the muddy downtrodden grass. He sang the melodious words in fairy tongue of the most powerful spell he had ever learned. It was a spell that the fairies refused to teach anyone outside of their kind.

Poppin had taken a great risk in teaching it to him and it could get her de-winged and banished, a fate worse than death for a fairy, if any of her brethren found out he had cast it.

To make matters worse the covenant he had made with her was bound by magic, so she would know that he had broken his promise. He hoped she would understand, but he doubted she would.

The grass underfoot began to glow a luminescent green. The blades of grass then began to snake up from the earth and like a million strangling vines they gently wrapped around each and every one of the injured until they were all cocooned.

"What are you doing?" asked Raamen completely astonished.

"I am breaking an unbreakable promise and saving them," replied Farrel with a sigh. "I will never again find my way into the Bastion because of this."

With another wave of his hand and one final word the grass started to wither and die as it passed its life energy into the wounded men.

The wounded around the tent went silent as the grass died. Raamen quickly clawed away the dry dead yellow strands of grass that still covered the man in front of him and underneath he found his wound had closed over leaving not even a scar.

"I have been a master healer and magic user for longer than I care to remember and I have never seen anything so wonderful. It's a miracle!" said Raamen in disbelief.

Farrel stood slowly and grabbed Raamen by the arm. "No, it is just a balance of nature. In return, nothing will ever grow here on this little patch of soil again...ever. I did what you could not, now I need you to help me."

#

Starria's front talons brushed the tops of the trees as she swooped over them in an elongated glide.

"Come on Starria just one more push!" shouted Farrel against the rushing wind as he kicked hard into her sides. She screeched loudly and flapped her wings in a feeble attempt to gain more altitude.

"You have to let her stop. She is still too weak, you are going to end up killing her!" shouted Raamen.

"We don't have enough time! It's not far now," replied Farrel undeterred in his haste.

A few minutes passed and the little additional height Starria had gained was disappearing quickly and they were again nearing the tops of the trees of the surrounding forest. Suddenly they came to a small clearing alongside a bend in a nearby stream that carved its way down from the north mountains high above.

There was a small campfire there and Starria swooped down to land. She kept her footing this time, but collapsed onto her belly unceremoniously as soon as she came to a stop.

"You need to keep her standing or it will be too much exertion on her heart to pump the blood through her body properly. She also needs to drink to help her pass the poison from her body," said Raamen as he dismounted.

"Don't worry about Starria, I will take care of her. You go and save the girl!" urged Farrel.

"I still don't understand why you brought me here, I don't have anything left to heal with! Why don't you just use the same magic you used back at the camp?"

"The fairy magic I used only works on physical wounds like cuts or broken bones. It cannot heal sickness or poison or anything else that attacks from within. You are her only hope. I brought them here and not back to the camp so you could harvest what you need from the forest. You can surely find something to make one of your special brews or at least something that will buy some time."

"I will do what I can," replied Raamen.

"Remember Raamen she might look like our enemy, but she is not."

Raamen nodded and ran over to the campfire where Solomon stood watchfully on guard while Kimiya sat next to her sister trying to keep her warm as she lay paralysed by the poison.

Farrel turned back to Starria and pulled on her beak as firmly as he could until she finally stood up again then he lead her slowly down to the stream to make her drink.

#

Farrel sat by the edge of the stream with his back against Starria who was now sleeping peacefully. He watched as the tops of the nearest forest trees started to silhouette against the sky in the pre-dawn light.

He sat and admired the beauty of the stars and tried to regain the elusive fleeting feeling of insignificance that they used to give him as a young boy back on his father's farm. However not even the luminous night sky could distract him from dark thoughts.

He had not gone back to the camp at all and asked even Solomon to leave him alone when Solomon had finally come looking for him. There was too much to think about and he knew that if he went back to the camp he would not be able to resist asking Kimiya exactly what she had seen in her vision.

If he was going to die on this day he did not want to know the details. He contemplated many times over just climbing onto the back of Starria and leaving to avoid his fate, yet he could not bring himself to do so.

He thought back upon the day that he left Gabrielle to go to war and then the day he made his decision to start his quest and focus on it above all other things. To sacrifice everything, even his best friend's knighthood, and to still fail consumed him with rage.

He cast a pebble angrily into the stream and stood up. Dawn was less than an hour away and it was time to stop the Azdaha and their invasion in its tracks, even if it meant facing his destiny and sacrificing his life. They were going to see how dangerous a man, with nothing left to lose, really was. Especially one that could control fire.

He nudged Starria until she woke. "Wake up my friend. I am going to see Raamen and then I need you to fly me back to the plain, so please prepare yourself."

Starria bowed her head slightly and squawked in acknowledgement.

Farrel came to the campsite and walked up to the campfire, which was now nothing more than a few faintly glowing embers. Kimiya was laying next to Razma with her arm over her protectively. Razma looked no different than before and appeared to still be paralysed.

Farrel went over to Raamen who was lying on the ground not far away. He knelt down and gently woke his fellow wizard.

"The girl?" he asked quietly.

"I was able to stop the poison from spreading, but to reverse its effects I need some very exotic materials that we will not find here," replied Raamen as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked and sounded exhausted.

"Will she live?"

"Yes, in the same way as a tree lives, without the ability to move or speak. She will be stable for a few days at least and should make a full recovery if I can find what I need."

"Good," replied Farrel relieved. He patted Raamen on the shoulder gratefully. "Now I must ask you to make me one last promise. Stay with them until the girl is healed and they are safe. Find them passage to one of the west ports and get them on a ship to one of the north sea islands. They should be safe there until they feel they can return to their homeland."

"You cannot ask me to promise that. There will be many more wounded today. Who will save them if not I?"

"Do not worry about the battle today. I give you my word that there will be no wounded from the king's army to tend. I will burn our enemy to the last man and they will wish they had never come here."

"Then they will not need me to fight in the king's army again today either. I will go with Raamen. It is not going to be easy to get two Nizari to the docks, let alone onto a ship, unnoticed," interjected Solomon from behind Farrel.

Farrel stood and turned towards Solomon genuinely surprised. He had shed the ill-fitting Nizari armour and was dressed just in his tunic and pants. It was a rare occurrence to see him without armour.

"I have released you from your oath, you don't have to do this for me you know."

"I am not doing it just for you," replied Solomon, nodding in the direction of the two sisters.

"What about regaining your honour on the battlefield? It's what you have wanted and waited for these last thirteen years isn't it?"

"Farrel you are my closest friend. I have loved you at times and I have hated you, but I have always believed in you. Razma is a vicious warrior and I would love nothing more than to cut off her head, yet she lead me to you. I do not pretend to understand it, but I feel their paths intertwined with yours for a reason. If you say these two are important and must be kept safe then that is what I will do."

"What about your father's armour? It's still out there laying on the battlefield."

"So shall it remain as a sign that the Black Ram is dead. I have come to realise that there is more honour to be gained in saving lives than taking them. You taught me that a long time ago, but somehow I lost my way."

"Thank you my friend. I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay. You never lost your honour in my eyes."

He wanted to embrace his friend, but feared he would lose his nerve to leave so he simply nodded to both Solomon and Raamen and headed back to the stream to find Starria.

#

Starria rapidly approached the plain as the sun finally pushed above the horizon. Both armies were forming their lines and facing off once again. The king's army had dwindled in size significantly yet the enemy seemed unaffected even though it had suffered as many losses the day before.

At the very centre of the king's army Farrel could see the polished silver and gold armour of Lord Cortria as he rode up and down the lines of men with several other lords beside him. He was no doubt trying to rally his troops in the hope that, by some miracle, their resolve to defend their lands would somehow see them victorious.

As good as Lord Cortria was, this was going to be a war of attrition and he had no hope in winning it. Farrel cursed him from the air for not using the night to slip away. They needed time not useless sacrifices.

He briefly contemplated flying down to Lord Cortria and explain that this was only the lead element of the main Azdaha army in the hope that he might convince him to retreat, but then thought better of it. There was no way that Lord Cortria was going to listen to him.

Instead he directed Starria to land back out in the middle of the plain just as they had done the previous day. He could hear sporadic cheers from the king's army, yet it was barely an echo compared with the roar he had received the day before. The almost mythical aura that had surrounded him because of the Battle of Tattel had dissipated into reality. He had not saved them.

When Starria landed he wasted no time in dismounting. He grabbed her firmly, but tenderly by the beak and pulled her head down so she was looking him in the eyes. With the other hand he stroked her neck gently.

"I set you free once before Starria, now I am setting you free once again. Go back to Solomon and help him take the Nizari somewhere safe where they can heal Razma. After that your life is your own."

Starria screeched loudly and shook her head angrily, then nudged her beak against him affectionately. Farrel pulled away and this time raised his voice.

"Do as you are told Starria! You owe me that much. Now go!"

Starria stared back at him in silence for a moment. She looked at him then towards the enemy army beyond, then back to him. He thought she was going to protest again, but she didn't. Instead she bowed her head slowly and ceremoniously. Although he did not know the exact significance of the gesture it appeared very solemn and formal. Perhaps it was her way of saying thank you, it didn't matter, he copied the gesture.

She raised her head again, nodded at him then launched into the air. A few seconds later she was nothing more than a small speck in the morning sky.

Farrel turned to face towards the king's army. He wondered what stories these men would tell after the end of this day. Would he again be a hero or would he make magic something to be feared and mistrusted even more when they saw what he was capable of?

He turned back towards the enemy. They had already started to slowly advance across the plain towards him. He ignored them and pulled out the ivory pendant that hung around his neck. He traced his fingers lovingly over the tiny silver runes engraved into it then kissed the firestone embedded in its centre for good luck.

"Looks like we might meet again soon Grandfather."

He tucked the pendant back inside his robes then knelt down on the ground and pulled out a small vial of lamp oil and two small flint rocks from an inner pocket in his robes. He then grabbed a handkerchief from another pocket, scrunched it into a ball and poured the oil all over it until it was completely soaked. It was only going to be a very small fire, but it would be more than enough with the power of the pendant.

Before he had a chance to strike the flint rocks however, the air around him started to stir and within seconds wind was blowing dust from the ground into his eyes. It was an unnatural wind and he could sense the presence of magic. The Azdaha were trying to stop him casting his spell.

He quickly shielded the oil covered handkerchief as he spoke the words of his own spell. He waved his free hand in a large circle and the air immediately around him became calm while everywhere else across the plain was blowing like a gale. The wind was now so violent that it had the entire king's army hunkering down against it and had subsequently stopped their advance towards the enemy.

On the other side of the plain the enemy army continued to advance free of the effects of the magical wind. They began their rhythmic bashing of sword and spear against shield as they marched.

Farrel went to strike the flints again, but this time before he could a voice slithered into his mind. It startled him so much that he dropped both of the stones.

"Listen to my voice," it whispered, followed in quick succession by several other voices all whispering the same thing over and over.

He shook his head, grabbed the flint rocks again and tried to concentrate on the words of the spell. If he got them wrong even slightly or lost his concentration even for a moment, the flames he wanted to control would turn on him and consume him. Yet he found he could not recall the words and the voices in his head would not relent.

"Come to us. You must obey. You will come to us."

Farrel dropped the flint rocks involuntarily and found he could not move to pick them up again. In fact he could not think at all as the words started to consume his entire mental focus. The air started to stir around him as he lost concentration on his previous spell too.

He felt himself start to stand up as the voices in his head demanded, but just as he did he felt suddenly dizzy, his eyes rolled back and he fell forwards onto the oily rag and the flint rocks, unconscious.

#

Farrel opened his eyes to find himself standing on the plain with everything else around him frozen in time. The enemy army had now started to charge and was not more than fifty yards away. Behind him equally statuesque the king's army was also charging, the gold and silver armour of Lord Cortria at the very tip of the spearhead of knights.

The voices were gone now and he wondered if he was already dead, then he saw her walking towards him and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"What is happening?" he asked Kimiya as she walked up to him.

"I could not let the Azdaha take you. If they changed your destiny and you became one of them, they would know everything in your mind. Your first born would not be safe and the future of all Umijia depends on that child," she said sadly. "I wish there was another way and I wish I could have saved you."

Kimiya leaned towards him with tears in her eyes and kissed him gently on the cheek. She started to pull away, but Farrel put his hand under her chin and gently pulled her forwards and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"I wish I had known you as you had known me all my life Kimiya. Keep the child safe."

She turned away from him again and started to walk away.

"You will wake again in a moment and you must cast your spell."

#

Farrel opened his eyes again to find his face planted into the dirt and his nose feeling like someone had punched him. The wind was still blowing with force and he struggled to see through the dust that it whipped into his face. The enemy army was charging towards him and would be on top of him in moments.

He put his hands under his body to push himself up from the ground and that was when he felt the oily cloth underneath him. He covered it as best he could as he sat. He quickly grabbed the flint rocks and struck them together. The oil caught fire immediately and a small blue flame fed on the oil doused material.

He shielded the flames as best he could against the wind with his body and focused his mind so that all he could see was the inner part of the small blue flames. He then carefully spoke the words of the most powerful fire spell he knew. As he did so he felt the chaotic rhythm of the flames try to lure him in, to hypnotise him and then consume him, but he resisted.

As the final words of the spell came to an end in a dramatic crescendo he reached for the fledgling flames with both hands. The little blue flames jumped from the burning handkerchief onto each palm. There they slowly began to grow as he repeated the final words of the spell over and over again.

The violent and hypnotic magical energy from the flames tried again to mesmerize him and take control, so desperate it was to burn his flesh. Only by the will of his mind was he able to resist and keep the fire under his control. Soon the flames had grown into fireballs as big as watermelons that now engulfed his hands completely.

The enemy army began to falter at the site of him holding the large balls of flames in his hands. Some slowed, some even stopped. Farrel willed them all to stop, to turn and run and never come back to Risandea, but most of the enemy kept coming. He told himself he had no choice, yet he still found it hard to watch as he released the fire upon them.

It raced towards them in two streams and he directed it all along the charging enemy lines. The flames were so hot that flesh caught alight instantly and even metal started to melt.

The front lines of the enemy army now scattered in panic as hundreds of them were caught by the flames, burning them alive where they stood. The chaos quickly turned into a route, yet Farrel kept going, kept fuelling the fire with his magical energy until the fireball was so large that it enveloped him entirely.

At the same time the magical wind sent against him blew harder and harder feeding the ferocity of the fire even more until it was burning so ferociously it literally roared.

Unfortunately the energy he had to expend sustaining the powerful magical fire was quickly becoming too much for him and he began to lose control. He had just one option left as he felt the first sensation of heat against his skin. In one last burst of mental strength he cast the fireball from him in an explosion of flame.

The mighty fireball exploded forth with such force that it cut a trail of scorched earth right through the centre of the enemy army and continued a thousand yards beyond right to the base of the northern mountains.

The exploding fireball also left a crater ten yards wide and half as many deep where Farrel had stood only moments before.

#

Kimiya held tightly to Razma as Starria launched into the air. Solomon made some type of angry barbarian curse about flying as they left the ground. Raamen squeezed her shoulder from behind reassuringly.

"Don't worry my dear, your sister will be up and walking around again soon enough. I promise."

Kimiya did not reply. Raamen had come looking for her when Starria returned and found her sitting at the edge of the stream sobbing uncontrollably. He had assumed it was because of her sister, but it was not.

She held back more tears as she thought of Farrel again. She looked east back towards the plains and saw the great streams of terrible fire burning her brethren. She wanted to turn away, but found she could not. She knew how this ended, she had dreamed it a thousand times before, yet with morbid fascination she still needed to see it with her own eyes.

The sound of the explosion was more chilling in real life than in her dreams. She knew that the huge fireball that consumed him would leave nothing except shattered earth behind. There would be no visions of him after that, there never had been.

All her life she had known this man in her dreams. All her life she knew that she could have saved him. All her life she knew that if she did so all of Umijia would one day be the slaves of the Azdaha. She wept like she had never wept before and at the same time vowed to Zartosh that her first born would avenge him.

#

Lord Cortria shielded his eyes from the blinding flash of the exploding fireball. He pulled his horse to a halt and bellowed orders loudly to those around him to halt their advance.

As the orders were relayed along the lines the army slowed and finally stopped in a serpent like line across the plain. Lord Cortria looked on in disbelief at the destruction before him.

"What demonic power is this?!" he exclaimed. "This type of magic is a curse on us all. It must be stopped!"

"You may not have to worry about that my lord," replied Aren who was riding next to him in the line. He pointed emphatically at the crater in the ground as the dust settled.

Lord Cortria could not help but smile. The enemy army was in retreat and at the same time Risandea was rid of the Crimson Wizard and his deviant magical ways at the same time. He would have been more than happy to sacrifice a hundred wizards for the same result.

He signalled for his army to advance across the plain cautiously. He wanted to fight the enemy while they were still in disarray, yet he did not want to advance so fast that he broke up his own lines which could leave him vulnerable to counter attack. Despite the devastation the enemy still had superiority in numbers.

He ignored the crater in the ground and kept moving forwards, however the enemy army had now retreated all the way to the foot of the mountains and was rapidly reorganising its lines close to its own camp.

Lord Cortria halted his army again just outside the range of the enemy archers and shook his head in disbelief at how quickly they had turned a route into a last line of defence, their discipline and order was unnatural.

He passed his eye along their lines and quickly estimated their army still outnumbered his by at least five to one and that was when he realised his folly. From his original position, on the far side of the plain, he'd always had the last option of ordering a fighting retreat back towards the nearby forest. Now he would have to retreat across the entire plain and that would be impossible without it turning into a complete route and a massacre.

It was too late to turn his army around. They had no other choice now except to stand and fight and die. He slowly climbed down from his horse and signalled for the remainder of his knights to do the same. He took off his gold and silver helmet and placed it onto the ground then turned back to his army and yelled defiantly to them.

"Let not one enemy tread the earth beyond this line! For the king and for Risandea!

#

When Farrel opened his eyes all he could see was blue sky above him. There were no sounds of battle around him as he had expected to find. He wondered briefly if he was in another dream with Kimiya. The burning pain that radiated all over his body suggested otherwise.

Most of the pain was in his hands and down his arms, but his face and neck also hurt. He tilted his head so he could look down at his body. Even that small action was excruciating and he cried out in pain which forced him to drop his head back to the ground.

After a few moments of deep breath and with gritted teeth he tried again. This time he was prepared for the pain and endured it. He looked down at himself and saw that his robes were blackened and even burned through in places. His arms were red and blistered and it was progressively worse closer to his hands. The skin on his hands was so badly burned that his skin hung from them and his fingers were gnarled and melted.

He let his head fall back again and bellowed as much in anger as in pain. His cries soon turned to a choking cough as dark blood surged into his mouth. He tried to roll onto his side, but it was too painful so instead he turned his head so as not to choke on the blood that spewed forth from his mouth. Each chest rattled cough brought him a renewed sense of agony.

It seemed Kimiya's visions were right and he was going to die on that plain. Yet he would not allow himself that luxury until he was certain that the Azdaha had been defeated. There was only one way to do that and that was to see it with his own eyes.

He needed to sit up, but he was afraid to touch anything with his hands so it took him a few moments of struggling and torturous pain to get himself into a sitting position. All he could see was the blackened earth walls of the crater around him and he remembered casting the fireball.

Slowly and painfully he wriggled up the side of the crater until he could just see over the top to the plain beyond. Charred and burning corpses lay strewn in all directions either side of the black corridor of scorched earth that the fireball had created. Yet the enemy army had managed to retreat to the very foot of the mountains where it had regrouped into an ordered formation ready to face the king's army yet again.

No army could have survived such devastation and morale breaking terror set about by that spell. Except this was no normal army, it was filled with slaves whose minds were bent to the will of the Azdaha. The men and women of their army were mere puppets and the puppet masters had not yet given up.

Despite its losses the Azdaha's army still significantly outnumbered the king's army and there was now no way that Lord Cortria could retreat across the plain. The next battle would be the final battle.

Farrel cursed loudly. He was not going to let that happen. His quest to unite all of Umijia in peace would go unfulfilled, but he could still stop the Azdaha. Destroying their army would buy Risandea more time and perhaps even deter the Azdaha from invading again.

It was a romantic notion, but one that he allowed himself, knowing that his own life would soon end. He needed to feel his life had meaning in his last moments, whether it was actually true or not.

With one last surge of energy and determination he half wriggled half crawled on his elbows up over the top of the crater edge where he then unceremoniously rolled down the other side and onto the plain.

There he rolled over onto his stomach and reached out so that his deformed hands pressed against the blackened earth. He cried out in pain as he pushed them as hard against the ground as he could manage.

Then he focused his mind as he had trained for so many years to do and the pain moved to a distant place in the back of his consciousness. He recalled the words of an earth spell and he spoke them with ferocity.

As he spoke the final words of the spell he felt the earth connect to his hands as though it wanted to pull him down into the deep depth of the soil and rock below, yet he resisted the temptation to fall into that dark abyss.

Instead he focused his mind on moving the ground that was now connected to him. He shook it with all of the mental strength that he had left.

On the far side of the plain he could see both armies start to panic as the ground below them shook violently. The king's army started to retreat in disarray and the enemy army started to move back towards the mountains.

Above them both the north mountains rumbled then roared as large avalanches started high up in the snowy peaks. As the earthquake continued to gain in intensity the very sides of the mountains started to sheer away. Soon rock and snow began to rain down onto the plains below where it engulfed the bulk of the Azdaha's army and even some of the king's men.

Finally Farrel's mind could not keep the spell going any longer and the earthquake stopped as quickly as it had started. He did not need to wait for the dust to settle to know that he had destroyed the entire enemy army. They had been literally crushed by the side of a mountain.

His body was spent and he coughed up blood again violently. He could not move and his breath had become ragged. He wished desperately that he was not alone in his last dying moments.

What he would have given for Solomon or Gabrielle to be by his side. He needed someone to forgive him for the blood he had on his hands as he left this world for the afterlife. He wondered what would become of his friends if the Azdaha conquered Risandea. He had let them all down, he had let all Umijia down by not completing his quest.

Tears started to well in his eyes and as he blinked them away his eyes came to focus on a single tuft of grass that had somehow survived the fireball untouched. It made him think of Poppin. He missed her melodious voice and her enduring free spirit. He wondered what she would have made of all this death and destruction.

His mind suddenly snapped back with a moment of clarity and he focused on the tuft of grass again. He tried to reach out and touch it, but it was still inches from his twisted fingers.

His eyesight started to become blurry and he felt himself fading in and out of consciousness as his breathing became more rapid and shallow. He could sense death coming as the magical energy inside him started to pull free of his physical body.

In one last desperate attempt he pushed his body forwards towards the tuft of grass. He reached out as far as he could, but as his hand dropped down upon the grass he drew his final breath and with it he whispered the words of one last spell.

A moment passed before the grass began to glow. The blades of grass then started to snake forwards until they first covered his hand. Then they slowly moved along his arm and over his body until, after several minutes, he was wrapped in a glowing cocoon of plains grass.

All across the plain beyond the blackened earth vegetation began to wither and die until an area hundreds of yards in diameter lay desolate and dead.

END

#

About the Author

Shane Griffin lives in Australia near the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. He is a part time author and full time scientist. He has been writing science fiction and fantasy since age 19. He has published over 20 short stories in magazines and ezines such as Potato Monkey, Antipodean Science Fiction, Ripples, Eclecticism and Masque Noir. Shane also now runs his own publishing label Poupichou Press.

#

Other Titles in this series by This Author

Visions of Magic - The Duel

Visions of Magic - The Kidnap of Gabrielle Ulan

Other Titles by This Author

Accident Man

Antipodean Collection

Antipodean Collection 2

Apocalyptica - Rogue Memories

Barkley's Body Swap and Pawn Shop

Border Patrol

Blue Pelagic

Cancer Stick Addiction

Cure Overdose

Deathday

Drifter

Generation Next The Real Thing

Heir Neekay

Long Odds

Manjac and the Nosebleed Section

Necrofairies

Necrofairies 2

Prominence - Jump Master

Prominence - Retribution

Prominence - Redemption

Prominence - Veteran

Shady Hazy and the Subliminal Criminal

The Mercenary

World War H

The Umijia Challenge

Hello avid reader. I am assuming that if you have made it this far you are finding the world of Umijia an interesting and wonderful place. As the author I challenge you as the reader to read all of the stories in this series (yes there will be more) and try to piece together what Farrel's mysterious quest is all about as well as link together the little things that join all the stories in this series together. Read everything very carefully as we choose our words wisely in each story. You will find clues to past stories and future as you go. I wonder what the next story will be and where in the timeline of Umijia it will land.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to our proof readers - Jennie Haines and Gary Martinic
