

The Knight of Darkened Light

Published by Andrew Legend at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Andrew Legend

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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ESPERYNZIA – A WORLD CRAFTED OF ELEMENTS

Before Time's beginning, there were only the Gods and their Divine realm.

Through their power, Esperynzia was created, a realm existent upon the Balance of the Elements, a realm ruled by Mortalkind.

There was a great war between the Mortalkind and a degraded God – the God of Dark. At war's end, the God of Dark was banished by the other Gods, yet the mortal realm of Esperynzia suffered a scar: an unfathomable turn of fates from the all-powerful intervention and presence of the divine beings upset the delicate Balance of Elements of Esperynzia. The balance destabilized, changing Esperynzia forever.

What beholds then Esperynzia's fate?

Such is told in legends new, born through high adventures lead by heroes come forth.

Behold the new legends of the mysterious magical world of Esperynzia.

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LIGHT, DARK, NEW LIGHT, AND DARKENED LIGHT

In study of magic's elements, many students of magic immediately associate the Light element with "good" and the Dark element with "evil". This is not necessarily so.

Light is the element toward life; Dark is the element toward death, or the destruction of life.

Know that Dark was once known as "New Light", for as Dark is the end of Light, it also can begin the existence of new Light.

Dark is not an evil element. However, when Dark is set in purpose for annihilation of Light, with no future Light, then we see that Dark has the possibility to manifest evil. All Dark—never Light. This is the evil side of the Dark element.

The Dark and Light elements wage an endless war, though they exist in a balance.

A Dark or Light elemental is innately apart of this special Balance, each influencing the Balance and so influencing the future. So closely tied are these elements that a Dark may change to a Light, and a Light may change to a Dark. The medium of this extremely rare changing is the state of Darkened Light. It is existence's given pause; Fate's ponder of one's future. It affects one's powers; it affects one's views—it affects one's life forever.

And beyond Darkened Light, one can become a special Light, or one can become a Dark—a very powerful Dark. His power will then magnify. But to Light or to Dark, is a decision of his own, and so deep, that it is chosen only by his soul's true desire.

\- Szeoloche

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INDEX

Chapter 1 Drewth – A Promotion to Power

Chapter 2 Seften – A Family of Magic

Chapter 3 Paetoric – The Halberd

Chapter 4 Rhoin – Elvin Sorcery

Chapter 5 The Arbiter

Chapter 6 Her Love

Chapter 7 Torius – The Enemy Force

Chapter 8 Prisoners

Chapter 9 A Dream of Storms

Chapter 10 Their New Prison

Chapter 11 Not Alone

Chapter 12 Resignment

Chapter 13 Wicked Betrayal

Chapter 14 The Cursed Wound Which Wounded Two

Chapter 15 Burial of Fire

Chapter 16 The Thief and The Driadon

Chapter 17 Warrior of Magic

Chapter 18 The Way Out

Chapter 19 Futility of Vengeance

Chapter 20 Knight of Rage

Chapter 21 Follow

Chapter 22 The Summoner's Task

Chapter 23 Battle to Sea – Anger of The Halberd

Chapter 24 Syndirin's Plan

Chapter 25 Darkened Light

Chapter 26 The Voice of The Halberd

Chapter 27 An Adventure's End and an Adventure's Beginning

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Chapter 1

Drewth - A Promotion to Power

DREWTH - LIGHT ELEMENTAL

Worthy valor tainted by a wickedness,

he struggles within to determine

what is wrong or right,

questioning his own existence.

Forces inside him of Dark and Light

turmoil over his destiny,

but in the end, only he will decide.

"SIR DREWTH!" cried a castle guard in recognition of an officer, fully armored in black plate, approaching his guarding position, next to wooden double doors. His associate guard on the other side of the door recognized the name and stood straighter in respect. The officer knight did not respond; he progressed toward the doors without word, the only sound his hard boots on the floor. The first guard noticed his intended direction through the double doors and without hesitation reached with his free hand and pulled the left door open, the second guard doing the same with the right door. Still silently and not even looking at the guards, the officer knight swept silently through the doors, hearing them creak on metal hinges as the obedient guards pushed them shut behind him.

He was now walking down a hallway with a bare stone floor, old enchanted yellow fire torches hanging from their black iron sconces on the stone walls. At the end was a stone stairway, which he descended, that turned into a large room with a broad square wooden table in the center, empty wooden chairs tucked in on all sides, a couple were askew from the table by recent users.

"Lord Syndirin!" called the knight as he descended the steps. He reached the bottom, and walked straight toward a tall, bony middle-aged man in a great night blue cloak adorn with gold lining and swirling gold patterns. He walked in prompt fashion up to this man, and dropped to one knee with his eyes to the ground, in proper etiquette.

"You may rise", pronounced the man, wearily.

The knight rose to a stance face to face with the cloaked man. "M'Lord", the knight started, eyes still with a hard glare of recent battle, voice quiet but equally hard, "as you ordered, the Driadon slave rebellion has been ended."

"Ended?" questioned the man in a tone of dark amusement.

"Ended, M'Lord." the knight concluded. And picking up on the man's amuse, added, "Had to use a bit of force"—he patted the shining black hilt of a sheathed sword at his side with a gauntleted hand -"to accomplish that, though."

The cloaked man contemplated the protruding sword hilt, and a smile slowly crossed his bony face. "Slaves, Driadon or not, should be respectful to there true masters...sometimes they do need to be, ah, put back in there place."

The knight nodded once to the calmly stated but malicious thought, agreeing, and added, "If the Driadons do not want to be under masters, then they should have fought a little harder when we went to take them in as slaves." The cloaked man laughed sinisterly, turning and taking a couple slow steps away, ponderous of the knight's last statement.

He stopped, and turned back to the knight. "Drewth, you merit a rank higher than mere Officer Knight," he said. Drewth looked at him curiously. The man continued, "I wish you to train to become Arbiter's Second." The knight peered even more curiously at the man. This man was ranked Arbiter, himself! That was a title right under a King! The Arbiter was a wizard over all wizards, and had the power of a King's command should the King be absent. Arbiter's Second was right beneath Arbiter. He would have so much more power as an Arbiter's Second. This meant magic training... He looked at Lord Syndirin, and as if reading the knight's mind, Syndirin said, "Yes, you will rank right under me. But you will not go under any magic trainer."

Drewth became no longer curious, but confused. "M'Lord?" he said, muddled. No magic trainer?

"You will train under me, personally." Stated the man surely, as if it was the only option and any other idea was insulting. The knight looked at him, remaining professionally calm but still incredulous. The Arbiter wants to magic train him himself!

"Yes, M'Lord." he replied automatically, as a junior would to an order.

Syndirin bowed his head slightly to Drewth, his wordless way of dispatching him from conference. In his bow, the spare light was shadowed from his face, defining the bony jaw line and the deep sockets where his narrow eyes were encaved. An odd twinkle formed in those eyes as Drewth returned a deeper bow of head, turning away to exit the room. Syndirin's eyes followed him out, and one end of his thin mouth turned up in a greedy subtle grin.

"You truly believe you can alter him?" a raspy voice queried from the dark corner of the room. The source of the voice, Korchloc, a Summoner, slowly materialized from the shadowy corner behind Syndirin as he terminated his Shadow Cloak spell to become visible again from his hiding. He had, under Syndirin's instruct, hidden there to observe Drewth.

Syndirin turned his head slightly to, his broad back still to Korchloc. "One can only find out by trying."

"You attempt to do what only Fate can decide, M'Lord", Korchloc asserted, but with obvious caution in his tone.

Syndirin turned around to face Korchloc, who then instinctively attempted to inch away, only finding his back touch the wall behind him. Despite Korchloc's attempt to further his distance, Syndirin took a slow, contemplative step toward Korchloc. "Fate," Syndirin began, eyes locked with Korchloc's, "is left with making the decision when one will not make the decision himself. Where it may not be Drewth's fate, as it is a rarer fate indeed, perhaps I can direct his fate for him through my decision – my actions." He took a final slow step toward Korchloc, now a distance within arm's reach, and stopped, looming before him. "I've only now to find how. Or are you so feeble to not challenge Fate?"

"M'Lord," Korchloc began carefully, "I've seen in no study or teachings, nor heard of any spell which would accomplish the Darkening of Light, the creation of a Greater Dark Elemental. Being of its experimental stage, it chances failure, but most definitely invokes dangers. I question if Drewth will remain alive through any involved procedures."

Syndirin remarked pitilessly, "Well, we shall leave that part up to 'Fate', won't we?"

Drewth's horse carried him through the night down the broad dirt road, lit only with the light of the moon, with dull thuds of hoofed feet. His mind was alive with thoughts of his promotion. Arbiter's Second!

Lights from torches dotted the ramparts of a small, distant castle, an outpost castle. Some windows glowed from lights within, making them seem like bright eyes on the lookout. His horse trotted toward the gate without him having to steer the reins; the horse knew this path. It took its master toward the tall, protective wooden gates, which is where the dirt road ended. The horse stopped before the closed gate.

"Who goes there?" cried a soldier from up top the wall. He was the gatekeeper.

The knight looked up at him, uttering no word in response, but glared indignantly. Did they not know who he was? He ran this unit and this outpost! After a moment of silent peering, the gatekeeper cognized with a half hearted and abashed "Oh..." - which Drewth heard—and then quickly stepped back, somewhere, which was out of the knight's view. Drewth looked on to the gates. After a moment he heard heavy chains engaging wooden gears, and the dwarfing doors of the entrance slowly started to open. The horse trotted on without letting the gatekeeper finish the process of opening all of the way; again, a trained-in routine from his rider. They passed through the castle's front gate and continued toward the rear tower.

He tied his horse up to the stall beside the stony wall of the tower, patted him on the neck appreciatively, and walked around to the tower's door. Pulling out a black iron key, he slid it into a lock in the handle and turned it, until he heard a click of a disengaged deadbolt, and pulled the thick wooden door open. He stepped inside.

He started ascending the winding tower stone stairs, which ran into smooth, stonewalls. He had elegantly had one of the royal blacksmiths place enchanted torches on the outside of the stairs, so as to light up the enclosed space entirely. As he walked by their magically cool flame, he remembered when he ordered that castle blacksmith to enchant yellow fire upon the torches that never burn anything, never leave off smoke, and never end, but always give off bright light.

After passing by landings with heavy wooden locked doors, he reached his, second from the top. His own smoothed wooden door had a handle of shining steel, enchanted so as never to break or tarnish, which again he had that castle blacksmith craft. He reached for it with his gauntleted hand, turned it, and pulled it open.

He entered into his home. The floor was of polished white stone, a wolf's fur rug at the foot of the threshold. The main room had two standing torches, also enchanted like the ones in the hallway, at the far back corners on either side of a fireplace; a tall, smooth stone basin to the left wall, enchanted to purify it's contents, filled with clear, cool drinking water, and silver goblets set upon it's broad rim, ready for use. He did not see his wife, and thought that she was absent. He turned into his bedroom from the main room, and reached the clasp on his cloak to undo it. But then, he felt calm, loving eyes looking at him from the back. It was her—Arigwhen.

He continued to undo his cloak, facing his opened armoire, not turning to acknowledge her presence. He swept his cloak off of his shoulders, and hung it on hooks. He removed the gauntlets from his hands, set them inside the armoire, and proceeded to undo his black armor, still feeling the silent observation on his back. Drewth somehow felt guilty; he had fought and killed that day - fought and killed slaves fighting for freedom. She always had a silent argument with this point. He knew she disagreed with a lot of the things he was ordered to do, and felt guilty toward her. Guilt... His head shook as he rid himself of that thought. He wasn't guilty! They deserved it!

It was as if he was already arguing with his wife.

He was having particular trouble with undoing a tie on his shoulder piece, when he felt a light tugging of his wife's gentle hands on the leather binding, and he dropped his hands to his side to let her work. He remained wordless, and facing ahead, trying not to start communication with her.

He felt one last gentle tug, and the shoulder piece lift from his body. She stepped past him quietly, the tough armor piece in her gentle hands, and set it softly down inside the armoire. She turned around, and stood in front and to the side of him, and he felt her begin undoing the other shoulder piece's bindings.

Drewth only then looked at her. She was beautiful; though dressed down in a white bedding gown, she still was beautiful. Her young soft pink lips silently closed on her youthful face, haloed with her long, wavy auburn hair that was left flowing down her back. Her blue-green eyes seemed full of knowledge, peace, and glowing with love, always.

He looked into her eyes, but she continued to look off at the shoulder piece, undoing its bindings. Moments before he did not want to talk to her, he felt resentful, but looking into her eyes, he softened, and even felt sorry for not communicating to her. Her expression did not change, though; it was as if she knew, knew his feelings. And then she spoke.

"I heard what happened." she simply said, softly, a tone of understanding in her voice, still looking at the bindings, undoing them. She knew. How did she know? "A soldier had told me," she cut into his thoughts, as if answering. "I overheard a dispatch of soldiers' orders, before they left the outpost." The weight of the other shoulder piece lifted as she drew it off of him, unbound. She was not going to argue with him; she never had before. She was always loving. But surely, he felt it coming. He knew it was a violent experience, his job, but he had to do it, for the good of the Kingdom. Driadon slave rebellions could get nasty if not quickly retorted upon. Powerful beasts they were, and so equally as dangerous. This was a job he needed to do!

But she said no further words. She had turned back to him, and worked silently on the bindings of the cuirass piece.

All of the black armor was removed. He laid his sheathed sword inside the armoire, and shut it's doors. He felt light after having worn the heavy armor all day. He bathed, then dressed into his nightshirt, and lay in his bed silently, staring up at a broad wooden support beam on the stone ceiling. He felt a depression on the bed to his side as his wife lay down next to him. She lay her head down by his side, and rested a hand on his chest. He felt the warmth of her hand through his nightshirt. He cared so much for her...

His thicker strong hand drifted over and lay on top of her gentle slender hand, fingers entwining with hers. After some time of silence, he heard her breathing calmly in sleep. He was still awake, staring at the ceiling. Why did he do what he did? His wife did have a point, he thought to himself, now in doubt. But he respected the Arbiter, who acted as his guide, his mentor. The Arbiter was truly wise. But magic training? He was classed Light Elemental, and with low potential, and this is why he was posted in the rank of Officer Knight. The only spell he could do was a minor Body Healing spell, which was a training step in Knighthood, as he was, before being promoted to Officer Knighthood. How would he live up to Arbiter's Second? His waking thoughts dimmed as he drifted off into sleep.

Chapter 2

Seften – A Family of Magic

SEFTEN ME'AER - WIND ELEMENTAL

A young man with still a young mind.

Yet when his simpleton existence is consumed

into the depths of adventure,

a dynamic soul develops and is drawn out from within.

IT WAS A COOL summer-season on the Isles of Windpass. Far north lay a system of mountains; so far they barely peaked above the horizon, a dark gray color. Enshrouded in vast forests lay an open field, and within that field there was an old, small wooden farm -house, which boasted a several acre field of wheat and a large barn. A gentle ssyth, ssything sound of a swinging scythe mowing wheat could be heard amidst the gentle quietness of the placid summer's day.

A young man was reaping this field, had been since dawn. Two fresh, tall stacks of reaped hay lay in the field, from the morning's work. His name was Seften, born of the Me'Aer family, himself born under the Sign of the Element of Wind. He, to all appearances, had no high potential in his Element class, only potential up to beginner's levels: sense of wind direction change, and vague weather prediction. His father stated this fact to him once, that he may not ever be truly powerful, and at this, Seften never heeded magic training or it's scholastics. His father had trained him in the ways of a Mundainant, a person born not able to use magic, people of which there were more and more of in ratio to magic possessing people from generation to generation. Such teachings as culturing a farm, living off the land, trade, the use of a scythe, cooking, and use of tools. Abilities and teachings that were more common than ever.

Ssyth, he swung another clump of wheat down, and drew his scythe up to his side, leaning on it like an odd staff. He wiped his darkened blonde hair from his face, concentrated slightly, and closed his eyes...

The winds were changing path again, and dark clouds were drawing with these new winds in his direction. He did not sense this with his eyes, they were closed; he focused with his magical ability in the Wind Element; you will hear much of the Elements in this world.

The clouds: this meant it was going to rain. He concentrated slightly harder: yes, those clouds felt heavy and thick. It was definitely going to rain. He ceased his magic, for he did not want to exhaust himself. Magic was extremely taxing to the strength, at lower levels of ability and tolerance of it. But he did notice he could take more of it; throughout his young years of use of these abilities, though minor, did feel more trained and stronger, more definite.

He wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, lowered the scythe and gripped its body with both hands, and again began to reap, in steady, level swipes, as his father had taught him long ago.

Hours had passed. He was heaping lain hay upon a stack, his wheat field emptier than what it had been the day before. He set down his pitchfork and once again for that day consulted the sky. Yes, he now saw a dark blanket of clouds creeping in from the north, just as he sensed earlier. It would be a couple more hours until it rained, he calculated, without consulting his magic sense.

Seften picked up both his scythe and pitchfork and proceeded to his small house, shelter from the impending rain. He grabbed a loaf of bread from a cupboard, and pulled out his knife to cut it. It was a knife from his father, a fighting knife. It was a double-edged blade, one and a half hand-width's long, ending in a sharp point. He remembered how his father taught him how to fight with it, and basic defensive maneuvers. "Your magic isn't that strong, so your hand'll make up for it's lackin'", he remembered his father saying, before presenting him with the weapon. "Aim for the chest, always. It's the broadest target, along with the back. That's the key."

He was 14 years of age, then, and his father was teaching him how to fight. He was 16 years now.

He finished his light meal, and fetched some cheese and ate it too. Satisfied, he walked through a door that led into the barn. It was large and smelled of hay, which it stored. He crossed the hard packed dirt floor with his scythe, picking his scythe stone from his pocket, which he habitually carried around. Sitting down with the curved blade lying across his lap, he began rasping the scythe stone, a gray block, on its edge, sharpening it.

Thunder boomed, and the freshened smell of rain was in the air. Seften stood up and set the scythe hanging from the barn's wall, it's place, the scythe stone he slid back into his pocket. The inside of the barn grew dark and looked like a cavern, as the storm had slowly come, darkening as well the sky's light. The only light was a wavering glow flooding in from the open door of the small house, the light of a small, crackling fireplace. He walked from the dirt floor of the barn to the wooden floor of his kitchen, through that, to the small main room, and sat in a rickety wood chair in front of the small stone fireplace. He had pulled out the knife again, and was turning it over in his hands, in thought. He had not seen his father for several months. His father was off at his smithy, which was a half of a day's walk in a southwest direction. It was the Me'Aer family's main source of income; the farm was the second, less important source.

His father ran the smithy with the next eldest brother of his three elder brothers, Paetoric. He was full two years older, and classed Elemental as like Seften, only born under the Element of Water instead of Wind. "I want you to run the farm, so that I may run the smithy business," his father once told him. He had consented to this request, and his father had said, "I'll teach you the basics—the scythe, storing wheat so it doesn't go bad, thrashing the wheat, storing food, managing finances and so on—and then you'll be off on your own." Only he wasn't entirely off on his own; his father visited every couple days for the first month, for the next month was a day every week, then he only visited one day every other week, one day every month, then only one day every other month. It had now been three full months since his father's last visit. He could not leave to visit his father; he had to watch over the farm. His father could leave the smithy to his brother, Paetoric, and visit him, though. Nor had he heard from Paetoric since his father left him alone at the farm to work at the smithy. They both lived there now – only that Paetoric never left when Father had come to visit him. It had been a full year.

Rhoin, his next eldest brother, had mysteriously disappeared. But it was only mysterious to the rest of the family, for Seften knew the truth. He was witness to things the rest of the family did not know about. It was several years ago; Seften was a distance from the farm, walking along, when he saw Rhoin standing at the edge of the bordering wood, peering in. Seften silently approached, unnoticed. Still a distance off, Seften saw what Rhoin was looking at. Seften gasped, and sunk down amongst the tall grass, hidden. It was a young, slender of body and face, almond-skinned girl, standing in the shadow of a tree. Apparently conferring seriously with Rhoin. After a lasting moment of silence, she stepped forward and fell into an embrace with Rhoin, and her shining brown hair swept forward, parting to reveal pointed, elfish ears. A Nymph! She had slipped back into the shadows of the trees, and disappeared into the wood. And that day was the last he had seen of her. And the following day was the last he had seen of Rhoin. Seften never knew what Rhoin had done or where Rhoin had gone, but always thought it had something to do with that nymph on that day. Seften never told anyone of this incident. "Do not ask, and do not tell." Rhoin had stated intently, after he had discovered Seften had been witness to his Nymphian visitor. And so Seften kept silent.

It troubled his other brothers when they discovered Rhoin's prolonged absence. They were afraid he was dead, to which Seften almost corrected aloud, but did not, remembering his last promise to Rhoin. Father had taken off on horseback with only a small pouch of copper pieces, in concerned search. He did not return for six days. On his return, after roaming fields, consulting one traveling wizard (whom had, through an unidentified Light Elemental spell, confirmed that Rhoin was still alive), exploring woods, entering pubs and communing with travelers as he passed them by, he concluded he was alive, but gone. "Several things of his are missing from the house," Father had remarked, looking haggard from his travels. "It seems he went off, on his own. It doesn't look like he will return again."

And so it was concluded that Rhoin, being the exuberant age of a young man, had ran away to live on his own, and on this supposition, life for the Me'Aer family had returned to normal.

That night, Seften dreamt of himself soaring through the dark thundercloud blanketed night skies above his home, which he soared in and out of, arms spread like wings. He flew above the clouds, pushing them away to the north with invisible strengths. The dream ended with clear skies and a cold sunrise, and he awoke with a strange feeling of peace.

He stepped outside and what he saw looked exactly like his dream—a cold rising dawn, and clear dark blue skies fading into red. He had this type of dream before, of predicting the sky; it was occurring occasionally, yet more often than before. He had asked his father once about these dreams, to which his father answered with learned certainty in his voice, "it's the flying dream Wind Elementals can have – you're havin' it more and more is just that your Element is strengthening. In it, you think you're pushing the sky around – you are just feeling the sky's desires. But I've heard of some Wind Elementals gaining enough power to move the sky around by their own free will in these dreams." Father had learned much about magic in his life, though he took no training. He was only classed Esperential—a person with general uncategorized magic capabilities, and he without showing signs of much capability at all, like Rhoin. Yet Father could identify with magic concerns. Seften and his brothers were accurately classified their magic signs at birth by him, by the traditional tests of magic passed down by generations to generations. The Wind test Seften, though of infancy at the time, clearly remembered: a sensitive flute was placed lengthwise upon the baby's back, and held there, and one breathed sharply upon the baby's chest. If the flute on the baby's back then sounds, that is a Sign of Wind. The traditional test of Water Sign was holding the baby's hand above a small, still pool of water, and if the water begins to ripple, that is the Sign. Paetoric was born under the Sign of Water. Rhoin passed no test—but did show magical qualities: communicating into Father's mind at distances was the noted indicator. Father said that only within three days after birth could one accurately test, as that is when the type manifests most evident, the energies greatly provoked in the cycle of birth; and settles down as the baby settles down, and thus less obvious and less active. Torius, his eldest brother, bore none of the Signs, and not a trace of magic. Classed neither Elementual nor Esperential, he was classed a Mundainant—a non-magical. But what he did not have of magic, he made up for this lack with physical strength and a powerful will.

Torius was 8 years older than Seften; also was he broader, half a head taller, and red-haired like Father was in his younger days. At age 13 he became a Squire, and at a mere age 17, was an alleged Knight of The Guard: he bore weapon and armor and was his duty to police and defend general welfare. Being a Knight of The Guard, he lived in a barracks that was several days trek away.

Torius visited the winter of every year, with Seften, Father and Paetoric, and told Seften his tales of various deeds he merited: the seeking out of rogues and putting them to justice; dispelling a town of a curse, imposed by a warlock, by slaying him (he described the enchanted magic-absorbing chain mail he was issued for the task); even a defense of a small village from an attack by a pack of Biowolves—large, poison-fanged wolves, he, three other Guard knights and two wizards accomplished. Torius even boasted a promotion from Knight of The Guard to Knight of The Watch—a defender of a castle of a minor royalty, therefore issued an Enchanted dagger, which Torius called a "fire dagger", which he showed to Seften in the winter that just passed: a smooth, beautiful weighted blade, with a black grip on solid silver handle, and a single red jewel embedded in the pommel, enchanted with a powerful Fire spell which gives the blade a magically cutting edge and tip that can penetrate even protective metal armor. Torius would not make much higher knight rank than that, for higher ranks have magic training as a criterion, and Torius had not the magic capabilities. "Aye, but you've the courage to, brother!" Seften had then responded encouragingly.

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Chapter 3

Paetoric – The Halberd

PAETORIC ME'EAR - WATER ELEMENTAL

Of the four brothers,

he simulates their Father the closest,

maturing and wizening to the world at youth's age.

Yet similar still is his journey,

for like his father once,

he is destined to fight many battles ahead.

PAETORIC, Seften's next elder brother by 2 years, a full day's ride away from Seften, was working already under the new morning's sun. His work was in a smithy under charge of his father. In his apprenticeship, this morning Father had him preparing the metal scraps, which were once useful weapons and tools, outside the smithy, cleaning them, unbinding the handles of any wood or leather, so that they could be melted down and poured to form. His father's business was Royalty Affiliated—he worked for the Lord DeKade, for the Kingdom. Shipments were arranged for metal to be transported down to his shop, and he would fashion weapons for use with the Kingdom's soldiers, also making a small wage with that, and, having extra metal, his own business between him and the common folk.

Paetoric was dirty from his work. He was sitting on a stool, with a knife, crudely cutting away boiled-leather bindings from what looked like the hilt broken off of a sword. With one last jerk of the knife, the old bindings fell to the ground, revealing plain metal beneath. Paetoric turned it in his hand, his other knife-hand swung down to his side, idly. He looked at it a little more, and tossed it into a small, building heap beside the smithy's back entrance. It was a scrap, ready to be melted down.

Several long hours went by, of picking these scraps from an unhorsed wagon, preparing them, and tossing them aside. He took one last bent, wooden-handled dagger, hammered the handle until it shattered off of the bare metal, and chucked it on the pile, then pocketed his knife and walked into the front entrance of the smithy, the one customers use, which is a simple wood panel walled room with a brief wooden floor ending in hard dirt ground, with a counter, on the wall behind the counter were hung several shields and swords, axes, daggers, a quarter-staff and a mace, all to the display to the customer. He walked up to and around the counter to behind it, pushed open the door there and came to the forgery section of his father's shop. It was unlit; the only light was shafts of sunlight through two, small, square open windows and a soft glow from molten metal in open castings. His father was bent over axe head castings, pouring bright, fiery-orange molten steel into them. Paetoric stopped a distance away, granting a wide radius around Father, in good practice to give someone space who was handling molten metal. Father carefully poured the liquidized metal into a carved casting, filled it slowly, and moved the melt pot over the next casting gap. He tilted the melt pot on its long handle, and filled the next one. After finishing emptying the last of the molten contents into the castings, he brought the melt pot over to a stone bench, setting it down upon it. Seeing that Father had completed his process, Paetoric then spoke. "I've sorted the scrap, and there's a large pile outside the back entrance."

Father looked up at Paetoric, his thick leather vest blackened with the day's metal work, his eyes red from the heat rising off of the molten steel he had just been handling. "Leave it outside," Father began in his heat-dried voice, "we need to test the metals for any enchantments."

Paetoric understood. Some enchantments forged into weapons don't go away though the weapon is destroyed, and sometimes react badly when melted down. Paetoric recalled an explosion-enchanted ballistic arrow head, used to demolish catapults and castle walls, in war: during it's melting process, it blew half of the blast furnace away, and he and Father had spent a week repairing it and cleaning up the mess of much spilt molten metal, which had remixed with the slag and had to be melted again. Since then, they had resolved to be mindful about possibly enchanted metals, especially, weapons and armor.

The axe head forms Father had poured were left to set. Paetoric and Father exited the forge through a back door into their bedrooms, through those and into a connecting room, which they used for storing foods and supplies. There they retrieved some bread and smoked meat from a cupboard, some fresh milk in a cabinet down by the cool floor, sat down on stools, and spread their goods on top of a counter.

After they finished eating, they headed back to the forge. Paetoric began transferring the pile of scrap outside into the forge on a testing table, as Father asked, and Father was taking the scraps one by one and testing the metal for residual enchantment effects. He was taking pinches of a black powder, a low-grade inexpensive form of casting dust, and sparingly dusting the metal with it. The casting dust was not very powerful, but sensitive—the type of casting dust used in beginning teaching levels of magic schools for the learning pupils—and would plainly react even to the lightest of enchantments, on the metal. A dagger blade: nothing. Metal rod: nothing. Sword hilt: POP! Paetoric heard the noise from outside, and re-entered the forge to see. A coil of blue smoke was slowly spiraling upwards, in an unusually solid pattern for smoke.

"Light-weight enchanted," Father stated to Paetoric behind him, still observing the smoke. This enchantment makes the effected object lighter to the user, Father once told him. Father took the enchanted item, still faintly emitting blue smoke, and tossed it onto a broad, sturdy, scarred wooden bench, with a thud. Paetoric looked once more to the item, and walked back out to continue to collect the scrap.

Two loads of scrap transporting later, Paetoric heard within the forge a heavy patter of staggering feet, and one heavier thud of fallen metal, on dirt ground. Interpreting it as possible trouble, he dropped his load-in-progress and ran inside. Father was backed away from his testing table, watching something upon the floor. Paetoric looked past Father and down, and was shocked at the sight: It was a large halberd head, one for a halberd, shedding an eerie, mysteriously powerful looking red light, and blinding jolts of blue lightning toiling around it. Paetoric looked up to Father for action, yet Father did nothing, but took another step back. A moment later, the twisting blue energy streams ceased, and with an evident shudder, the halberd head's red light faded, and it returned to normal. Father took cautious steps forward, and bent slowly down over it. He gave it a quick tap with his hand. "That's weird," Father began, reaching down again with his hand and picking it up off of the ground, "it's completely cool—no heat at all." He looked at it for a contemplative moment, turning it over with his hands, and said, "I'm going to have to check this one out - I might not be able to remove the enchantment." He walked over to the stout, scarred bench, and set it down beside the enchanted sword hilt, Paetoric's eyes never leaving it. Father looked up at Paetoric, and, noticing Paetoric's interest, said, "If I can't do anything with it, I will have to get rid of it."

"I'll take it!" Paetoric responded instantly.

Father chuckled, and said, "Deal. Now get back to it," with an amused smile on his face. Paetoric, considering that the binding promise that he would receive the awesome relic, obligingly retreated back outside and gathered another load of scrap. A magic halberd-head, and it was as good as his!

The next morning, Paetoric woke up earlier than usual, and Father was still sleeping, in the bunk across from him. He slid out of bed and exited the bedroom, stepping on the spots of the creaky wooden floor he memorized as unsounding. Quicker but still quietly he went through the stores room, through the next doorway and into the unlit forge. There it was! The enchanted halberd head was still sitting upon the bench, and the sword hilt before was gone. Father had purposely left it there for him then? Paetoric went silently over to the bench, sat beside the weapon head, and examined it, not touching it. It was broad, with a waving tip like a spear, and a two ornately designed cutting edges. Father probably couldn't remove the enchantment it was so powerful. Why can't Paetoric take it now? With that justification, Paetoric picked it up in his hands. It was lighter than it looked, and felt cool to the touch—like it could neither be hot nor cold. It was formed with designs, giving it an overall appearance of not only a fierce weapon, but also a sort of magic symbol. The cutting edges appeared to be entwined twin serpents, the thrusting head formed the pattern of striking lightning, and the center shaft of the head were scaled, coiling dragon tails around mysterious three-eyed skulls. The cutting edges were still keenly sharp, Paetoric felt with his finger. This was truly a well-designed weapon! And most likely, Paetoric gathered by the weapon's symbolic appearance, that it was a weapon with an important history.

He stood up, and walked softly back toward the storeroom, the relic in his hands. He would fit a new handle to it, he thought to himself. It would be his weapon. He wondered what the attacking effect the enchantment would have. He rounded the stores room towards the bedroom. So that Father wouldn't notice, he moved silently, ever so silently, upon those same memorized spots on the floor which did not sound under weight of step, toward his bunk bed, his father still breathing heavily in his sleep. He reached the side of his bunk, and, carefully so as not to sound, raised the cotton mattress off of it's place. He brought the halberd head up with his other hand, and, being painfully gentle, lowered it to the smooth wooden surface of his bunk bed's build. It only made a slight sound barely above a whisper, and didn't disturb Father. Paetoric lowered his mattress, and lied back in his bunk bed, thinking of his claimed treasure.

It had been a week ago that Paetoric took the enchanted halberd head, and Father said not a word of it missing. Paetoric was examining what looked to be a twisted sword blade, in his scrap sorting routine, when he heard a distant noise of approaching horse's hooves hitting the ground at an easy trot. That's strange... the weekly supply of scrap has already been delivered not two days ago. Who could be approaching?

Father's banging of the tilt hammer on heated metal suddenly stopped. Father had noted the sound, too. Paetoric heard the clunk of Father setting the tilt hammer down, then his footsteps across the smithy room, and heard the front door of the smithy swing open. Paetoric was behind the outside of the smithy, and didn't see what was going on. He set down the tortured metal piece, got up, and walked through the smithy room's back door, and started toward the door to the front of the smithy, to follow out his father. He stopped when he heard voices outside. It was a man, speaking with Father. He must have been the approaching rider...

Paetoric continued toward the front entrance of the smithy. "Is there anyone else that works at this smithy beside you, Mr. Me'Aer?" Paetoric heard the man say from outside. Paetoric halted, still out of view of the open front door way. Maybe this wasn't a situation to walk in on...

He couldn't discern his father's response to the question. Paetoric turned, and instead of the door, walked toward a small window next to it. He peered out the side of the window to see the visitor.

The man looked like an ambassador of a Lord: he had on full chain mail, under a leather tunic emblazoned with a royal design; with a shining, solid silver helmet, and a gold hilted sword sheathed at his belt. Paetoric looked at the man's mail-gloved hands, to see that he was clutching a scroll. There were two other, but less official looking, men with him, who seemed like escorts or guards for the man. They, too, had horses, as the messenger. They were unmounted from their steeds, and one of them was holding the reigns of the messenger's horse. "With internal staff rearrangements, your recall to direct castle duties was necessary." the messenger said to Father. "Here is the official mandate for the Me'Aer family," the messenger unraveled the scroll, and read from it, "Gyle Me'Aer, castle blacksmith, granted official leave to familial concerns, is herby recalled to duty, by mandate of Lord DeKade, signed," the messenger indicated a signature on the document and continued, "and this mandate further binds the four sons of Gyle Me'Aer to the castle duties of war, unless otherwise accounted for." At this, he looked one last time at the document as if seeing that he did not miss anything, rolled it back up, and held it out to Father. Father took it, looking down at the rolled up parchment, thinking. "Torius is on duty as a Knight of The Guard under Lord DeKade," Father began, and the messenger looked at him, listening, "Rhoin ran away from home years ago"- Father hastened to the next sentence without pause as if averting questions - "and Seften keeps a farm." The messenger gave a brief nod in acknowledgement. Then, the messenger asked, "The mandate mentions that you have four sons, Mr. Me'Aer..." Father didn't answer right away, and he looked like he was about to when...

Creak, went the floorboards in the smithy, as Paetoric unwittingly shifted his weight standing, and the two guards turned their sights toward the smithy, looking at the door, then on the roof, then into the window.

They saw Paetoric!

Paetoric nearly jumped, but then controlled himself and tried to look casual as he walked out the front door to his audience. He strode up to Father's side and looked at the messenger, then at Father. "Yes, that's correct," Father said, sounding as if he expected Paetoric to walk out at that moment, "and this is my other son, Paetoric." The messenger was looking at Paetoric. Paetoric had his mind on the mandate-document Father had in his hand, and purposely didn't look at it. He didn't want to go to 'duties of war', whatever that would entail!

The messenger looked back at Father and his mouth opened to speak, but Father calmly cut in, "He keeps the farm with Seften." Paetoric kept his casual face, knowing his father had just lied. The messenger remained unspeaking, looked at Father, then looked again to Paetoric consideringly. After a moment of contemplation, the messenger gave his brief nod to Father, and stated, "you have a period of two days to report to the castle of Lord DeKade, including travel time, to present this document. Settle any of your affairs in that given time." Father gave one heavy nod, and the messenger took the reigns of his horse from one of his guards, kicked up onto the back of his horse, his guards doing the same after him. Paetoric watched them as they trotted a way down the path. Father turned to Paetoric, looking slightly grave. "Pack your things, and go to the farm. Do you remember how to get there?" Paetoric nodded. "Good. Leave as soon as possible. There is a small sack of copper pieces on the night-stand beside my bed, and a few silver pieces in the drawer; and a staff in the forging room, take both." Paetoric couldn't think of anything to say. Why? Why was this happening? This was so sudden.

He was walking toward the smithy door when Father called "and, Paet?"

Paetoric stopped and turned to his father, from the doorway. "Don't forget the enchanted halberd head under your bed mattress. It should fit well on the top of the staff, it's about the right size." Paetoric was surprised. How did Father know he had snuck the item away? Had he not really been sleeping that night? He managed out a confused "okay, Father" before he continued into the smithy. He walked into the forging room, contemplating the anvil, the bench, the floor, the test table, as he walked by them, knowing he wouldn't see them again, just knowing. He grabbed up the staff Father had mentioned—a hard, strong and straight wooden rod, with leather bindings at it's mid-section, it a little above shoulder height—and turned to the direction of the stores room. He took rations from the stores room and went through that into the bedroom, looked at the little nightstand by Father's bed, finding and taking the little leather sack of copper coins. He pulled open the nightstand's small drawer, and to his father's word, saw the silver pieces, and pocketed them. He then turned to his own bed. He lifted the mattress as if lifting the cover of a treasure chest, and removed the halberd head from its secret place. He fitted the enchanted weapon to the staff, secured it in place with Father's tilt hammer in the forging room, spiking it in place, and stepped outside the back door. It felt as if he missed the smithy already. He sensed the cooling presence of the open forging room behind him, as if he was still inside. He wanted to go back in.

Keeping in mind Father's last order, he willed himself to set one foot in front of the other, in start of the half-day walk to the farm, halberd in hand, the coin sack sounding softly at his side.

It was turning to evening, and Paetoric was traveling down a wide dirt trail, his halberd slung over his shoulder. He had been traveling for many hours, legs aching from travel's labor. He resolved to break, and walked off of the side of the path, sitting himself down at the base of a tree. He unpackaged a ration of smoked meat, and a container of water. The tough strips of meat were satisfactorily filling, and he downed the water in several gulps. He sat back, letting his throbbing legs recover. He was so tired, his head was spinning from the events of that day he still hadn't taken in, his eyelids lowered, and he drifted into a deep sleep...

He awoke with a start in the black of night. His halberd was lying up against the tree, next to him, blade reflecting the moon's light. He looked around to find his foodstuffs, and found his water container, which he tied back to his belt. He stood up, and took his halberd in hand. He had not wanted to travel at night, as it was a time when bandits were out, and magical beasts of prey deep from the forests roamed. Being that he was nowhere near a town or a lodging, he decided to chance bandits on the trail rather than hungry, hunting magical animals off of the trail.

He started walking up the trail, making his way by moonlight, but by the first few steps, he heard a noise, and stopped to listen. The noise was footsteps, footsteps of more than one man. He felt a chill go up his spine. Bandits?

Before he could act, his arms were jerked back by two pairs of arms much stronger than his, and his halberd clattered to the ground. He panicked and tried wrenching himself out of the powerful grip of the attackers, but to no avail. He caught sight of a third figure standing before him, which he could not make out in the dark. He felt the heavy clout of a sword hilt upon his skull by a forth assailant from behind, and his vision went black.

XXXXX

Chapter Four

Rhoin – Elvin Sorcery

RHOIN - ESPERENTIAL

Human in kind but Elvin in nature,

wisdom shines from Rhoin

at an early age.

Taken into the sacred Odenshinaro brotherhood,

he was raised in their ways

and trained in their skills and magics.

His life is rumored, amongst the Odenshinaro,

to be the living of an awaited Elvin legend.

PEACE OF MIND, clarity of thought, serenity of judgment...

In a secluded small cabin deep in a quiet wood, a secretive man was performing an Elvin magic technique. He was human, the first human taken into membership of a Wood-Elvin clan and trained in Elvin ways. He was reaching the conclusion of the procedure, the conclusion of total mental alertness, and the expanding radius awareness and control over nearby souls and minds. It was a wide sphere, a high level of ability at the technique, and he was attaining higher levels in short time. His performances would last for longer periods of time, too. This day he had started in the early evening, and it had gone late into the night.

What was that?

He sensed trouble, and instinctively leapt to a fighting stance, ceasing his Elvin sorcery. He then sensed that the trouble was not near, but far, and not upon him, and he untensed. But why did it alert him? Why did it endanger him, but at the same time, not? He closed his eyes and concentrated again, and generated once more the Elvin spell, this time, stronger.

He wasn't in danger. But now he understood who was: it was his brother!

Familial contacts are always linked souls, Master Odenshinaro once told him. It was a sign of a powerful spirit, if he could sense the mental nature of a family member from far away. It meant great magic potential in the Elvin magic Element of the Spirit—a teaching not in the human field of magic training. It was a sign categorized Esperential, as he was, when he led a human life.

So he knew it was true: his brother was in danger. Grave danger.

He opened his eyes, and oriented himself to within his cabin. He was dressed in his traveling clothes; he need not take anything but his single-edged Elvin blade, and his variety of Elvin assassination weaponry. He took several of these items from a short table they were lain upon, and sorted them into his vest. He pulled his hood upon his head, and rushed out of his cabin's hold, into the night, employing his magic ability to sense the direction of his endangered brother, and cut into the night at swift speed.

He was running through the night-hidden forest, sensing various large beasts' presences, and granting wide radius to them, to avoid unnecessary trouble. A fast but silent run, a technique from Elvin training.

Up a hill, a leap across a ravine, over a fallen tree. With keen perceptions, he weaved between trees and brush, through the dark wood, traveling as fast as he was able.

Paetoric came to with a start and a pounding headache. The pain alone almost drove him back into unconsciousness but he gritted his teeth to stay silent and awake. Were his attackers near?

Careful not to move, breathing shallowly so as not to have motion, he looked with his open eyes, not pivoting his head. He was still outside, but by a steep, rocky knoll. His whereabouts were nowhere near the trail.

He could see the light of a fire behind him, illuminating his surroundings, but still not bright enough to penetrate the darkness of the woods. He listened carefully. He couldn't hear anyone, and so he must be alone. He listened in motionless silence for a long moment afterward, and then deciding he was safe, he rolled onto his back to see behind him. It was a tall torch stuck into the ground, where the flame was coming from. His head was pounding hard.

"Alright, men...he's awake." Paetoric heard a gruff voice say from the direction of the rocky knoll. He attempted to jump up, but when he got to his hands and knees, the throbbing in his head worsened, and he fell back on his stomach, dizzied.

One of the men let out a quiet, dry laugh, and said, "Don't think your going anywhere, foolish knight..."

Knight? They thought he was a knight? Paetoric thought to himself, surprised. Why?

He heard hard leather boots from the shadows, and three shapes emerged. Paetoric made them out to be some kind of soldiers. But did not recognize them soldiers of Windpass Isles. Their armor was completely black, and soundless. They didn't wear chain mail, but he could see dull glints of light off of their body from the torchlight that they were wearing a light form of plate armor. Paetoric could not see the faces past the hoods they wore.

Paetoric was on his hands and knees, not yet able to stand. He was looking up at the men, trying to discern their features. "How are you sure he has the information we need?" hissed one soldier.

"He's a knight. Look at that halberd; he has to be a 'Knight of The King'!" The second soldier retorted.

"Where's his armor?" The third soldier challenged the second soldier. The third soldier, given no answer, walked around to the other side of Paetoric in silence.

"What is your name, boy?" The soldier asked, threateningly. Paetoric didn't answer. He was confused, and his head was throbbing, and could hardly think.

He got a sharp pain in his stomach as the soldier kicked him there hard, and Paetoric doubled up on his side, the wind knocked out of him. "Give me your name!" the soldier shouted angrily.

Paetoric gasped for air, and tried to speak, but only could manage a hoarse whisper, "Pa - Paetoric..."

"What is your rank?" The soldier demanded. Paetoric became confused, and couldn't think of what to say in reply. He had gained his breath fully, but was still painfully panting.

"I don't know what - what you are talking about!" he quickly answered, so to avoid another blow.

"He can't be a knight, knights never act like that..." one of the watching soldiers grunted. "He's just a boy who found that weapon somewhere..."the other watching soldier stated.

The soldier interrogating Paetoric started to argue, "But he is a kn---", hesitated, and turned back to Paetoric.

"Where did you get that weapon?" he menaced.

"F-found it..."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not, I - found it, I -"

He was cut off when a booted foot slammed into his jaw. He rolled over painfully, arms over his face to protect himself from another kick, but none came.

Paetoric heard the soldier took a slow step away, followed by two hurried steps away, and boots scraping the ground, him stopping suddenly.

"Where's Matt?" He demanded of the other soldiers. Paetoric saw the other soldiers' shadowed figures shifted uneasily.

Then one of them stated stupidly, "I don't know, I haven't seen him for a few moments come to think of it..."

"Find him!" the interrogating soldier yelled. The other two soldiers disappeared in the shadows out of Paetoric's sight.

The interrogating soldier slowly walked up to Paetoric. He shoved him onto his back with his booted foot, and placed his boot on Paetoric's throat. "Whether you have our information or not," the soldier began intimidatingly, while gradually increasing the weight of his foot on Paetoric's throat, "we are going to kill you if you don't cooperate." By then, Paetoric could hardly breathe, and was suffocating. He started to weakly struggle with the man's leg, trying to get him off of his throat, trying to breathe.

"Sir Gerund! Sir Gerund!" Paetoric heard frantic yells calling the man from the distant darkness, hearing the pounding footsteps of the two approaching soldiers. They stepped into the torches light, and Paetoric plainly saw their facial features. They were terrified. "He's dead! Matt is dead!" one of them yelled anxiously.

The other soldier said as well, "Bled to death! Had his head 'alf cut off his throat was slit so deep!"

Paetoric felt the weight of The Sir Gerund's foot lift, and he swallowed air deeply into his lungs, feeling his fogged head start to clear up. His interrogator, Sir Gerund, stepped over Paetoric to the soldiers. "WHAT?" he roared. Then he stopped walking, and stood still.

One of his soldiers before him suddenly crumpled to the ground, dead, a long, thin knife was sticking out of his back. Sir Gerund faltered away, bewildered, almost stepping on Paetoric, who crawled out of his path just in time. "We're under attack!" he uttered, futilely. He yanked his sword from its scabbard, and pointed it out in front of him, in defense. An unidentifiable dark-clothed figure sped by, and with a crack, Sir Gerunds weapon hand was twisted, broken; he let out a cry as his sword fell to the ground, and staggered away. He scrambled for Paetoric's halberd, and picked it up in his hand, his mangled right hand he held piteously close his chest. "Get at him, Kawl!" he screamed at the other soldier, who was turning this way and that, peering into the dark, his sword held high and close.

The dark-clothed attacker, slender with no bulky armor, emerged from the dark into the torch lit clearing. He walked with soundless footsteps, and Paetoric only noticed his presence when one of the soldiers let out a small cry and faced in his direction.

"Tell me who you are, and what your purpose for being here is." stated the dark-clothed one clearly and calmly, to the soldiers. Paetoric was lying in the space between him and the two remaining soldiers.

Sir Gerund and the other soldier looked at the man incredulously, fearfully. "Who we are and why we are here is none of your business!" Growled Sir Gerund, still holding his broken hand to his chest, wielding Paetoric's halberd awkwardly like a battle-axe. "Leave here or die!"

The dark-clothed one did not respond. He took slow, silent steps nearer to Paetoric, still looking at his foes. The torchlight revealed that his face was hidden behind a black cloth mask, shrouded by a hood. "I believe it is my business, being that Windpass Isles are my land," he began calmly, coolly, "and not yours." He stood silently above Paetoric, not even showing notice of him. "Now I ask you again," he said, calmly, but with more force in his voice. "Who are you, and what is your purpose for being here, in Windpass Isles?"

The second soldier blurted out, "How did you know we are not from Windpass Isles?"

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, for Sir Gerund wheeled at him, and glared wide-eyed, malignantly, at the soldier.

"You...fool!" he forced out through clenched teeth. "We are supposed to be under cover, and you..." at this he looked back toward the place where Paetoric was lying, to find that the assailant was gone from view, and he fell silent. He wheeled about looking in every direction, wielding the halberd in his only operational hand.

Paetoric saw the black-clothed fighter soar over him in a leap, and running at the halberd-bearing Sir Gerund. Paetoric weakly scrambled back on all fours into a tree, and surveyed the battle before him.

Sir Gerund wheeled around, facing his opponent, to receive a lightening quick fist in his face, knocking him back. He staggered, and recovered. He grunted and swung the halberd at the black-clothed fighter, who leapt agilely and kicked downward at the halberd, so that it swung into the earth, and with his other leg, delivered a successive hard kick into Sir Gerund's face. Sir Gerund crumpled to the ground. The second soldier roared, and charged at the black-clothed fighter with his sword held high. The black-clothed fighter stood still, awaiting the charge. Just before the sword connected, he, the black-clothed fighter, in indiscernibly skilled movements, twisted the sword out of the soldier's hands and ran it's broad blade through the attacker's throat. Paetoric, who had scrambled backward out of the battle's path, and was pressing his back against a tree, looked up into the soldier's face, and saw his eyes were open wide in shocked terror, quivering mouth gaping in a silent cry. The black clothed man stood there, staring into the soldier's horror-struck face, calmly, holding the hilt of the impaled sword in both hands. Blood flowed down the soldier's neck, and he fell to the ground, dead hands still grasping the sword's blade protruding from his own throat.

Paetoric had not realized how much his head hurt, from the shock of current events. His vision was wavering, and he heard the mysterious black-clothed man speak.

"Paetoric, you are lucky to have me as your brother."

And then Paetoric blacked out.

Paetoric awoke in a daze. He quickly sat up alert, mind still on the recent incident. He looked around, and saw that it was early day, and he was beside a low, warm fire, set in the earth. There were no enemies near, he saw, and then he examined himself. He had a thin blanket lain over him, which was now crumpled over his legs as he was sitting up; and he felt a rough bandage bound to his head. His head ached - it must have been a really heavy blow he had received the previous night, to hurt so long, he thought, as he tried to feel his head through the wrappings.

"How are you feeling?" came a calm voice from his left. Paetoric wheeled around and saw the man he saw the previous night, dressed completely in black. Paetoric gasped and jumped to his feet. But in a second he thought to himself: this man is no enemy. He saved him from bandits! With this in mind, Paetoric calmed.

"Who are you?" he questioned the man. He remembered what the man told him just before he had blacked out, "and why do you call yourself my brother?"

The man looked on at Paetoric, and after a thoughtful stare, he smiled. "You don't remember me!" he seemed to conclude. He laughed at the thought, eyes twinkling. Remember? Paetoric recognized the laugh. He remembered someone who used to laugh like that, though he could not remember whom. He peered at the man's now unmasked face, which was masked the night before. The curly, fair hair, the thin face; why did he seem familiar? And who laughed like that?

Rhoin?

The thought shocked into his mind. Rhoin? His brother? The one who ran away in youth? Could it be? "Rhoin?" he heard himself say awfully.

The man smiled back in confirmation. "Very good, Paetoric."

Paetoric's head was aching, but he now paid it no notice. Here he was, face to face with his brother he knew not to presume whether he was lost or even dead. Rhoin, his brother who mysteriously vanished years ago, now stood before him in outlandish clothing, a demonstrably able fighter. "Rhoin!" Paetoric shouted both amazed and happily. Rhoin gave a laugh again, now a totally familiar laugh to Paetoric. Paetoric stepped closer and closer to Rhoin, taking in his face, his clothing, his stance, his weapons at his waist. "What happened to you? Where have you been? What..."

"All questions will be answered," Rhoin began, and then smiled with a wink, "over a meal! I'm half starved, up all night running over half an island to save your back. Least you can do is feed me before you barrage me with questions."

Paetoric broke out into a total gaiety of laughter at Rhoin's jest, and Rhoin laughed with him. They sat together beside the warm fire in the chilled beginning of day.

As Paetoric and Rhoin ate, Rhoin relayed the events of his life, from when he left home.

"I saw her one day, in the edge of the forest by our farm. She was hiding in the shadows, trying to hide from my view.

"One day I did ask her why she liked to watch me," Rhoin smiled slightly, "and she told me that she always wanted to see humans."

"Wanted to see humans?" Paetoric echoed Rhoin's words, bewildered.

"She is a wood elf - a nymph." Rhoin answered. "They live in seclusion, almost in their own world it seems. Their own customs, beliefs, laws, and lifestyle. They practice in different magics than the human magics."

To Paetoric, the way Rhoin said it, sounded like Rhoin was excluding himself from being human, which he well was.

"What are the nymph magics?"

"Mainly the Element of Spirit; of course there are other magic teachings, but in my particular sect, it is only Spirit."

Paetoric looked at Rhoin thoughtfully. Rhoin continued:

"To the Odenshinaro sect, the spirit is the way, and is potentially all-powerful. The spirit is the one who decides what to do, who knows what he knows. Doingnesses, the rawer Elements, like Wind, Water, Fire and Earth Elements, are not the source of power. It is the spirit behind it. This is the primary belief of the Odenshinaro nymphs.

"This Nymphian girl, her name was Cicilia. She was not like the other Nymphian women; she was adventurous, and didn't follow the humble customs taught to her. She was considered reckless." Rhoin said the last sentence with a reminiscent smile. After a short moment, his smile faded, and he continued further.

"She saw me one day, and I saw her. She watched me; I watched her. It was as a silent binding, a wordless understanding between each other. Almost like peering from my human world to her world through a portal, the edge of the forest. She left, after a while, and was gone for the rest of the day.

"I saw her again the next day, watching me. I called to her, and she edged away into her forest cover, and disappeared before I could get near.

"The third day, she did not run when I approached her. She watched me, and in her eyes I saw curious interest. She was so silent, as I approached her. I could not think of words to say to her. But then she spoke to me.

"She said, "Come with me." That is all she said. I waited for her to explain, but no explanation came. She looked into my eyes, and came forward and put her arms around me in gentle embrace. Then she turned, and almost floated into the forest with her graceful Nymphian legs, a walk characteristic of her race.

"I felt an overpowering urge to follow her - it was due to an enchantment she placed on me of Spirit Element, magic which I did not recognize at the time - but resisted it. I would not leave.

"Though the next day I did go back to where I found her. She wasn't there. I yearned to have followed her the other day, to find what secrets she seemed to have, what mysteries she would put into my life. I left into the forest, not knowing where to go or where I would end up.

"I traveled for a full day and night. It was unusual - I felt that I was lost, yet I knew where I was going. What it really was, was me sensing the Nymphian presence, their existence, and being lead toward it.

"Now, normally, when a human, or other race, discovers their society, he has either his mind altered, or erased, or he even is killed.

"For me, it was different.

"The master of the Odenshinaro brotherhood is a sagacious nymph of great power and perception: the most powerful Spirit Elemental nymph alive. He sensed me approaching from miles and miles away, and perceived my own Elemental powers.

"Paetoric, remember that I was classed Esperential?" Paetoric nodded. "That is inaccurate. I am an Elemental. But you must understand that this is an Element not recognized in the human studies of magics. I am born under the Sign of the Spirit. I am Spirit Elemental.

"The master Odenshinaro saw I had great, great potential in this power, and ordered that I was to be taken into the society, and taught it's ways. I am the first human ever ordained into the Odenshinaro brotherhood."

By this time, Rhoin and Paetoric had finished eating, and Rhoin lifted his sword from the ground at his side. He slid the sheath off, revealing a long, thin, single-edged blade, with a wave-like pattern forged into it's metal. "I've been trained in the use of wood-Elvin weapons," Rhoin said as he carefully handed the weapon to Paetoric, who examined its hilt and curved blade in interest. Rhoin showed him his other concealed weapons: two short, very sharp, curved daggers which he pulled from the back of his belt; a thin, spiked chain; and what looked to be a short rod, with a deadly spike for a tip. "This one's for piercing armor," Rhoin commented as he in turn handed the rod to Paetoric. In examining the articles, Paetoric was reminded of the battle of last night.

There were four men. Rhoin only killed three of the men. The realization came to Paetoric's mind. He looked up at Rhoin and asked, "What happened to the man you didn't kill last night?" Rhoin looked at Paetoric. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in contemplation, and he said, "After you passed into unconsciousness, I woke the only living brigand up. I tried to get information out of him; he was very unusual, and looked like he was from a different land. He refused, and tried to fight back at me. As I could not get it out of him, and as he was trying to kill me, he was a liability, so I finished him off.

"There are some outlanders in Windpass Isles, that is normal: but there were four of them, they were all together, working together, and they all attacked you thinking you were a member of Windpass Isle's military." Paetoric frowned in disbelief at the idea. After all, how could they think he was from the military?

...The halberd! "Rhoin," Paetoric began, "they thought I was by the halberd I was carrying." Rhoin nodded. "That's right. Where did you get that weapon?"

"From the smithy. It was being discarded as the enchantment on it didn't look like it could be removed." Paetoric understood why he had been attacked. He remembered what the Sir Gerund brigand said to him: "whether you have our information or not, we are going to kill you if you don't cooperate."

"They wanted information from me," Paetoric slowly stated, pondering the words. "They wanted certain information." Paetoric repeated exactly what the brigand said.

Rhoin slowly nodded, ponderously. "Why are you out here so far from the smithy?" Rhoin asked suddenly.

Paetoric recalled everything that went on between Father and the official messenger. He told Rhoin the whole story, about how Father was "recalled to castle duty," Father lying about Paetoric not working at the smithy, and Father sending Paetoric to be with Seften. "He has already left, to make the two-day journey to Lord DeKade's castle. The smithy is abandoned."

Rhoin was frowning since Paetoric told him of Father's mandate. Paetoric waited for Rhoin to speak, but he was only silent, thinking. After a moment he got up, and picked up his weapons from the ground, sliding them into their various hidden spots in his clothing. He picked up Paetoric's halberd from the ground, and handed it to him, to which Paetoric took. Rhoin reached into a pocket and pulled something out, which he tossed to Paetoric. "I found this on them," Rhoin said as Paetoric caught the object. Paetoric looked at the object in his hands, and saw it to be a small bag of gold and silver pieces. "I'm not sure if all of that was yours, but definitely some of it was, and you've earned the rest."

Paetoric tied the small leather bag to his belt, and he followed Rhoin through the wood, getting back onto the trail. They started their trek up the dirt road, a half-day journey to Seften's farm.

XXXXX

Chapter Five

Syndirin - The Arbiter

SYNDIRIN – DARK ELEMENTAL

A wizard of high potential powers

and remorseless criminality with

a swift, cunning mind

make this personality

a most dangerous poison

to be involved with.

THE ONCE-KNIGHT, Drewth, was sitting at the broadside of a long table, the Arbiter, Syndirin, sitting in a chair next to him. They were at an official conference with royalty, and both were wearing their likewise official dress: Drewth in his lighter weighted, shining black armor, an official's armor but too heavy for daily equipature through a Lightness enchantment upon it; Syndirin in the night blue flowing cloak and robes with gold swirling designs, as he had been the night before. Drewth had as well a night blue cloak upon his back, an addition to his armor, being in his new rank of Arbiter's Second.

It was a great hall, glistening silks and historic tapestries hung from the tall pearly walls, great-enchanted gold-flame chandeliers suspended in mid-air by long-term architect's magic. It was a hallway riddled with enchantments, for security reasons; only Lords and the Lords' servants could enter through any doorway; the key was in the clothing. Drewth and Lord Syndirin were wearing cloaks with heavy gold embroidery, the embroidering enchanted itself. Syndirin was adjacent to the king of Gaedia himself; he was privileged this due to status.

This conference had been going for several hours, and at the moment, the lord of North Eastern Gaedia, Lord Mornoc, was speaking. "A treaty was passed between Gaedia and Windpass Isles not 25 years ago, ending war with them! They have not violated a single clause of the treaty; there is no reason for war." The lord gestured his jeweled hand in the air as he spoke to the king. "Your Highness, one must have consideration for such observations!"

The assembled Lords of various Gaedian lands ceased their attentive silence with low-level murmurs, as their opinions swayed in the direction of Lord Mornoc's commentations.

Drewth watched as Lord Syndirin, with stately air in his mannerism and Arbiter-dress, replied through the murmuring, "The observations have been considered, Lord Mornoc. A new treaty of peace was proposed, which King of Windpass declined. They declined our offer for peace; they want no peace."

Lord Mornoc's gray brow furrowed in a confined scowl, and he shook his head in disagreement. "My doubts have the better of me, Lord Syndirin. Bring forth the treaty for my review!"

"Yes, bring it forth!" agreed another Lord, Lord Agorent, of South Eastern Gaedia. He was known as a close friend of Lord Mornoc, and Lord Syndirin's upper lip curled slightly in a sneer at Agorent's bias alliance. Lord Agorent was lands away, and indeed bore no grounds of experience to make such immediate judgment, rather than to lap like a hound upon Lord Mornoc's feet. The King, dressed in shining red silk adorn with enchanted patterns of high protection, a jeweled, gold crown upon his frowning white brow, said nothing. He was contemplating; it seemed, staring off into nothingness. Lord Syndirin produced a tightly rolled scroll from from his robes. He unraveled it, and it was much longer than it appeared to have been. Drewth caught sight of its contents, seeing various signatures and letterings and symbols that made the document official. The document was handed to Drewth. He looked over the decrees of the treaty, and not wanting to exhibit possible doubt to Lord Syndirin's argument, passed it on to the next Lord. This Lord then examined its contents, frowned solemnly, and handed it to the next Lord.

When it got to Lord Mornoc, he clutched it on either side with jeweled hands, beginning a rather distinctly thorough examination.

With what seemed like an hour, the Lords at the table murmuring amongst each other restlessly, Lord Mornoc's discriminative eyes were at the bottom of the document, examining it's final words repetitively, eyes moving left to right, left to right.

Drewth watched as Lord Mornoc's eyes reached the bottom of the page. Then they flashed to the top again, going down along either side of the document. He was probably verifying every seal and signature; probably even the ink, by how long he was taking. Finally, he glared very overtly at Syndirin, and stiffly passed the document to the next Lord, who took it and looked at it himself. More time passed, and soon, everyone present had seen the treaty, except the King. The treaty was placed in front of the King, who didn't show sign of knowing it was there, but still, contemplating, stared off in front of him, looking at no one. All present at the table waited in expectant silence, watching the King.

But instead, the King was remaining wordless, and Lord Syndirin spoke. "The document is genuine, there is no fallacy. The signatories and seals are valid!"

He looked around at each Lord, awaiting challenge. No one spoke, and he continued. "The treaty represents terms of peace. The terms of peace were turned down."

Again, he paused, and again no one spoke. "They are thus, by...considering observations."

Here he paused and eyed Lord Mornoc contemptuously, who shifted in his seat, "Possibly of uprise in action against us!"

To Drewth it felt as if the very air in the room was becoming hot, the looks on the faces of the present royalty were intense. The argument his Lord Syndirin had forwarded was war; only he had not specifically stated it yet. War was devastating to both sides, whether victorious or defeated. No Lord of Gaedia desired conflict; the repercussions would be too much in this time of prosperity. Lord Syndirin rose from his chair, and stood before the table, looking powerful in his deep blue Arbiter cloak. And then he stated, "The first move against a country is the most powerful move. We will move before Windpass does. We ourselves must take the initial action!"

Drewth looked around the great table top at the Lords, in there dignifying throne-like chairs, expecting uproar. The silence was so unexpected his ears began to ring, for no Lord uttered a word. Drewth saw them staring, not at Lord Syndirin, but at the King. To their further awe, the King seemed to take no notice of the conference, or even the surroundings, peering off into the distance, in deep thought.

Lord Syndirin cleared his throat, and in a tone much like a judge in a court of law, stated, "This conference is dismissed; next we meet one week from this day in further discussion. Your carriages await you outside." Doors swung open, servants streaming into the room. Two servants formed by each Lord's chair; one behind, one at the side. The first servant pulled the chair away as the Lord rose to his feet, and the second servant stood waiting to grant any further wish the Lord had. This formality was paid to each Lord at the table, the Arbiter, and Drewth, as well. Drewth was not used to royal treatment; he observed the other Lords responses to the servants' approach. He saw Lord Syndirin wave his servants away, and so following his example, "Be off", Drewth said disinterestingly to the servants before him, and they, after humble "as you wish, your highness" responses, instantly swept away from the area.

One by one the grandly robed Lords exited the great hall, to an atrium that ended with tall doors to the outside. He saw Lord Mornoc approaching Lord Syndirin, and he watched them confer.

"Syndirin," Lord Mornoc began in a quieted voice, in which Drewth could still observe blatantly overt distaste, "Tell me why you want to war with Windpass, a nation we are peaceful with."

Lord Syndirin's eyes twinkled in mock amusement. "Me want to war with Windpass? It is they who want to war with us. If you do not foresee this, if you do not interpret their response to the King's offerings of peace as malicious, warlike, then what do you see?"

"I see it as though someone is working silently and unnoticed against the will of the King and the good of the people; I see signs of a conspiracy."

Then he said, looking darkly into Lord Syndirin's eyes, voiced so that only he could hear, "And I see someone has wormed his way to the top and is overthrowing law and order through abuse of his power, for intentions, still unknown, yet most likely ill in principle."

Drewth interpreted Lord Mornoc's dislike of his Lord Syndirin by his words, which despite any veil, bit.

A thin smile slowly formed on Syndirin's face, eyes again with that amused, mocking, and almost mischievous twinkle. He turned to the King, who was still sitting at the table, old head resting on a jeweled fist, pondering empty space, and said, "Oh, great King of Gaedia, what say you to this Lord Mornoc?" He took a couple steps to stand beside the seated King, turned to again face Lord Mornoc, and looking up at him, said, "The Lord Mornoc should go?"

For the first time that night, the King spoke - Drewth looked at him, as he never heard the King speak before - in his gravelly voice, still peering off into space, "The Lord Mornoc...should go." He said it slowly, seeming preoccupied with something else.

In response, the Lord Mornoc looked curiously at the King as if he too never heard him speak before, then after a moment's hesitation, bowed his head respectfully, and said, "Yes, your Highness, as you wish." He glared menacingly at Lord Syndirin for a brief second, turned away and walked straight out of the conference hall.

Syndirin looked contently and cunningly at the Lord Mornoc's back as he departed his presence, and then stepped over to the King's side, bent down, and whispered into the King's ear. Still, the King seemed unresponsive. The King, still with an almost mindless disregard of the surroundings, gave no acknowledgement to Syndirin's communication. Syndirin, as if not expecting any acknowledgement, and with no proper gestures of leaving Royalty's presence, rose, eyes not on the King but on the halls far exit, and began toward it at a hurried pace.

Drewth caught up with him just as he crossed the exit portal's threshold. He walked along silent with his superior; the only sound their boots upon the broad span of polished marble floor. Drewth felt uneased with his superior so tensely silent, walking next to him.

It felt as if there was no more to say, but contrarily to the pending silence, Lord Syndirin spoke. "I have work for you, Drewth," he pronounced, still looking ahead, not looking at Drewth, all the superior.

Drewth studied his stern profile as he walked by his side. "Anything, M'Lord!" Drewth answered. Then Syndirin turned slightly to eye him. He then returned his sights forward, Drewth looking at him still, looking to aid. But Syndirin said nothing, and remained without communications, through to the end of the grand atrium's span.

Drewth yielded to his Lord at the doorway, letting him go first. Without so much as a nod, Lord Syndirin walked through, and Drewth followed, to the outside night. They boarded their carriage—another servant holding an orb-torch, tending to the carriage's cab door, waved away with a "be off" from Drewth—and the carriage rumbled down the cobble road away from the royal hall and it's light.

Early next morning, inside a broad indoor training room, which Syndirin had ordered cleared out every day at that time of it's knight, archer, assassin and wizard occupants, stood Syndirin and Drewth, practicing magic combat. Both wore thin cotton wizards' robes: in magic training, especially combat magic training; robes are ruined from spell effects, so they wore not their good dress.

"Concentrate this time," Syndirin said impatiently, and he brandished his casting staff— again a simple wizards' wooden staff—so as not to ruin good casting staves. Drewth had been hit with a minor Dark spell, called Harm. He was still panting from the effect—a state not as bad as before—now that he learned to somewhat perform the Aversion spell. Syndirin's eyes flared slightly as he powered up for the next attack on Drewth. Drewth in turn concentrated, sending his own magic flow into his staff, a flow he had to carefully study to learn. Syndirin released his spell from the tip of his staff, now held out like a thrust spear, and what looked like a black blur flew at Drewth.

Drewth released his Light Elemental spell, holding his staff at an angle as if to guide the spell away. The staff was haloed in a white glow a moment before the Dark spell hit.

His arms jerked violently, and fell numb. He cried out as the staff slipped from his now inoperational hands, clattering dully on the ground.

Syndirin was looking at Drewth, spiteful inside. How his junior was poor in magic training! Yet the conducted tests and various studies he accomplished told him that Drewth was of great magic potential! "Pick up the staff," he said in forced calmness.

Drewth knew this tone as a tone not to neglect in Lord Syndirin, and seeking to obey, dropped to his knees, pawing at the staff with his numb hands. They started working again with a sharp pain, and the pain disappeared. He looked up at Syndirin and saw once again the staff held out spear-like, a soft white glow just dissipating from its end. He had cast a Light spell of Heal, upon Drewth, to restore him from the effect of the Harm spell. Drewth did not take the time to thank his master, but picked up his staff and quickly came to his feet.

"Again!" Syndirin stated pitilessly. Instantly he began charging his staff, and in an instant later the Harm spell flew at Drewth, who had already preformed the Aversion spell. Desperation had taken him, and in it, he managed to deploy the spell more powerful than normal. His staff lit up with a soft flash, and the Dark spell hit it with a small explosion.

The magic explosion threw Drewth off balance, and he staggered back and fell. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, as he waited for the pain. But it didn't come.

"Alas!" Syndirin half cheered, half sneered, "He accomplished this great feat!"

Drewth was abashed at the sarcasm, but responded only in silence, barely looking away from the floor to look upon Syndirin, an effort to confront him.

"Again!" Syndirin shouted again, the suppressed anger now seeping into his voice. Drewth felt resentful to him, so unappreciative, so seemingly uncaring. Returned anger began to burn in his mind, and he sprang to a stance and began the Aversion spell once again. He stared into Syndirin's flaring eyes as he generated the Light magic. His own staff produced a steady white glow that intensified just before the spell was cast. The Dark spell once again knocked against his staff, but was made ineffective by Drewth's magic. Drewth stumbled back but did not fall, peering at Syndirin, his temper rising.

"Again!" Syndirin shouted again, more anger in his voice. Drewth growled under his breath he concentrated his energies so hard. His staff glowed completely white; the places where his hands grasped were spheres of light. He saw Syndirin's eyes glance at Drewth's empowered staff momentarily, and threw his spell from his staff's end at Drewth.

Drewth swung at the spell with his staff glowing, and a brilliant flash ensued. He heard a yell of pain, and looked up to see his trainer on his knees, grasping his chest. Panting, Syndirin glared up at Drewth, and Drewth lost all anger in fear. Somehow he had reversed the Dark spell upon his master.

Yet something else was wrong. Drewth dropped his own staff from his shaking hands. His legs suddenly felt weak and cold, and his vision clouded up. "What's...happening...?" he sputtered, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Stupid fool!", Syndirin spat angrily at the fallen Drewth. "You've over-exhausted your magic in your recklessness, and you deserved it." He clutched his staff, and weakly pushed himself to a stance, still suffering from the blow of his own returned attack spell.

Spitefully he pondered his new junior, as he crossed the training room to a table set with articles. He clutched up from the table a clear glass orb with a smoky center, whose center then dissipated leaving the orb empty, and Syndirin grew stronger. Dark magic was his Element, so the backfiring spell was easy to overcome, being his own Element, and the Dark regeneration orb helped. No longer weak or pained, his temper lessened slightly, and he started to think:

Darkened Light is eventuated from a Light Elemental's changing into a Dark Elemental, or a Dark Elemental changing over to a Light Elemental. It involves a heavy overwhelm of his opposite Element to effect this – a heavy, voluntary involvement of the individual in that other Element. And it required much further influence to fully change the individual's Element over fully, rather than reside in the Darkened Light stage. And when this is accomplished, his new converted Element is then beyond the normal capabilities of the Element's common version: known as a Greater Dark, or a Greater Light.

Drewth was pitifully loyal, yet exceptionally potential in the Light Element. If he were to transform his Element from Light to Dark, his Greater Dark version would be superior - a powerful ally to Syndirin's own Dark Element.

Yet with all of his influence of the Dark Element upon Drewth, he in some way withstood it.

Syndirin looked upon the prone, unconscious form of Drewth upon the ground. In his own irresolution he contemptuously stood his place, peeved, not aiding his fallen apprentice. Was it that Syndirin was ineffective, or was it possibly that Drewth was resisting?

But Syndirin's dagger-sharp mind worked quickly to answer his own pondering question. Resisting – something was resisting the Dark Element, and it could only be the Light Element. Something was involving Drewth in the Light Element. Whatever it was, be it Drewth's own will, it must be crushed.

Calmed at the conclusion, the plotful sorcerer grabbed another orb, milky white in its center – a Light Elemental - and walked toward his still unconscious junior.

XXXXX

Chapter Six

Her Love

DREWTH AWOKE. He found himself no longer on the ground of a training room; he was in a soft bed, a blanket drawn over him. Beside him was a nightstand with a pitcher of water, and a small softly glowing chandelier above him on the ceiling. Looking around he recognized the room as his own bedroom, in his own home.

He heard soft footsteps, and saw his wife step into the room, holding a kettle and a mug. She smiled at Drewth, as she approached the side of the bed. "You're awake now, I'm glad," she began, as she poured the steaming contents of the kettle into the mug, "I heard you had a pretty bad accident while training, said the guards that carried you in here." She looked at Drewth slightly worried, and Drewth thought for a second she was going to ask for the details of the incident. But she looked away at her kettle and carefully filled the cup, saying nothing. Drewth was relieved, as he did not want to tell her the accident related to Syndirin. She would get upset.

Instead, she said, "Drink this, it will help you recover." Drewth took up the warmed mug in both of his stocky hands from her smaller ones, and tipped it, taking a sip.

He recognized the drink immediately. "Mage's tea?" he asked her.

She looked upon him warmly, "Yes. It should help, due to the type of training accident, the magic training. The herbs heal...magic-induced injuries." She seemed to pause with the last of the sentence. Had she known his faulty training session with Lord Syndirin?

He took another sip of the tea, feeling the hot liquid warm his throat and stomach. As soon as he finished, she received the emptied mug from his hands, set it down, and poured more into it from the kettle. This, too, he drank quickly, and soon was feeling revitalized and alert. She must have noticed his recovery, because she took the mug and the kettle and walked out of the room, and came back without any more Mage's tea.

"There!", she said cheerfully. "How do you feel?"

"I feel fine." Truthfully, Drewth was feeling great. He was back at home, healed, with his wonderful wife, who loved him. "I feel totally fine," he reiterated, more contently.

She laughed softly, and bent down and kissed him on his forehead. She stood up, and walked around the bed, looking like an angel to Drewth: dressed in her silk nightdress, floating behind her, and vibrant brown hair cascading down her back. She lay upon the bed beside Drewth, took his hand, and held it to her chest, resting her head upon his shoulder.

It was a complete moment of peace. Thoughts tortured him from within, but these died slowly from his mind: here he was, in his home. There was no war, no sorrow. No enslavement. He needed not his sword to kill, to defend an attacked royalty and force law upon people. He was not running a Driadon enslavement facility, not fighting rebellious Driadon slaves as he had only a few days before, the same day he was promoted; it was simply a complete moment of peace.

Because he had her, he thought to himself. Only because of her.

Feeling affectionate for his loved one, he kissed her on the cheek, and lay his head close to her, listening to her breathe in slumber.

"You care so much for me," he said to his wife aloud, aloud in thought but still quiet in whisper so as not to awaken her. "I'm just a soldier, a tool in war. And you are beautiful, special. You deserve a life of a princess, though you are satisfied and happy with a life as a wife of a soldier." He looked down at her sleeping face, peaceful, innocent, caring...

She was still holding his hand upon her chest. "You hold my hand with love, mine the same hand that holds a sword with anger. It is as though you feel beyond feelings, beyond that anger. What am I more?

"Being with you seems to drive me into doubt. I know not if I am doing right or if I am doing wrong. Am I help to my people? Am I really helping? Though I know not if I am the good I am trying to be, trying by supporting our Lord Syndirin, but I know that you are good. My Arigwhen - you are a blessing if ever there were." He stroked once her long, soft hair. "And I thank the Gods for having you."

He rested, gazing up at the ceiling, deep in thought. He was bedded with his wife, whom he had presumed asleep; but no, she was awake, and heard his every word. She would not speak up, she was content with her husband's peace, and felt she did not want to ruin it. But the love in his words struck deep, and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered below his hearing, "I love you."

XXXXX

Chapter Seven

Torius – The Enemy Force

TORIUS - MUNDAINANT

Dauntless to any opposition,

Torius is a tough warrior

true to his honor

and fears not

in the face of Death,

a face he has met many times.

Although classified a Mundainant,

his true powers still may be beyond

only brutal strength in his sword.

CENTERED ON THE NORTHERN of the three Windpass Isles, Skye, a small castle was the medium of a large road, upon a tall hill. Forest footed the great hill; this castle was built many years ago, it's true purpose lost in the ages. Still strong over unaccounted centuries, it was manned by the military power of Lord DeKade.

It was castle Glaewalt, an outpost for the King's castle. One knight was manned there, a one of four brothers. He was the eldest and strongest brother of his family, taken to knighthood. And his name was Torius.

He was inside his barracks, positioned on the side of his assigned bed. His body ached from the daily combat training routine; his two-handed sword had new nicks in it from the spar he contested in, and he was repairing its blade with a sharpening stone. He had to bring the sword halfway up his leg, so that he could reach the entire length of the great sword in sharpening it.

sshhin, sshhin, he brought the stone sharply upon the sword. Torius noticed another soldier approaching him, but he didn't look up from his work.

"Why do you favor such a large weapon?" the now adjacent knight asked. Torius recognized him as his opponent in a training spar that he had won over, knocking him out of the circle, an automatic defeat. He went on with his repairing of his weapon he won victory with. sshhin, sshhin.

The soldier gibed further, "Why, Torius? Surely a man could deliver ten strikes upon you before you fell one blow with that large of a weapon?"

sshhinnn. The last swipe upon the blade with the stone sounded longer as he brought it off of the keening edge. Torius turned contemplatively slowly upon the knight, and replied, "A man who lives from ten strikes is more alive than a man who dies from one blow."

The knight did not respond, and seeming lost for words, snorted, and walked away, out of the barracks' quarters. Torius went back to his sharpening job upon his sword.

It was late into the night, and time for Torius and his group of knights on day shift to secure for sleep. Torius set his sword by his bed, leaning against a thick oak closet that housed his armors. He lied down in his bed; he was the latest up, and heard the snores and breaths of his sleeping companions within his barracks. He still felt pain in his forearms, from the strain of holding his heavy weapon, swinging it, still from the spar. But it was a minor ache, and he easily fell asleep.

Screams!

Torius practically leapt out of his bed as he heard familiar sounds of battle outside his barracks.

"We're under attack!" roared a voice of one of his fellow knights, from outside. Torius grabbed his great sword, and ran outside his barracks into the open of the inside castle grounds.

Soldiers in black indistinct armors were charging through the grounds, engaging the outpost soldiers; several of whom were heading toward the barracks, Torius in their path. The battle bleeded into his veins, quickly erasing all sleep from him, and he charged upon the oncoming enemies.

The first great swing of his sword hit the first enemy soldier in the chest, wheeling him, and he crunched to the ground at Torius' side. He brought the weapon again upon the next enemy, and it clanged against his parrying battle-axe. Torius pulled back, and released a brutal downward strike.

The soldier swung at the weapon to again parry, but Torius' great sword hacked through its handle and crashed upon his helmeted head. The soldier fell, and Torius looked up to see another black knight coming. He was too near, and Torius could see he couldn't bring his weapon up in time.

A battle yell to his side, and he saw the enemy knight change his target from Torius to the other person, but too late - a heavy poleax thrust forward, knocking the black knight's spear away and impaling him through his armor. Torius looked up at his defender and recognized his outpost companion, Goodman, who was fully armored, unlike Torius.

Goodman ripped his weapon from his enemy's stomach, and swung its axe head down in a great arc, finishing the enemy knight off.

Torius roared and jumped forward, facing two more of the black-armored soldiers. He swung angrily upon them, and they stopped in their tracks.

"Retreat!" cried a voice, and he saw the remaining black-armored enemies rushing toward the castle entrance, crowding out.

"Don't let them escape!" a knight yelled. He looked up and saw archers upon the wall, firing down upon the fleeing enemies. As a large group of knights and Torius himself swarmed out the castle entrance to give chase, he heard several distant cries as the archers' shots struck true. But by the time Torius was outside, the enemies were too far to see, having coverage of the thick forest surrounding the castle.

The battle was over.

The outpost in-charge, Sir Zeddith, ranked a Knight of The Castle, roared abroad, "Muster up inside the castle grounds - now!" still clutching his halberd from battle's use.

The knights, after seeing that the battle was truly over, headed back toward the castle swiftly. They lined in drill formation, and there they stood, among the fresh death of enemies, before their leader, Sir Zeddith.

"First, aide the injured!", he commanded, and the formation broke loose and the soldiers disbanded in various directions. The wounded were helped into the barracks, upon the nearest beds, and wounds were treated. Sir Zeddith, the only soldier in the outpost with trained skills in magic, went around, casting a minor Heal spell upon them, starting with the most critical. A soldier, impaled by a spear, and hit with an axe, lain in a bed and near death, had two Heal spells cast upon him by Sir Zeddith, and his critical wounds magically stopped bleeding.

"Bind his wounds to heal fully," he commanded a nearby knight. The knight nodded seriously and tore the edge of the bed's sheet off, using it as a bandage upon the injured soldier.

All of the enemies that were struck down and thus didn't escape were found dead. After Sir Zeddith inspected several of the bodies, grimly he directed them to be unarmored, and unweaponed, and bodies discarded into the woods. "This way. The creatures of the forests will do the rest of the cleaning up for us," was Sir Zeddith's theory.

After this gruesome task was done, Sir Zeddith called a conference. Occupants of the whole outpost were present. They filled the small hall of the likewise small outpost castle, they quickly set with tables and chairs. After all were mustered, Sir Zeddith walked out front of the gathering. Torius saw he had a very serious expression.

"Which of our men were lost?" he asked, the grim note in his voice still present. After the whole room broke out in murmurs, several voices spoke up.

"Jacken, Knight's night shift."

"Kay, Archer's night shift, struck from behind!" came a vengeful voice.

"Sabyl, Knight's night shift. Died fighting off three enemies!" Another angry tone. The murmurs grew louder into a din of voices, as more deaths were called off.

"Williamwise, Knight's day shift. Those cowards killed him while he was unarmed! And it took two of them!" The voices rose into uproar of anger. "I'll take them down, who were they?"

"Let's go find them!"

More yells.

Sir Zeddith slammed a large table so hard with his fist its thick lumber creaked heavily. "Silence!!" he yelled harshly, and the din of the angered soldiers ceased.

With eyes ablaze with anger equal with the soldiers,' Sir Zeddith spoke. "We do not know who our attackers were, not even what nation they come from. They bear no flag, no ensign, nothing."

"We should get the information out of the survivors!" a yell came.

Sir Zeddith responded, "I searched all of the bodies. Not one was alive. And we could not catch any fleeing survivor." He turned around, and walked to a table set behind him. He picked two objects up, and turned back to face his mustered knights.

He raised his hands high, clutching what could now be seen as a shield, and helmet. "Colored black. Bears no emblem. This is our attacker. We cannot see who our attackers were." He lowered them back upon the table. "But we see that we are under attack, and that we have not vanquished all of them. They have fled." He walked around his table, and lent upon it heavily, and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Thus, they may come again. Your orders are to remain vigilant until further information is found.

"Three men will be dispatched tonight to ride to the King's castle, and alert the higher advisories within of the encounter." He looked deeply into the crowd of soldiers, "It will be dangerous. You are subject to the attack of these enemies, and you will not have this castle to protect you.

"Are there three volunteers?"

After a moment of silence, Torius rose. "I shall go."

Sir Zeddith eyed at him, and pushed off of the table, marching out in front of it. "Sir Torius, Knight of The Watch, day shift," he announced.

Another voice, "I, Aranwold, shall go with Torius."

Sir Zeddith eyed him, too, like he did Torius. "Well done, Sir Aranwold, Knight of The Watch, night shift."

Another knight stepped up. It was Goodman, whom Torius fought together with the other night. "I shall be the third."

"Sir Goodman, Knight of The Watch, night shift." Sir Zeddith stated to the gathering of soldiers. "Stand before me," he commanded.

Torius, Goodman and Aranwold lined up in front of the officer Knight. Sir Zeddith looked upon them, contemplating.

"Three of the strongest of our knights," he pondered aloud. Then the ponderous attitude disappeared and he became sharply serious once more. "Gather what you need," he began. "Ride hard. Show the guards this document."

He handed Goodman a scroll, which he took. "It will get you access into the Castle. Ask for Lord Gonaguel, and inform him of this night, moment for moment, altering no information, no matter how confusing it may seem."

The knights nodded, with 'yes sir's, turned, and walked through the silent hall, amongst the observing soldiers, and out into the night toward their barracks.

Torius went into his barracks with Goodman, Aranwold separating hastily toward his barracks at the other side of the castle. He heard oak closet doors slamming open as Goodman was collecting his inventory, he himself tearing open his own closet. He hastily put his chain mail armor on, and half-plate over it, and leather boots and leggings; collecting his enchanted fire dagger, and a canteen of water.

"Only what you need," he repeated Sir Zeddith's instructions aloud to himself. At last he slung his two-handed sword upon his back, and ran toward the door, seeing that Goodman had already left. He had already been dressed in armor, from being on nightshift; Torius had been awoken from sleep and was unarmored, and had that extra collection to make.

Outside he met with Goodman, and Aranwold, already upon horseback. A third saddled horse was vacant, and Torius climbed on.

"Aranwold!" came Sir Zeddith's voice. Torius and his party looked. Sir Zeddith approached with heavy footsteps, and halted, looking at Aranwold. "You are held in charge of this mission."

Aranwold nodded in acknowledgement.

Sir Zeddith looked first at Torius, then at Goodman. "And good luck." Sir Zeddith walked away, Torius and Goodman looking at Aranwold. Aranwold stirred his horse onward toward the open front gates, Torius and Goodman following lead. And off they rode.

—

"Damn and curses!" Syndirin hissed angrily and pounded the table with his fist. His assembled clique around the table before him struck silent. Syndirin seethed, "Incompetents! A simple mission of information extraction and they fail! Where are they? Bring them before me!" casting his glare past the table watching for anyone approaching. But the subjects did not approach, and never would.

"They are dead, M'Lord," said an officer Knight, Gwar.

Syndirin heatedly faced him. "Dead!" he exclaimed. "Dead as they should be! Fail me and they deserve no better." Then, peering at Gwar, "How did they die?"

Gwar shook his head, muddled. "Seemed the work of an assassin, or a skilled swordsman. Their bodies were left in the woods."

Then, Syndirin, anxiously, "how do we know they were not interrogated?" When Gwar responded only with a troubled look, Syndirin stepped slowly around the table, eyes on Gwar. "How do we know they didn't let something slip?"

Gwar was turning pale, looking left to right at the other ones present, as though for help. Syndirin paused movement, his accusative peering twisting into an expression of angry glare. "How do we know they did not foul our plans!!" he screamed at Gwar.

Gwar started trembling. "C...couldn't 've!" he brokenly worded.

After a piercing moment under Syndirin's glare, Syndirin said with words of poison mockery, "'Couldn't have'?" He slammed his foot on the ground sharply. "Couldn't have!" Rounding his anger upon the entirety of the group, he voiced, "A group faces his greatest weaknesses not on what is outside, but on what is inside!" He pointed at Gwar. "He is our weakness - our failure! I leave him charge of an important mission, and he handles it recklessly, sending idiots to do a mans job!" He clutched his staff in both hands. "I cannot tolerate a weakness!" He raised his staff, aiming it at Gwar, eyes flaring. His staff emanated black.

"M'Lord, no, please!" Gwar cried, stumbling out of his chair. The staff kicked back as the spell was released, a black blur darting at him like an evil spirit. It hit him in the chest, and his body skidded across the stone floor, crashing into the wall, lifeless.

"Traitor! Die like those others!"

Syndirin felt fearful eyes of the remaining gathering, watching him. Perfect, he thought to himself. He is gaining respect of them by fear. Always made the job easier.

He let go of his staff, holding it once again like a scepter and no longer a weapon, facing the others. "Any other reports? How about the raiding mission?" he asked wearily.

A chair scraped the ground as a cloaked Summoner stood up, Syndirin's eyes turning to him. "Yes, Korchloc?" Syndirin responded dryly.

Korchloc nervously cleared his throat. Then after a pause. "The night infiltration on castle Glaewalt was thwarted, M'Lord," a voice came out from under his enshrouding hood.

Pause.

Then, "Yhey raised the alarm, the tower guards that were overlooked, M'Lord."

"Were there any survivors?"

"Yes, M'Lord. There were."

"Did they extract any information, from any taken prisoners?"

"No, M'Lord. None."

Syndirin cursed under his breath, and glared at Korchloc. "If you want to live," Syndirin began in cold tone, "And if they want to remain survivors, then they had best turn around and go back, and get prisoners!"

He cast from his bare hand a quick Dark attack spell at a chair, which spun through the air, shattering as it smashed against a far wall.

Korchloc looked at the pieces of the chair on one side of the room, then at the lifeless Gwar on the other, then at Syndirin. "Yes, M'Lord Syndirin!" he said fearfully, and ran from the room, his cloak whipping behind him. His rapid footfall faded as he made distance and eventually was gone.

"Uldrin!" Syndirin shouted. Another armored warrior stood up.

"Yes, M'Lord!" he responded.

"Gather up the fastest vessel we have, and get out there with Korchloc, and with those men, now! Do not sleep until the you have returned to me with the prisoners."

XXXXX

Chapter Eight

Prisoners

THE THUNDERING HOOVES of three manned horses pounded apart the silence of night, as Aranwold rode hard, Torius and Goodman close behind. They rode hard upon a forest path, tall dark trees haunting either side of the path. The broad path disappeared beyond a bend, which they turned through, revealing another broad turn, following it they exited the forest thick into a moonlit opening of grassland. As they hurtled onward, they past a small, shimmering lake. Its surface was sleek as glass in the stillness, and Torius glimpsed a bulbous shape upon its surface. He looked harder and saw that it was gone. Leaving it behind as an eye trick of darkness, he looked forward to ensure his path. In front of him, Aranwold's steed kicked dust in the air which rose thick like smoke. But then, Torius heard a dreadful screech behind him, an inhuman cry that cut through the din of horses' hooves. He saw Aranwold turn to look behind, not slowing down. But Torius saw Aranwold's eyes widen in amazement as he looked up, and behind Torius, and Aranwold ducked down further upon his horse's back, hastening his speed. Before Torius could understand, Goodman passed him up with speed, and another horrific cry sounded. Torius looked behind him and his hands clenched tight his reigns in shock.

First he saw a large, round, shining head with three terrific white round eyes, extended from a shimmering spiked body and spread wings. It was a hundred paces behind the three, but was soaring through the air, gaining upon them. It opened its black mouth and again cried it's ghoulish cry, white eyes flared.

"Ride, Torius! Ride!" an anxious Goodman upon a horse afront him yelled, and Torius heeled his horse, which grunted and ran even faster. Torius faced straight ahead, concentrating on outrunning the flying creature.

He leaned forward, urging his horse to ride faster, soon side by side with Goodman and Aranwold.

Torius heard smooth wings cutting the air only ten paces behind him, and he turned glance to see three great, angry white eyes glaring back. Seconds later the monster caught up, and was soaring directly above the three, and Torius looked up, the moon visible through it's limpid body. The beast arched its neck to see it's prey, and extended four shining clawed legs upon them. "Ready yourselves!" Torius yelled to the others, who looked at him and looked up with Torius. Torius heard the singing of weapons drawn sharply from scabbards, and he too grasped his great sword from his back, the other hand holding the reigns. He lent and turned his horse back and to the side of the path, just as the beast descended, barely missing the attack, crystallic claws grasping empty air where he just was. He brought his sword in an upward thrust, scoring a hit upon the monster. He saw that he had impaled the monster, and triumphantly drew his sword out of the beast, what let out an angry scream. Its flight path wavered a little bit, but alas, the beast was still flying! Had he not wounded it?

The shimmering surface of the beast was visibly rippling, and smoothed out again in watery depth. Torius swept his weapon upon the beast, and scored another hit. Liquid splashed his face from the wound, and he saw the beast swoop upward. Some of the liquid got in Torius' mouth, and he tasted it: water! How can that be?

He saw Goodman lag behind, looking up, poleax aimed upward in one hand's grasp. With a grunt he heaved the weapon high up into the air. With a gushing sound it crashed against the beast's limpid body. But it did not stick, and clattered uselessly to the ground. Torius looked: still, the beast as alive as ever, was soaring through the air. "Do not use your weapons, they are useless against it!" Aranwold shouted, and casting away his sword from his hand, reaching into his belt, then withdrew his hand which was turned into a fist, clutching something. Still holding the reigns with one hand, he brought his other closed hand in front of his face, and narrowed his eyes, concentrating, in magic spell. Torius still held his sword, preparing to hit again at the seemingly unkillable creature. The creature was soaring down with speed, diving ferociously toward the riding Aranwold!

Torius raised his great sword toward the creature, ready to impale it. Not an arms length away from Torius' sword tip the creature was, when a brilliant white flash emitted from Aranwold's raised hand. A blinding beam struck the creature, whose water body illuminated inside and outside with twisting, leaping lightning. The beast's eyes disappeared from his face, and with a final dying screech, it's body melted mid-air into a mass of water, which with a great splash, hit the ground. The creature was gone.

"Stop!" Aranwold commanded, and Torius and Goodman reined their horses to a halt. Aranwold circled back to face the other two knights, who both looked perplexed and anxious.

"What in Do'Ladon was that!?", Goodman yelled.

"Moon Spirit," Aranwold began to say to them, learnedly. "Hunters of the night. They take on physical composed forms, such as dirt, fire, and," he pointed at a distant, wide glistening wet patch on the ground where the creature morphed and crashed, "Water."

Seeing Torius and Goodman turn to view their surroundings, Aranwold continued further. "They are rare to encounter. In fact, there are very few sightings in Windpass Isles."

Aranwold furrowed his brow in thought, as if learning from his own words. "In fact," he started, even more curiously, "They originate only from the lands of Gaedia...

"...How did it get here?"

Torius heard a rustle of low grass behind him, and he turned, seeing a shadowed human figure approaching. "Who goes there?" he demanded of the person. The person did not respond, but continued to approach. A padding of hooves to his sides was Goodman and Aranwold flanking him, also examining the person.

"What?" Aranwold gasped. "It's one of them!" He pulled his shining Fire dagger from his side, and shouted, "Get him!"

Torius swung off of his horse, and he and Goodman charged upon the individual, weaponless and on foot. But when he looked again, there were two-dozen men, who materialized from the hiding dark. Before he could act he was swarmed by the black-armored warriors, and wrestled down. Grunting a struggling, he saw the same dark individual approach him, and saw too that he was not armored like the others, but wore a robe, in wizard's wear.

"May be my summoned Moon Spirit could not take you down, but this will," said the wizard, and he raised his hands, which briefly glowed, and then emitted a green fog, which washed over Torius, who instantly fell into deep, magic sleep.

"But I just don't understand." Seften shook his head, lost. Paetoric's and Rhoin's explanation, to Seften, lead to nothing. "How come Father?"

Rhoin took several ponderous steps toward Seften. "He once served in the royal military. The agreement between him and Lord DeKade," he gestured to Paetoric.

"As Paetoric overheard from the royal messenger, he would leave to tend to his family, to raise his sons, and that he would be recalled to duty if it deemed necessary." He said conclusively, "He made an agreement with Lord DeKade, and he is fulfilling it."

Seften again shook his head, but said nothing in argument. He walked over to his scythe, which was leaning in the corner of the farmhouse front room, and picked it up, still facing the corner.

"He will be alright," Paetoric said reassuringly, supporting Rhoin's comments. "He is serving as a Castle Blacksmith. He won't serve the dangers of combat."

Rhoin added to Paetoric's, "Besides, it is not that he is entering something critical, such as war – it is just protocol."

Seften turned around to face him, holding his scythe down in one hand. "How do you know?" he questioned accusingly. "How do you know it will not lead to worse things than that?" He sneered, "What experience have you on this subject? You haven't even been around for the past, what is it? Four years?"

Rhoin stared back at his brother. He replied with nothing, but looked upon Seften silently.

So followed an uncomfortable moment of silence with no words to break it. But just before anyone could think of what to say, Rhoin then spoke.

"I am not here to argue. I'm not here to fight with my brothers." Seften looked away. "And I cannot stay to see you through this change in life." He peered at Seften, who then looked back up at him, and said, "Everything will be alright. Father will be alright."

Rhoin rose from the wooden chair he was seated in, and walked with smoothened movement over to the exit of the home. But just at the threshold, he paused, and turned around. "Paetoric, don't go back to find Father - leave him to come back to you. It shouldn't be long.

"For now, live and work with Seften, on the farm. I'll check on Father." Seften and Paetoric both nodded to Rhoin, and bid him goodbye. He slipped out of the doorway and was gone.

-

Torius awoke to the sound of approaching, echoing footsteps. Still dazed, it took a moment to recollect the recent events and his present environment. He was on a stone floor, in a dark room, with crude walls. He was shut into the room with a steel gate door. Was he in prison?

The footsteps of several unidentified men halted at the outside of the steel gate door, and heavy keys jingled. "This is the prisoner so called for?" came a dark voice. Prisoner? Torius attempted to rise to his feet, but was arrested by heavy shackles he had not yet seen around his ankles and wrists, and he thudded back upon the hard stone ground.

He heard the heavy lock within the door disengage, and the door creaked open. Torius stared boldly up at the oncomers. First came through the door was a short, grungy and heavyset guard in a squalid set of partial leather armor, bearing a blazing torch, and a sneer on his face which appeared to be an ugly permanency. "This is him, M'Lord," grunted the guard, examining the chained Torius. "And he's come awake!" Next stepped through a familiar figure - the wizard from last night!

"After what we're gonna do to him, he'll wish he stayed asleep," said the wizard sinisterly from underneath his hood. These were his enemies, Torius saw.

"Who are you?" Torius growled.

"I am Korchloc," the wizard replied. "But more importantly," the wizard glided forward a step, pointing a hostile finger at Torius, "Who, are you?"

Torius looked upon the wizard, still not able to discern his facial features in the shadow of his hood. The dirty guard beside the wizard belted out a harsh chuckle. "Korchloc..." Torius said aloud, contemplating the name.

"Where are Goodman and Aranwold?" Torius demanded of the wizard.

Korchloc looked down at Torius questioningly, and then realizing whom Torius was talking about, smiled beneath his hood. "Oh - we have them, too," he answered lightly, though the words were noticeably wicked. "Where am I?" Torius nodded up at the dungeon room, eyes not leaving Korchloc.

"You are a prisoner," another voice, calm but stern and emanating with power, seared into the prison chamber from its doorway. "Under His Highness King Edwalen."

A third, tall, cloaked figure entered through the doorway. Korchloc and the guard stepped out of the man's path as he made his way into the room toward Torius.

"King Edwalen?" Torius' eyes narrowed at the man. As the guard's torchlight washed over the man, his figure was in plain view. He wore a long, blue cloak, with gold designs embroidered into it. His facial features likewise to his voice, revealed to be gaunt, stern, and cold.

"I am Lord Syndirin, Arbiter of King Edwalen of Gaedia," he looked down upon Torius, chained to the ground. "And you are my prisoner." He smiled adversely and contently at Torius, whose expression remained the same, enmitious glare back.

"Gaedia!" Torius spat. "What ever happened to the Treaty with Windpass Isles, the terms of peace?" he questioned, shaking the chains gathered in his strong fists in front of him.

The next words seeped from Syndirin's voice like poison. "You will find very much that the terms have changed, knight."

Again, the sordid guard holding the torch let out another obnoxious, snorting laugh, from behind Syndirin. Torius felt very much like clouting the brute on his ugly head. Syndirin raised his hand, and flicked it to the guard behind him, who immediately shut his toothy mouth.

Only his mouth twisted up into an ugly grin, and he turned, jostled the torch into a wall holder, and ran to the opposite wall of the room. He grabbed a lever sticking out from the wall, and heaved it downward.

Torius heard the chains binding him sliding on the ground. He looked at them, and saw them being drawn across the walls, in directions away from him. At the end of the chains, were magic metal spiders whose iron legs clawed across the wall, towing the chains. The chains were drawn tight as the spiders stopped still again, clamped to the wall, Torius' arms drawn to their full length by the shackles.

"The spiders can keep going until their prisoner's arms are torn from their sockets," Syndirin remarked indifferently at Torius, and again he waved to the guard, who lowered the lever another notch. The metal spiders came to life, and slowly traversed the wall. At the point when Torius' arms were strainingly drawn by the chains, the spiders froze, and clamped again to the wall.

Beads of sweat lined Torius' brow. He glared up at Syndirin. "King Rophulus shall here about this, Syndirin!"

Syndirin's smile slid from his expression. He stepped closer to Torius, looking down into his glowering face, and said, "That is Lord Syndirin to you, knight. And your King shall hear nothing of this. He is a land away from us."

Torius accounted the situation, calculating. He was bound and could not run, he was at the mercy of this man. Maybe he could draw information of this man with more questions.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded up at Syndirin.

"Firstly, an answer to my initial question that you were asked. Who are you?"

Torius paused before responding, eyeing the slovenly guard still clutching the lever. "I am Torius Me'Aer. I am of the Windpass Isles military. I -" He stopped speaking with teeth partially open in harsh expression. But was he about to tell too much?

"Go on!" urged Syndirin. "Or the spiders shall." Syndirin's hand began to rise, and seeing this, Torius continued, glaring up at Syndirin.

"I am a Knight of The -," again he paused. Should he tell the truth or tell a lie? Syndirin's hand was still poised halfway up. "I am a Knight of The - Castle." He lied. "I am under His Lordship DeKade." He saw Syndirin's eye twinkle avidly when he told of his untruly high Knighthood rank.

Syndirin's hand lowered to his side, the guard's leering eyes following it like a dog being commanded. Syndirin gestured with a small wave of bony hands, and the guard - with a disappointed sneer on his face - threw the lever all the way up, and the spiders crawled back toward Torius, the chains slackening and clinking to the ground.

The spiders clamped into the wall, Torius' agonized arms dropped heavily to the ground, his shoulders left in throbbing pain from their menace. He showed no appearance of his agony for his enemies to see, for it would become both his weakness and their strength.

"Knight of The Castle," Syndirin echoed with shady smile, "protector of the Royalty's castle."

"That's right," Torius said, looking Syndirin directly in the eye. "And soon that royalty will wonder where it's knight went - my trail is traced to here, and," he managing his own vicious smile back, "You will feel his justice, be it by a law or a sword."

The twinkle in Syndirin's eyes deadened, and he raised his staff at Torius, his eyes aflare. A black jet shot from the staff, hitting Torius' body with a Pain spell.

Torius writhed in agony as an invisible burning pain wrecked his insides horribly. After a blinding moment, it suddenly disappeared, and he flattened on his back to the ground, panting and sweating.

"Feel my justice, knight!" Syndirin seared at Torius, enflamed. "Know that you are at my complete mercy, and that it is I that decides whether you live, die, or suffer!"

Again he shot a wicked Pain spell at Torius, who again twisted and toiled upon the ground by the overwhelming pain.

The second Pain spell wore off, and Torius was heaving for breath, small trickles of blood seeping from his nose, mouth and ears. His wrists were gouged in his struggles against the shackles and they, too, were bleeding.

Syndirin, satisfied with Torius' pain, seemed to pacify. In steadied, fiendish voice, he said, "Tonight will be a painful night indeed - but that all depends on how well you cooperate.

"Now first," he raised his staff to Torius again, ready to strike him with another spell, "Let us begin with some information on the Windpass Royal Treasure!"

Rhoin was traveling quickly through the woods at a half-run, half to him but a speed equal to the average man's full run. He had acquired vital information, information of a new enemy of Windpass Isles, and he had to consult this with his Master.

Rhoin seldom spoke with the Master - rarely now, that his basic apprenticeshipping was over and no longer under direct teachings of him. Last he spoke with the ancient wood elf was more than a year prior.

Rhoin was concentrating his powers, enhancing his awareness with it, so as to sense near entities - he had to make haste and needed to avoid possible conflicts.

In the middle of a leap over a bramble of brush, he sensed someone near, and prepared to land out of the leap with a silent halt. He clarified the vision - a large beast. It was hungry, and so must be hunting. It was a fast type of animal, Rhoin could interpret from seeing it's animal mind. Best not to try to outrun, Rhoin decided, so as not to be discovered and pursued by it.

Without further delay, as Rhoin felt it's presence drawing nearer, he conducted a simple Fear spell—simple, for a concentrated one was intended to effect man's mind, and the concentrated form would drive a beast's small animal mind insane. Gently he located the animal mind in space—in front and a little to the left of him, past the small hill before him. He generated the Fear curse upon it—it was always more effective when you put a mental picture along with the curse—and so Rhoin thought a picture of the dangerous beast being chased by a large dragon, and threw it along with the curse, upon the animal mind.

A terrific howling scream resounded throughout the forest, and Rhoin heard a distant crash of a large beast smashing into a tree. Rhoin darted up the hill to observe the effect of his Fear spell. He ducked out of view when he saw a grotesque, three-winged creature hurtling through the air in full force, as if fleeing an invisible foe. It disappeared into the distant night sky. Did he conduct a too-powerful curse on the poor beast?

Dropping the contemplation as unimportant, Rhoin again made his way forward in his swift, wood-Elvin run.

Dawn was breaking, and Rhoin finally made it to his destination. He reached a meadow in the center of thick wood, hidden from humankind or any kind. Intendedly so, by the wood-Elvin inhabitants.

In the center was an impressive temple, built of rock, wood and gold, a deep temple with only two levels. The temple had the apparency of being deserted, only Rhoin knew better, as he approached it in a respective walk, instead of his hastily run. He approached the front entrance, and stood before it.

After some minutes, a wood-Elvin guardian spoke from a hidden spot. "Who goes there?" came a voice from the doorway, ghostly, for the speaker was disguised from view.

"Rhoin Me'Aer, brother of the Odenshinaro sect under our Master Odenshinaro," Rhoin replied.

"And what is your purpose for being here?" again the voice demanded from the dark entrance. Rhoin could feel the wood-Elvin guardian trying to perceive Rhoin's thoughts. Rhoin did not resist the sorcery, though he easily could, for he was trained in the same magic. He, too, sensed a second wood-elf hidden to his right, with a poised weapon.

"My purpose is to consult with my Master Odenshinaro, and to forward vital information I have discovered."

There was a moment of silence, Rhoin still feeling the wood-Elvin guard reading into his thoughts. "Proceed, human," the voice premised. Rhoin felt uncomfortable at being termed human. Though he was, this was a secret civilization of wood elves with whom he was taken in as a member.

Ignoring the disaffected thoughts he detected from the hidden elves, Rhoin proceeded beyond the wooden portal of the ancient looking small temple.

Though he knew full well of the enchantment before him, he still stopped to observe the appearance of the inside. It was dark, dumpy, and only a sole torch upon the dusty walls, lighting an empty, unkempt room, which appeared quite small. He smiled at the thought of how many humans were turned away from the Master's temple by the illusion.

Then, he closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. It had to be empty and serine, or else the illusion would blind the true view of the scene. After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes.

The temple was now deeper and broad, and was now in a wide room, with two tall torches on either side of the room, magic white flames endlessly glowing. The floor was a soft wood, and a thick wool carpet traced a path across the floor to another wooden portal in front of him. He continued forward, sensing now a powerful entity was aware of his presence. He knew that powerful entity: it was Master Odenshinaro. He was through the portal before him.

Rhoin slowed his footsteps, respective to the honorable space he was about to enter. He entered the room, and slowly knelt on the wooden floor, across the room from a figure positioned upon the ground. He withdrew his weapons from his sides and back, and laid them to the side. He felt a powerful observation upon him as he was doing this Elvin custom.

Rhoin looked up at the figure. In grand robes and light, wood made-made armor, as well like Rhoin with equally grand weapons laid to his side, sat positioned an ancient wood elf, looking into Rhoin's eyes. Rhoin felt understood, as the powerful wood elf sensed his troubled thoughts, about the black knights he met in the woods that night. About his brothers, his father. A feeling of peace purged Rhoin's thoughts, and he knew that the Master was about to speak.

"I, too, have seen these warriors, these mysterious enemies," came the soft, serine voice, which seemed to have behind it the hardiness of an ancient warrior, of the Master. Rhoin did not utter words, but still had confused thoughts in his mind. He sensed with clarity that the Master was lacking understanding, too.

"Rhoin," the Master cut through Rhoin's thoughts.

Rhoin straightened up in his kneeling position, peering toward the Master. "Anything, Oh Master Odenshinaro," he replied with sincerity, knowing something was being requested of him.

For a moment the Master's eyes twinkled with a respect Rhoin still didn't comprehend. Then the wood-made Master spoke.

"Reports from some scouts show that these enemies sail across the sea at the dead of night, landing on the northern shores of Windpass Isles, where humans hold domain, near their hamlet known as Hunter's Grove." Rhoin noted the mention of humans, but did not feel the disrespect that was intended of the previous mention by the outside wood made guards. The Master truly viewed Rhoin as a wood elf. But not taking up this brief but perceivable thought, the Master continued.

"Being that you are human in form," the Master's eyes again showed a moment of true respect, as though reassuring Rhoin, "You are chosen to pass through the human domains, follow the enemies upon their own ship, to their own land. And find their true intention. Once you have discovered their truth, then return.

"Your party will include two human followers. Tthey must know the land well and have the ability to guide you to where you need to go. You must choose this team by the following day, and leave that night in proceeding with this mission."

With deepest honor and respect, Rhoin accepted formally this order with a low bow, until his head touched the floor. He slowly rose again upright upon his knees, facing the Master. "As you request, my true Master - my will is yours."

The made master looked upon Rhoin, as he bowed once more, belted his weapons to his side, and arose to his feet. Rhoin stepped backward of the room—by doing so not turning his back to the Master—and as soon as he reached the doorway, turned, and left the Master's presence. With an insuppressible feeling of pride, Rhoin sensed a slight peace in the Master, a peace Rhoin permitted by accepting this mission. The Master trusted him.

Rhoin's made level focus diminished with troubled thoughts. As he walked through the grand temple, the enchanted illusion enveloped the true appearance of the room—Rhoin's lack of concentration allowed it, though still he did not seem to notice that he walked through a dank dusty room with a rotted out floor—the illusion—as he headed to the exit.

Rhoin focused his energies, taking deep breaths of the cool, forest air, concentrating with closed eyes. He placed his fisted hands against each other before his chest and, articulating magic words, generating the spell of Swift Body. He released the spell, and his body filled with a feeling as if light as a cloud. The leaves below his feet crackled, as his body no longer displaced its full weight upon the ground.

It was a long lasting spell, a spell learned in the Odenshinaro Brotherhood teachings. Rhoin took to the spell well, making common use of it in his travels.

Rhoin pushed forward, and with little effort, bolted faster than any common beast could in that forest. Swerving around a few trees, he kicked off into the air, hurtling over a pit in the ground. He jumped farther than intended, and was speeding toward a tree. He pivoted, and kicked off of the tree, darting himself toward the ground, whence he landed lightly, and continued on.

Thoughts were racing through his head as fast as he traveled. Two humans? Who would he take? He frowned in thought as the ground rose in front of him in a hill, which did not hinder his great speed. Who did he know? Surely he was human, but did not live with humans since a young age! And even then, did not travel much.

The hill climaxed, and dipped sharply from under him, at which point he leapt into the air, the ground descending below him.

His family. But Father was gone! The thought made him frown darker still, as the wind cut around his soaring body. Maybe his brothers knew someone who could help him?

His feet hit the ground and he took off again tirelessly at the magic enhanced speed. The forest cleared off, and a dirt road steered out of Rhoin's path to the left and right. Rhoin turned sharply, his magically lighter self then sliding a distance, to follow the road. He continued on, dust clouding in his wake.

Down!

Instinctively, Rhoin rolled to the side, out of the path of an arrow, which thudded into a tree near him. He skidded to a stop, and turned to face the attackers, drawing his deadly Elvin blade for battle. But all he saw was the long, narrow cloud of dust that was his running path, and the quiet trees forming the sides of the dirt road.

The quiet. It was too much. Something was wrong.

Be calm, Rhoin thought to himself. He focused. He detected simple, enemy minds along the forest edge and up in the trees. Who were they?

Rhoin kicked straight up, shooting with enchanted momentum into the air, three arrows striking the ground he stood upon a half-second before. He looked down below, as he started descending, for any enemies. They were well hidden, and he still did not see them as he landed.

"I am not here for a fight!" Rhoin called out, upon landing. He had his attention on his Master's mission. He could not be deterred.

"Then drop your weapons, and come easy!" cried a harsh, commanding voice from the wood. Rhoin looked in the direction of the voice's origin, not seeing anything in the dark.

"I will not do such bidding for cowards who dare not show faces!" Rhoin said back, blade still battle ready.

In answer, another arrow streamed forward, to which Rhoin detected beforehand and craftily dodged, it missing harmlessly. Rhoin dared to close his eyes for a moment to concentrate, to locate his enemies spiritually, when he could not physically.

One was not ten paces in front and to the right of him—another directly above him in the tree. And another one close to him. Rhoin sensed almost a dozen men!

"Thieves," Rhoin muttered under his breath, as he concluded to launch in attack upon his hidden foes. "Worthless bandits!" Rhoin called out to his hidden foes. He loathed bandits—taking innocent lives for unearned money and goods. And in that moment the calm concentration indoctrinate of the Odenshinaro kind was subverted by his human-side emotions, the loathing of thieves. He darted toward the tree where he sensed his first enemy. He rolled beside it, dodging a slashing knife which swung out behind it, and slashed backward, laying open his enemy with his keen blade. With a bloody gasp, the figure crumpled to the ground. Rhoin kicked up off the ground, slashing again upward toward the second enemy, intending to slice his neck but taking his head and arm with it, which fell gruesomely from their places and bounced dead upon the tree trunks, falling to the ground below.

Still rising upward in magical speed, blade drawn, Rhoin grabbed onto a large branch with his free hand to swing out of the target of four spraying arrows.

His direction was now downward, and as he plummeted to the ground below he closed his eyes for an instant and concentrated, locating his next targets. For what was a fraction of a second later he opened his eyes and drew his blade back. As he hit the ground he rolled with the same speed generated from the fall, and another deadly arrow pinned the spot where he had landed barely a moment before. As he sprung forward from his roll he brought his sword around in a slash and struck true another thief who with a muffled cry fell backward lifeless from a deep wound in his chest.

"Are you all so willing to die tonight?" Rhoin said fiercely to the remaining thieves, still hiding in the dark. Both to Rhoin's disappointment and content, he heard several pairs of hasty retreating footfalls becoming distant into the night forest.

Another brief moment of concentration with closed eyes revealed no remaining foes.

It was not the practice of an Odenshinaro warrior to fight such pointless battles for self-defense. Rhoin recalled this principle and felt a small twinge of regret. This was definitely a poor demonstration of an Odenshinaro. "Well," he thought aloud to himself, "Nor is it the practice to let oneself be killed."

Satisfying himself with this conclusion, he again took off, the Swift Body spell still affecting him great speed.

The night's blackness had surrendered to the first signs of dawn, a dark blue color creeping along the sky's eastern horizon, a horizon that Rhoin could only see jagged slivers of through the thick forest he was traversing.

A couple hours later, the sun rose fully, and Rhoin was near Seften's farm. To the small wheat field half mowed he did not see Seften; the remaining surroundings did not reveal Paetoric. With that, Rhoin entered the small, rough wooden structure to see Paetoric and Seften leaning over a table, conspiring below hearing level, when they noticed Rhoin's entrance, and looked up at him. Rhoin, not knowing what to say, strode slowly over to the table and sat down, his blade at his side thudding against his chair.

"How is Father?" Paetoric asked hopefully. But Rhoin indeed did not know. He heaved a sigh, seeming to contemplate the surface of the table.

"Father seems alright," answered Rhoin, unknowingly, still looking down.

"Is that...blood?" Paetoric asked, and Seften looked up, startled. Rhoin reached up and wiped his face clean of dried blood speckles, looking at his now soiled hand. "Aye, it is," Rhoin answered. "But not my own. I got in a fight in my travels here. Thieves. Worry not, as I am fine, and definitely more alive than the most of them."

Before Paetoric and Seften could ask further questions of this, Rhoin interjected. "I need your help," he began. Paetoric and Seften awaited further words of Rhoin, in serious tone. "Do you know of a guide that could lead me to Northern Windpass Isles, to the hamlet of Hunter's Grove?" he inquired.

Paetoric and Seften looked at each other, then looked back at Rhoin. "Other than ourselves, no," said Seften. Paetoric shrugged in agreement.

Rhoin nodded solemnly, again contemplating the surface of the rather plain, rough- sawn table. He had to find human guides by the end of this night. It was but morning, but why waste the hours of an entire day looking, when there was nowhere else to look? He knew that he had already determined what he was to do. He looked up at Paetoric and Seften. "I need you two to guide me as far as Hunter's Grove. When we get there, you are to travel directly back to the farm. Understand?" he said.

Paetoric and Seften, looking puzzled, shook their heads. "No," Seften answered, "but I've a feeling that you aren't going to inform me in the near future as to why you need to be lead to that rather insignificant hamlet?" he ended, pointedly.

Rhoin shook his head. "Pack lightly but preparedly," was his only response.

Drewth walked down a dimly torch-lit corridor quickly, despite the lightweight enchanted but still encumbering armor, which he bore lightly upon his brawny body. He reached a spiral of maroon carpeted stone steps, and with the same speed ascended them, this spiral staircase better lit with abundant wall sconces, magically aflame. He turned into another plane corridor as the last one, but this one ended in a long high room with a grand but unpolished marble table, though this room was as well dimly lit, partly due to the desolation of it being a seldom used room of the castle, partly due to the occupant's secretiveness within it. For at the end of the marble table stood Syndirin, the King's Arbiter, bony tall body blanketed with a rich blue Wizard's robe, turning an empty jeweled wine glass slowly in his thin hands.

Drewth paused before the doorway. "You summoned, M'Lord?" said Drewth to the Wizard, who seemed far away in thoughts.

Syndirin, after a couple slow revolutions of the royal wine glass in his hand, replied boringly, "Indeed, I did summon you, Drewth," another slow, thoughtful revolution of the glass, "ome over here, and be seated." With that, Drewth approached and sat upon a high-backed chair with thin gilded designs, eyes not leaving his Lord.

"What is your purpose in life, Drewth?" Syndirin questioned, slowly.

Drewth resisted fidgeting, trying to understand and answer the question, but being rather obviously confused, he replied, "What do you mean, M'Lord?"

Syndirin's thin shoulders beneath the grand robe bobbed slightly as he silently chuckled. He turned with a sigh, setting down the empty jeweled glass, and sat upon a chair, bent over the cold marble table. He crossed his skeletal hands upon the table, staring over them at Drewth. "What do you wish to accomplish?" he questioned.

"What is your dream, your goal?" he demanded further.

Drewth seemed rather abashed but cleared his throat and swallowed, "To—to serve the Kingdom, and his Lordship Syndirin, M'Lord," he began, uneasily. "To uphold my honor as the Arbiter's Second and to do whatever my duties require of me, M'Lord!"

Syndirin's eyebrows lowered, as he seemed to be contemplating Drewth, trying to read something that Drewth could not determine what.

"What if I," began Syndirin, pausing slightly to find the right words, "Could give you power?" he finished.

Drewth peered upon Syndirin questioningly. "I know not what you mean, M'Lord?"

Syndirin uncrossed his hands and stood up, slowly rising to his full height. He looked down upon Drewth, and glanced at the corridor leading into the room, seeing that it was providing no eavesdropping, and looked again down upon Drewth. "Those with power are destined to rule, Drewth. I am of powerful magic and soon you shall rise with such power, being it your potential.

"Drewth. Do you understand the opportunity, the destiny for the both of us?" Syndirin uttered.

Drewth only looked upon Syndirin, dumfounded, and so Syndirin continued. "The Gods can rule as they are of power. We are of power, too – why cannot we ourselves rule lands? Why cannot we, so close to Kingship ourselves, ourselves be the Kingship? And beyond?

"I ask of you to contemplate these thoughts that I have contemplated, and to join me in my actions to fulfill what is destined for Gaedia. Drewth, be home now and speak no word of our meeting, else I declare you a liar to those you would tell, and defame and depower you.

"Yet I trust you, Drewth, not to tell anyone. Come, now, dream as I dream of being true Kings of Gaedia, and taking this Kingdom with us to power! Drewth, what say you?" he demanded earnestly, slamming his fist upon the table, the abandoned empty wine glass falling over from the shock of the strike.

Drewth was completely stunned. These were communications and contemplations he had never dreamt of, which seemed so wild but righteous, new ideas that churned in his mind to the effect of him being speechless.

"Leave now, and do as I say, of forgetting this meeting until we meet again. And then meeting again you shall answer me, yay or nay, at which point I will either allow you to stand by me or dispatch of you forever."

Drewth rose, almost swaying in baffled ponderings. He wordlessly, without his usual standards of courtesy toward Lord Syndirin, turned and left the room, his own blue Arbiter's Second cloak sweeping behind him down the exiting corridor.

Rhoin had changed out of his Elvin battle outfit into a more admissible set of human clothing, borrowed from Seften, to blend in more, serving the purpose of having been on his mission. His walk was still skillfully controlled and balanced as a Wood Elf, which would arouse suspicion; however as he traveled with his two brothers, it went beyond notice.

"What is it like, being among Elves?" Seften suddenly asked.

"Wood Elves," Rhoin corrected Seften, and proceeded to explain as he had explained to Paetoric the morning after the battle with the rouges. All the long, Seften silently listened, taking in all of the data. After Rhoin had finished, Seften proceeded with his own statement on the subject.

"So secret is the existence of these Wood Elves that it is known only as a myth. I have heard from my customers of those who had set out to search for Wood Elves either never to return or return unsuccessful."

Rhoin instructed, "And so it should remain secret. However I find it incorrect to keep secrets from my brothers, to the same degree that I believe you should keep the secrets of mine from others. Tell no one." Seften and Paetoric both acknowledged Rhoin's words.

For days the three traveled, stopping at several inns, for which Paetoric paid for with his money pieces he received from his father Gyle before he was inducted back into Royal service. Finally they were but few miles from the hamlet of Hunter's Grove, and Rhoin began stirring the thoughts in his head, how to turn his brother's away from him before he reached the dangerous part of his mission, searching out and infiltrating the enemy's ship, for he was trained in stealth and assassination, whereas his brothers were definitely nothing more than smithy and basic farming.

Seften must have detected Rhoin's contemplations for he spoke up. "Rhoin," said he. "Soon you will have us depart?"

Rhoin nodded. "Yes, brother," and hesitatingly, "I am on somewhat of a dangerous task, for which I have training to manage, and for which you two do not. I am nearer to danger than you think, and so that is why I ask you two to turn away, when I do ask. I can tell you no more of this task.".

Seften and Paetoric made no attempt to interrogate Rhoin.

The trees on either side of the barely visible road grew thicker and closer as they proceeded, and the road became more visible and solid. The path elevated, and then dipped away to reveal the small structures of Hunter's Grove hamlet.

"Here we are," said Rhoin. At this, all stopped in their tracks. Paetoric and Seften were waiting unwillingly to be dismissed by Rhoin, yet instead, Rhoin decided otherwise. "But," Rhoin began, "Travel with me into this town,"—he indicated it—"and we shall have one more company before we split ways."

The brothers plodded down the descending dusty road, except for Rhoin, who naturally maintained his light footing. As they proceeded, the small structures became more identifiable.

There was a small brown church with barely two floors and a stout steeple topped with a rusty cross, a few small houses here and there with thatched roofs, sometimes tile roofs, a few scattered trees about, and the hamlet surrounded by either hills or forest, seeming to limit the occupation from expanding outward, but yet it never would, being a rather unpopulated hamlet. And there, almost across from the church, was a tavern with a small second floor that was probably rooms for travelers to rent.

The three entered the Hunter's Grove hamlet and walked into the tavern's small, rickety double doors, to be greeted by dim lighting, scattered thick wooden round tables with empty chairs save a few, and a tall bartender with black hair and dark eyes, polishing out glass tumblers behind his counter. Rhoin, through his Spiritual sense, detected something subtly enigmatic about this bartender, despite the bartender's simplified appearance, but heeding no signs of his suspicion, proceeded to the polished, but badly lit, bar. He scraped up a stool and sat upon it, his brothers doing like-wise.

"What can I do you for?" asked the bartender cheerily, a cheer not reflected in the tavern environment.

Rhoin again paid no notice but remained suspect. "Just travelers on our way," replied Rhoin. Rhoin sensed mischief behind him, but heard neither sound nor movement. It was very skillfully quiet and unnoticeable, Rhoin noted.

Rhoin watched the bartender for his indications of happenings behind Rhoin, such as eye movement, but the bartender gave no such indication. Rhoin concentrated for a moment, pretending to close his eyes in a tired sigh, and sensed a presence drawing closer behind him, not in danger, but in that same "innocent" mischief.

Rhoin turned and clutched a sly hand that was reaching for his knife hidden on his belt, and turned further to face the covert thief. It was a young, tall boy, again with long black hair and dark eyes, features showing him to be the son of the bartender. Being caught in the act as he was, his face was calm and cheerful like the bartender, showing no guilt, as if his thwarted crime did not exist or could never be proven.

"Bring a stealing hand near me and you will lose it, thief," Rhoin warned aloud.

But the thief blinked and showed an innocently confused expression, replying craftily, "I know not what troubles you, traveler, but I assure you it is nothing of me." Rhoin let go the boy's hand, and they boy proceeded to reach it by Rhoin toward his father, the bartender, who then handed him a rag innocently and still cheerfully. The boy clutched the rag, smiled at Rhoin amicably and said, "I wish you safe travels, and you are welcome back to the Hunter's Grove tavern any time." The boy walked off, and began wiping a table with the rag. The bartender seemed to heed no notice of the boy's prevented thievery, setting three tumblers down before the three brothers, and filling them with creamy country ale.

Rhoin drank some of the cool, bittersweet ale, and set his tumbler down. It was soon time to dismiss his brothers and continue his perilous mission on his own. He and his two brothers drank the ale in silence, until Rhoin spoke up. "I now must dismiss of you two, Paetoric and Seften. I thank you for taking me in and helping me, as brothers would; but now it will be too dangerous a journey and I will not put you two in such danger."

Paetoric and Seften stared glumly at the polished counter, as if contemplating their dim reflections upon its glossy surface. "It was nice seeing you again, brother," said Seften. "And I shall remember to keep my promise of keeping your secret," he added.

"Aye, and I thank you. Now goodbye, and I shall come back when I am finished. Wish me luck, aye?" And to that, Paetoric and Seften raised their tumblers to Rhoin, finishing the remaining contents off to the toast.

"Good luck, brother!" they hailed to Rhoin as he left the lonely tavern out the door with his own pack slung upon his back.

Rhoin had traveled out of the town, up a hill, and when he passed it's crest and descended it, out of the village's view, he bore off into the thickening wood, and changed into his Wood-Elvin attire, discarding his human clothing. Equipping himself with an arsenal of Elvin assassination weaponry, he proceeded onward, staying to the wood for camouflage.

Proceeding northward in silence and alertness, he soon smelled open water – he was nearing the coastline. He now became more silent, more alert, and kept his mind open to detect nearby enemies.

For long minutes he continued onward stealthily, footing like that of a silent forest predator, sneaking up upon an enemy he as of yet had not seen.

He reached the end of the wood, the ground dipping abruptly into a rocky coastline. This must be the location that Master Odenshinaro had indicated. It seemed secluded enough a shoreline and location that it would be unnoticed at nighttime – the enemy must be arriving at night- time, then. Rhoin noted that the sun was descending now, and it was but a few hours until the daylight surrendered to the horizon, so he concluded that he would simply have to await the nightfall. He sat down and began his Elvin meditation spell, to recollect his focus and power in the Spirit Element.

The sun descended, until the sky was painted first a lustrous yellow-gold, and then a blood red, to a deep blue hue and then a dead black. Rhoin expanded his sphere of awareness to take in any who may draw by. He sensed someone from behind, approaching. He concentrated – it was a secretive pace, as if that someone did not want to be discovered. He watched that someone's mind – it was definitely not someone he had met before. Twisted thoughts – it was definitely someone with ill intentions. Then two other minds came into his perceptions, traveling behind this first person, but at a careful distance. They were following this first person. He concentrated again – Oh, no, it was Seften and Paetoric! What were they doing?

Rhoin opened his eyes and turned around without making a sound even of broken twig or cracking leaf, and inspected the darkness. He could see the figure about a hundred paces away, bearing a torch. He could see that he was dressed in a black hooded cloak, stalking hurriedly but secretively toward the coastline, and judging by his path, would pass right by Rhoin. Rhoin crouched behind brush and waited.

The man was ten paces away now, and Rhoin could see by the facial features and clothing that this man was definitely not of Windpass Isles. He could also see a bulge of a protruding sword hilt beneath his cloak. This man was armed.

The man passed by without seeing Rhoin, only a few paces away from Rhoin, on the other side of the brush that Rhoin was behind, and continued out of the dark wood into the pale moonlit rocky coast.

Then, anxiously, he listened to the cracking of twigs and scraping of hands and knees on dirt, and muffled hearing-level complaints and counter complaints and clattering weapons of his two brothers, following the man! How they had gone unnoticed was a mystery to Rhoin, but seeing their faces come into view, he could see their anxious yet excited expressions.

He silently crept around the brush to behind his two brothers, and quickly put his hands over their mouths, muffling their protest until he hushed them and identified himself, and then let go of their mouths, pushing them closer to the ground to be out of any view of the man with the torch.

"Rhoin, that man – he looks and stinks like one of those brigands who attacked me that time!" said Paetoric in whisper. "We followed him, and he did not notice! Just like the good old games we used to play of 'Thief Around The Town'!" Seften was grinning boyishly, clutching his scythe.

"That was very dangerous – I need you two to head back now! This is the enemy, and more may be coming!" Rhoin demanded in rebuke.

But he hushed them, and all crouched lower, as a dark ship with black sails, apparently having materialized from the darkness, cut through the water silently to the shore, where the cloaked man awaited. Rhoin noted to himself that somehow he had to sneak aboard that ship and follow the enemies back to their origin, as Master Odenshinaro instructed. The ship slowed, and threw out two anchors to keep the ship from crashing to the shore, steadying the ship a few paces from the rocky shoreline. A ladder lowered over the side, and the man with the torch stayed upon the rocky coast. Two other lightly armored men – their armor was completely black – climbed down the ladder and waded through the seawater up the steep coast. The three men began conversing silently to each other, and the cloaked man raised his torch so as to light their surroundings. Then all three men started heading away from the coast – directly toward the hiding place of Rhoin and his brothers!

Rhoin thought quickly. He concentrated briefly with eyes closed, searching for the three men's minds. He could not concentrate on all three at once; they were each complicated human minds, not simple animal minds, and his ability was not developed sufficiently. So he picked the man with the torch. He generated a Fear spell, and put a mental picture with it of possibly being discovered. He threw the spell into the man's mind, and opened up his eyes to watch the effect.

The man staggered back, eyes wide open in anxiety, and he gulped. The two armored men looked down upon him, questioningly. Rhoin heard the man utter that he feared the possibility of having been followed, and the two armored men drew daggers and peered into the dark forest in which the three brothers had been hiding. This is not the effect that Rhoin had intended!

The two armored men stalked into the wood, searching for such possible followers, and the cloaked man had his sword drawn, but was much more in fear and lagged behind, being still under the effect of Rhoin's Fear spell. Rhoin did not have time to meddle with sorcery to turn the soldiers away, but drew two wicked curved knives, preparing for battle.

A half dozen more armed soldiers, having noticed the activities of the other two armored soldiers, scrambled down the ladder on their ship's side and crashed through the water with swords drawn, up the coast. Rhoin cursed silently – this was getting out of hand, and he would have to safeguard his brothers.

He turned to his brothers and whispered, "Turn and run, you two, to safety! A battle is about to begin that I cannot keep you safe from!"

But his brothers only clutched their weapons that they had brought with them—Paetoric his mysterious halberd and Seften his wickedly bladed scythe. Their looks, initially excitement, then worry, now were grave. "We are not leaving," retorted Seften.

"We will fight together!" Paetoric declared.

"Who goes there?" demanded a close, bulky armored man into the darkness, in the direction of the three brothers. He had heard their voices.

Clutching his large dagger in a gauntleted hand, he approached the source of the voices. "Out with yeh, 'fore we consider you enemies and have to kill yeh!" he warned.

Rhoin had no choice but to surrender. They were now too close to outrun, and Rhoin could not keep his brothers safe while fighting eight armed soldiers. If he was to fight, he might live or die, but his brothers definitely would be killed.

He arose into view of the soldier, the torchlight exposing him completely. "I shall come easy, for I desire no battle," he said, yielding. He demanded the same of Paetoric and Seften. "Why are you doing this?" Paetoric demanded. "You can fight, I've seen you! You fight like a devil!"

"But I cannot keep you safe. Do as I do, and live," he said, and below the hearing level of the approaching enemies coming to take them, he whispered, "I'll figure a way out of this," as a sword point was directed but inches from his neck by the cloaked man, who still was slightly trembling.

Paetoric and Seften reluctantly, but without resistance, gave up their weapons. Their hands were bound by rope behind their backs, including Rhoin, as they were taken aboard the black ship at sword's point as prisoners of the unknown enemy. The ship's anchors were drawn, and the ship sailed away in the night sea breeze.

The three brothers were locked in a small prison cell in the belly of the ship, for what must have been seven days. They were completely disarmed, and had so much trouble finding all of Rhoin's concealed weapons that they ordered him to strip and gave him a smelly set of sackcloth pants and a huge stained shirt to wear instead. Food was fed into a slot under the bars—behind which the party was imprisoned—twice daily, a miserable gruel and gruel-sogged bread that left them helplessly hungry despite forcing the terrible foods down. Despite any protests or demands for answers from the guard who regularily brought their food were answered by either a grunt, indifferent silence, or kicking the pan of food under the door so that the wretched contents spilt over the prison floor. Rhoin had searched the walls for weak points, and gave several unsuccessful attempts at picking the lock, which ended up being an enchanted lock that Energy shocked Rhoin severely to the point where he was unconscious for several hours. They were prisoners to an unknown enemy.

XXXXX

Chapter Nine

A Dream of Storms

SITTING UPON THE HARD floor, Seften was gazing out from his cell, contemplating. What he was contemplating, neither brother knew; for past the cell's confining bars a few paces was the wooden hull wall of the prison ship, and no, this was not absorbing his attention.

But not was his gaze upon this wall; he hardly noticed it to be there. He was seeing again, but not with his vacant, dreaming eyes.

The distant horizon sky was the dirty brown a dusk could stain it. The winds were dragging in a northerly direction, cold winds they were, and on the southern horizon, warm, calm winds were pulling in to displace them. It seemed that once again it would be a peaceful night up there in the skies...

Up, up he rose again, soaring into the sky, the lower and higher hemispheres, ascending layers of the sky, seemed like echelons of his ascension, until he was level with the far distant clouds, seeming like distant islands of gray and black, upon an ocean of air.

He concentrated to the approaching south winds, and found no storms within it. He felt to the retreating north wind, finding the energy of a storm permeating it...

What if the storm should come, and sweep away his imprisoning ship below? Wrecked at sea, they could escape and swim to safety, couldn't they, he and his brothers? What a wondrous dream it would be for this to occur.

He reached into the southern horizon, reaching into their winds carrying away his wishful storms. "Come back to me" he found himself crying, with a voice not of his own. He felt as if the sky had frozen for one second, the black clouds of the northern storm billowed up as miles of it seemed to halt upon itself. Electrical power hummed in the air about him, and the black thunder clouds soon angrily rolled toward him, icy winds screaming at him, lightning slicing the night about him, with the warm winds to the south sped up from a drag to a roar and went from it's calm warmth to a dangerous hot, and like an onslaught of to apposing armies, the cold storm and the hot winds clashed, tearing apart the peace that once was the waters and the night.

Seften awoke from a skidding crash into the prison wall. A deep, painful groan of the ship's wooden body sounded as the stormy sea pushed it around. "What is happening?" yelled Paetoric, pulling himself against the prison bars to save from sliding around.

"Storm!" Rhoin replied, bracing himself as well. "And a bad one!"

They heard yells of men above and pounding waves through the ship's hull walls, and booming thunder laughing upon the terrible fate of the seafarers. Several long hours of ship tossing in storm passed, and the sea calmed again.

Seften spoke not to either of his dream, but he could feel Rhoin's curious eyes upon him, who might have detected something with his heightened Elvin awareness, but Seften would hint nothing.

XXXXX

Chapter Ten

Their New Prison

FINALLY THE TIME HAD COME. The heavyset guard came thumping down the ladder toward the prison cell, his chain mail around his rotund middle clinking softly, but he did not carry a tray of food. He stood before the cell, contemplating his prisoners, who were trained into apathetically ignoring him until he passed by and went away, but this time he did not leave, and the imprisoned three looked up at him. Two other guards came down behind the first, and positioned themselves next to him, and then the first guard slid an iron key into the enchanted lock, turning it until it disengaged and opened. He swung the heavy prison gate open, and the three large guards crowding into the prison cell.

They roughly bound Rhoin, Paetoric and Seften in shackles. "Think any of these'ns 'll have information?" grunted one of the guards to the other, speaking as if none of the brothers were really there, hearing.

"There's only two ways'f findin' out," one guard grinned nastily with yellow teeth, as he locked shackles onto Seften's wrists, "Killin' 'em or torturing 'em to death!"

Aren't those the same thing?" Seften snorted at the inhumane yet witless line. Rhoin shushed him with a warningful stare.

The other two guards chuckled at the guard's threats, and all of the brothers were wrenched from their cell through the small cell door way.

They were brought out of the ship into the beginnings of daylight, and could see the features of the land that they were in. It was very much like Windpass Isles, except for the people that they had met thus far, who had a certain rough type of accent. The ship was docked at a military port; such a port had no trade happening on it, only military or royal ships of small to grand sizes. The three were forced off of the ship onto the broad dock, and made to march on in shackles down the dock to solid ground. Paetoric could recognize the land. "Gaedia," he uttered to his brothers. "I recognize the accent of those rogues aboard the ship. It is western Gaedian tongue."

Seften looked up. "Were we not at peace with Gaedia since the wars of many years ago that Torius talked of?" he indicated.

One of the strange soldiers that were pulling him along overheard him and gave him a vicious tug on his chain, which caused his shackles to badly scrape his wrists. "Shut up, yeh – else we do our killin' quick en' painful, right 'ere!" he threatened Seften, gripping his sheathed sword's hilt.

They were marched on down a trail among thick wood, the trail broad but twisting, until a stout small military castle came into view, with sentinel guards posted atop it's stonewalls. Small black windows along the walls seemed like many eyes looking out for enemies.

They were lead up to a wooden gate, twice the height of a man, and one of their imprisoning guards yelled up, "Prisoners to be questioned!" at which point a thud and scrape of enormous locks and groaning of heavily weighted hinges had the great doors opening inward.

The brothers were pulled inside and through the castle grounds into a doorway at the base of one of the castle's stout towers. They were lead down a set of stairs, through an underground corridor, passing through several gates, each one having to be unlocked, the party lead through, and then locked again, and then they were turned into another doorway, and down, down, down many stairs on a circular stone staircase, until they reached their prison.

They were in a long stone hallway, badly lit by a few dim enchanted red torches, which cast poor lighting in each cell, each cell separated by a wall of rock, with rusty metal barred doors and crude iron locks that appeared similar to the enchanted lock that imprisoned them aboard that sailing ship.

The guards shoved them into their sand-floor prison cell and slammed the cell door shut, the slam resonating in their own cell as if pronouncing their fate to them. The lock was engaged, and the guards left them there.

XXXXX

Chapter Eleven

Not Alone

WHAT SEEMED TO HAVE BEEN DAYS - the three could not tell for there was no signs of daylight however deep in the castle they were – meager meals of old bread and water left them hungry, Paetoric and Seften had given up hope of attracting any sort of attention let alone help and had resorted to futile attempts of discovering escape from the prison, carefully avoiding the foreboding lock on the cell door based on the experience aboard the imprisoning ship. Rhoin, despite the insistence of his brothers, was unable to utilize his magic to aid escape, as the passing imprisonment had left him drained of any sort of magic energy, unable to recover.

Seften, the dirty sand wearing into his clothing and skin, along with the gaunt expression long days of hunger can impress upon one's face, looked more a worn prisoner along with Paetoric and Rhoin, who both suffered the same manifestations as he. He was on his knees, groping along the bottom of the crude stony wall, feeling for a loose stone or hole, when he thought he heard something. He pressed his ear against the wall hopefully to discern the sound, and waited in breathless silence, listening. A deep, groaning sound of what must have been a very large man. "Paetoric, Rhoin!" he called his brothers, "listen – another prisoner in the next cell over?"

Paetoric and Rhoin hasted over to Seften's side, pressing their own ears against the rocky cell wall. They listened to the painful deep groans. "Hey!" Paetoric yelled, "Hey – can you hear me? Are you okay, who are you?" at which point Rhoin silenced him so that they could listen for response.

There was a long silence, after which Paetoric and Seften groped and tugged at the jagged rocks of the wall in new hopes of finding a loose stone, an entry of communication to the person behind.

A jutting stone shifted slightly at Seften's push, then he and Paetoric shoved it back and forth, jarring it loose. The stone thumped upon the sandy prison floor. They clawed at the dark hole, peering into the unrevealing darkness to see the fellow prisoner. "Can you hear me, who are you? Hello?" Seften persisted earnestly.

Rhoin tugged Seften and Paetoric away from the hole suddenly, hushing them and pointing toward the small barred square window at the top of their cell door. The soft light played unevenly through the window, indicating that the torches casting the light had flames being moved by moving wind, and this was found to be from unknown persons walking by from the sounds of several pairs of walking feet. Judging by the sound of light armor clinking, Rhoin determined it to be guards.

The guards had apparently moved past their cell, stopping a ways down. One of them spoke. "So this is the one, eh?" said one guard.

"Aye, the one that was ordered to die in prison," responded another guard, indifferently. They were talking about the man in the next cell over! "He very much upset the Arbiter, he did. He gave the order personally to me!"

A clatter of a tin water dish sounded, and they heard the scraping of it being shoved underneath the cell door. "Well, let him rot, then," the first guard concluded. Their footfalls went back past the brothers' cell and disappeared in the distance. After determining that the guards had definitely left by a long silence, Seften kneeled in front of the hole in the wall and called out to the prisoner. No response. "Please, I am from Windpass Isles and have been imprisoned for reasons I do not know! What was your fate, may I ask?" again to the unresponsive prisoner.

Seften awaited response to no avail. He finally gave up, and slouched against the stony wall next to the hole.

"My name is Rin," grunted a very unrefined, deep voice form the other side of the hole.

Seften almost jumped in alarm, and then turned to face the hole, still not seeing the prisoner through the hole's darkness. "I am one of many that have been unjustly imprisoned here," Rin spoke.

"Have you tried escape, do you know how to get out of here?" Seften persisted.

Following a deep sigh, Rin replied, "No, I do not know how to escape, and I am only one of the few of my people who have tried. They are apathetic."

"Why – why are they apathetic, what happened?" Seften asked.

"It is our belief – a belief I do not assume myself, but the rest of my people do – that we exist only to earn redemption from the evils cause by our ancient ancestors. So the great many of us do not rebel imprisonment and punishment.

"It is very unjust and unfair upon oneself to live generation-to-generation believing this way; you have to move on or at least make up for one's wrongs. Am I wrong?" Seften agreed, and Rin continued. "The Kingship of Gaedia have imprisoned us, using us to their ends, by using our beliefs upon us, only I refused to agree. I was not the only rebel; the Gaedians removed the tongue from the mouths of every imprisoned one of us so that we could not speak out and protest, or rally to fight back."

"So," Seften began nervously, "they are to remove our tongues?" he finished asking.

"No," Rin gruffly answered. "Only my people. They are afraid only of us as prisoners and slaves."

"But how to you speak, with a tongue supposedly removed?" Seften inquired.

Another deep, throaty sigh, and Rin answered. "I pretended never to speak, never crying out, voicing nothing, and I passed among the other slaves and prisoners without having this mutilation done upon me. I risk talking to you now, prisoners, but I take this risk because I feel that perhaps you are with me, that you are friends in my cause."

Although separated by the stone prison wall, Rhoin, Seften and Paetoric had a new member of their party, Rin, still strange and questionable in character, but an ally.

XXXXX

Chapter Twelve

Resignment

"THIS IS WHERE I was promoted," Drewth said to himself barely above a grunt. He contemplated the rather plain, windowless, poorly lit conference room he sat alone in, which housed many an either informal or secretive gathering, with it's the long square wooden table before him with it's many equally square chairs tucked in desertedly along it's broad ends.

In a surge of unsuppressed exasperation of his doubts he brought his gauntleted fist down strongly upon the table, which in such a silent room produced an almost deafening noise. Further he contemplated his black plated fist, glinting in the soft, almost dead light of the ancient enchanted fire sconces, which were posted upon the room's walls. This armor he bore, a privilege of his rank, a metal magically tempered. The Dragon's Fire enchanted sword hanging from his side, with it's serpentine style hilt and an ominously glowing red jewel centered upon it, seeming to be an emblem of battle power, leading into it's viscously serrated black blade, a blade encased in a black dragon skin scabbard. Also a privilege of rank.

But what privilege, with what loss? This is what he forced himself to contemplate. Arigwhen, his love, feared for him now. He remembered their last being together, his confiding with her of his and Syndirin's plans, that yearning worry in her eyes, a worry for him, her, and their future. He promised her that he would resign from his duty, and not risk their lives on this career. But she was not with him now to, seemingly, sway his wishes and decisions – and how would he go about confronting Syndirin? Syndirin, who seemed so righteous in his conduct and dreams, dreams of uniting Gaedia and ruling it how it should be ruled.

Stirring him from his thoughts were quickly approaching footfalls of importantly echoing boots. The tall slender cloaked silhouette of Lord Syndirin entered the room.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," reproached Syndirin, peering at Drewth as he abruptly stood up from his seating.

Drewth hesitated any response. He never confronted or argued with Syndirin, his Lord - it was a conservatism inside himself he was now battling. "M'Lord," he began, "I seek conference with you on the matter of my career."

Syndirin frowned upon Drewth. "I see that you seek, seeing that I had to find you," he said contemptuously. "And what of your career? You are my Second! Making requests for further promotions already? Not until you prove your worth to me."

"I request to resign from my position, M'Lord."

Syndirin's composure was overcome with wordless aggravation, arrested in ponderous silence behind sealed thin lips and clenched jaw. He uttered nothing.

Drewth continued. "I do not see it a proper future for me, to forward your motives, M'Lord," and upon the unchanging but foreboding expression on Syndirin's face, he added justifiably, "I also seek the safety of my family, my wife, M'Lord."

At the mention of 'wife', Syndirin's still restrained mouth twitched. He was still glaring at Drewth, but with an ebbing temper. Thoughts were turning in his head; Drewth could see but not interpret.

Syndirin looked sternly and seriously at Drewth, nodding, his look still stern went from Drewth to the table, the chair, the wall, the faint torch, the floor, in contemplation, the only sound his boots upon the floor as he turned in place.

I do not grant this conference here and now, Drewth," Syndirin answered. "Allow me three days to consider your request," he said, examining the stones and rings upon his bony hand. Without waiting for acknowledgement from Drewth, Syndirin exited the room and disappeared down the exiting hallway, Drewth observing intently upon the retreating footfalls, the last flash of his cloak in the light of a dim torch, and then only seeing the hallway's distant darkness.

Syndirin was fuming inside, despite the stony look he froze upon his thin face. Such was his aggravation that he unwittingly generated his Dark magic aura in his clenched fists, and with rage stabbing out of his control he howled and through the magic at a pillar, causing an explosion of black mist, half of the pillar crumbling into gray cursed dust as he heedlessly passed by.

"I had dreams that involved your aide, fool!" he spat at Drewth who was not present. "You were going to be powerful, I knew it..." Aggravation swallowed further words, an aggravation that boiled down to spiteful contempt as he proceeded down the hallway into the better lit – the non secretive – parts of the castle. Amongst a low ceiling hall of armor suits of defeated Kings he paused to eye the glinting blade of one of those King's swords. The ancient weapon glinted viciously, and that contempt shifted into the treacherous victory of a plot. "Of course..." he hissed sinfully to himself.

XXXXX

Chapter Thirteen

Wicked Betrayal

CONFUSION WAS TEARING Drewth's thoughts apart. As he made his way to his own small castle, the upgrade from his once outpost fort, one side of him was arguing with the other. Such that he was with himself that his horse was guiding itself by its memory to it's Master's home, with no aide from it's troubled Master.

His life he dreamed of being a Knight, a dream that evolved into a career, protecting his people, protecting the honor that was his name and Kingdom. And from there he realized with Syndirin that the Kingdom would need to be taken into the future, a higher level that it could be. A better Kingdom.

Betwixt the dreams was his passion for his wife, and for a second he hated her, but only for a second as his ponderings all swallowed up again in his confusion, his indecision.

His horse devotedly carried him home, although in that moment Drewth neither wanted home nor royalty, and indeed cared less where his horse carried him.

But arousing him from his worries were the familiar sounds of battle! He looked up, seeing his four-towered castle nearing him, and atop the ramparts fought viscously several rogue Driadons – the race of dragon-like men – against his soldiers that guarded the castle. He drew out his wicked black sword from his sheath, and whipped his horse's side with the blade's flat. The horse cried in pain of the blow but with rousing battle anger like his Master's, as the many battles they shared before. Drewth took off with his horse at full speed, thundering the final distance to his under-siege castle.

He glared at two of the Driadons climbing up the stony castle's wall side and changed his direction with a pull of the horse's reigns that were in one of his gauntleted hands, and ran along side the castle wall with sword drawn. With two bloody swipes of his keen serrated sword blade the two ascending Driadons grunted in instant death as they fell to the ground. "It is I, Drewth!" he roared above as he sped along the castle wall toward the main gates. "Open the gates for me!" he commanded. He edged away from the wall in his speed so that he could have vision of the closed gates he drew near. He heard the obedient clanging of straining chains drawing up the portcullis, and he leant down, urging his horse to move faster, which it did, pounding away the earth below it.

A Driadon raced in front of Drewth's path, and Drewth saw for an instant into its bright orange, enraged, dragon-like eyes. The Driadon raised with it's brawny Driadonian arms an axe for which to bring down upon Drewth, but Drewth's deadly sword was quicker, slicing through the Driadons leather armor and leaving it knocked upon it's back gasping blood.

Entering his castle he saw up upon the castle ramparts and amongst the grounds before him the confused fray the defense against a sudden onslaught of siege can present. As well, scattered below him the mangled dead of battle – his own soldiers' bodies as well as Driadonian bodies. Echoes of clashing steel, the yells of his men and the roars of Driadons meant the battle was still on, and Drewth charged on with sword in gauntleted fist.

Hidden in a Shadow's Cloak spell, with no seeming visibility, Syndirin surveyed the battle. He reflected upon his own cleverness – it was tricky to draw a Driadon raid of this magnitude and effect, tricky indeed. But he did accomplish the trick and well, he thought, and smiled unto himself – an incredibly remorseless grin that could no more be seen than the rest of him during the spell's effect.

He watched the strong character in black armor with a vicious sword drawn charge past him, the strong character that was Drewth, in his own attempt to defend his castle against the Driadons. He knew he had not to worry about Drewth's fate in his created siege, for Drewth was a powerful fighter, so he estimated not for his safety in his plot.

However, the baneful screams of Driadons slain under Drewth's fast, deadly sword drew Syndirin from his content into a state of concern. Drewth was turning the tide of the battle! He invisibly watched irritably as Drewth roared commands and organized an effective defense against the Driadons, summoning archers upon towers, leading his still standing swordsmen, axemen and spearmen.

A Driadon crumbled dead before Syndirin's feet from two striking arrows. He sneered at the dead Driadon before him, and looked up at the tower Drewth had resided in with his wife.

Drewth's wife—damn by the Gods that distraction! He looked menacingly up at the tower, a barrier for his success. Who knew that not by a sword or magic but by the sweetened voice of a lady could Drewth's attention be swayed? He knew—knew that Drewth would not leave her, nor she leave him.

By her blood he would have her taken from him. No more distraction.

His plans repeatedly foiled by the quick actions of Drewth's honed battle ability, not one Driadon ran into that tower! If those dirty Driadons would not do the job, he would have to do the dirty work on his own, Syndirin decided to himself. And with that he—unnoticed as an apparent shadow upon the ground—proceeded toward the door at the base of the tower.

The door was sturdy, and locked—by a magic lock? Syndirin raised his staff and pressed the end of it against the lock in question. He generated an Energy Blast spell —a common attack spell of any Wizard, only a more concentrated form of it—and the lock was obliterated in the shocking flash of light. Lowering his staff, he continued forth to press the heavyset door upon its hinges, and stepped through the smoke he created from the spell, toward the spiraling stars.

He passed several enchanted endless fire torches, and several doors, which he blasted open the same way he did the first door, and finally approached a door with a polished silver handle.

Ignoring any cautious thoughts that came to warn him as regards silver, one type of metal that naturally and powerfully accepts magic enhancements, he raised his staff against the handle, and shot an Energy Blast spell at it.

It resulted in a backfire as the magic door handle deflected the spell, the deflection narrowly missing Syndirin but instead smashing a hole through the tower wall.

He looked away from the failed spell's final result, the hole, and back toward the door handle. Thinking through his various spells, he recalled a terrible Curse spell that was meant to destroy weapons and armor, and generated it, the black halo that was the spell emanated from the tip of his staff unto the door handle. The black halo of light glowed threateningly around the door handle, wavered, and disappeared. The door handle, once brilliant silver, now was degraded into a tarnished, cracked, powerless metal. Syndirin clutched the handle and victoriously threw open the door.

The home of Drewth. Now where was the lady? But before Syndirin could search the answer to the question, from the next room over slowly strode the lady he was meant to kill.

With innocent, graceful steps, Arigwhen located herself across the entrance room from Syndirin. Her movement and body were still innocently beautiful, but her eyes did not reflect such innocence to Syndirin; they were beautiful, but cold and knowledgeable upon Syndirin, they peered.

In that moment Syndirin did not breathe or think, caught by wondering surprise. In her eyes there was no fear, but grave observance. His usual victims knowing they were to die, or his underlings or piers knowing his powers, always were in fear of him, which to him was rightful respect. But a lady, unarmed, powerless, defenseless, and about to die, could stand before him and look him in the eye.

He smiled his thin smile. "You must be Arigwhen, Drewth's lady?" he said, sinisterly but mockingly casually.

She did not likewise respond, but retorted coldly, "Lord Syndirin, I know of your evils, though Drewth did not speak of them in words. Powerless but not hopeless I demand that you release him from your influences!"

Before him was only space, and he would strike her with either his sword or his staff and she would lay dead. But he felt frozen in that instant. Then he smirked and laughed. "Pathetically weak, before me, an unarmed lady, undoing my teachings upon Drewth? I am building his character, paving a broad road of life before him, and you, somehow, lead him on to a life of fantasized happiness?"

Her only response was gazing back upon him in her own understanding, and then she spoke. "I know what you are here to do to me, and I have no defense against a Wizard as yourself. But my love will live on in Drewth and you shall fail! He will be your death, not your future! So strike, evil one, strike me down in death! But he shall only become perhaps stronger in vengeance. I shall stand here and accept my fate, but my question is, will you be able to accept yours?"

Again with his a thin, wicked smile, Syndirin lent his staff against the wall next to him, clutched his cursed dagger, and, walking toward the prone Arigwhen, he raised it above her. "I and no other am the maker of my own fate."

XXXXX

Chapter Fourteen

The Cursed Wound Which Wounded Two

DREWTH FELT A SUDDEN TWINGE of worry cross his mind, and the battles before him seemed to fade behind that worry – Arigwhen!

Turning away from his soldiers he ran unheeding of any danger toward his tower. A stray Driadon began chasing him but one of Drewth's archers skillfully struck him down with an arrow, and Drewth continued running. He remembered the powerful locked doors that no plain Driadonian weapon could penetrate, but still something worried him.

His heart froze cold in his chest as he saw the door of his tower – completely destroyed! He smashed the remains of the door from his path as he charged in, continued charging up the winding stairs.

Each door he passed was smashed open! How could any Driadon do this? The air in his lungs turned to ice as he saw his own home's door open, and the protective doors handle a ruined lump of metal.

Casting open the door, the scene before him brought him, despite his warrior- strength, weakly to his knees.

Before him lay the stricken body of his wife.

He somehow forced his own weakening self over to her side, clutching her body against his armored chest. "No..." he barely could utter, although his words were to be many more yet he had not the power to speak them.

"Let me die, and not her, any one with the power to allow this..." he tore his gauntlet from his hand and through his bared hand he attempted a Healing spell upon her wound. But oddly, the small white light that emanated forth was stained black upon contacting the wound, and his hand was shocked with pain. "It could not be," he growled. This was a cursed wound! No Driadon could do this...

But miraculously she came to a bare consciousness. "Drewth...." Barely above a whisper Arigwhen struggled to pronounce. Tears were welling in her fluttering eyes as she looked into Drewth's own eyes, full of more pain than hers. "Arigwhen, don't leave me..." he uttered, and kissed her passionately.

Against his lips her breath had faded, and her eyes then closed forever.

He attempted another Healing spell, but again the cursed wound deflected his spell and shocked his hand with pain. "Who could have done this?!" he roared uncontrollably.

And out of the corner of his eye he saw a very familiar staff, left by it's owner, leaning ominously against his home's wall. An anger stricken horror rose within and pronounced itself in a single spoken word: "Syndirin!!"

His senses were seemingly bathed in both shocking ice and painful fire.

All of the trust that lead him, the faith that empowered Syndirin's leadership? Syndirin, he, out of all the battles fought and won and blood that he shed with the sword given by him, he did such for him?

The thin smile that was Syndirin's face no longer seemed keen and respectable, but sinful and cruel, hiding behind it what wicked teeth.

Syndirin, the imposing and great teacher of Drewth. No, the misleader of him, it seemed, now. No—no longer was Syndirin his Lord and leader. All of the doubts that Arigwhen ever wordlessly expressed had made sense now, of the true evil purposes of Syndirin.

He held her against his chest, grieving; an attempt to reclaim something that was lost forever that he could not bear to lose. It seemed that every moment he ever had with her in his life possessed his waking thoughts, haunting him each in succession, telling the story that was their life unto her death. Could each of those moments, those memories, last forever? Why now, this new wicked memory, did cruelly occur as the final memory of her? Was she truly here, dead? Clutched to his chest, the only heart beating of the two was his own, weakly, painfully, emotionally, alone.

Lost in passion, he seemed to find himself pick up the body of his wife, and, staring at her emotionless face, carry her over to their bed. He wiped the blood from her pretty lips, and kissed them, as well as kissing each closed eye, a final goodbye to her in her endless slumber.

Many a life he had taken or seen be took in many a battle. The only understanding in such battles of life and death was that the enemy was to die. He heeded not the cries of fear or the final cry of death of any enemy; no, slay them he did pitilessly, and then they rested in death.

And lying still before him was another slain, an enemy of his enemy. Through the hundreds of past dead, none had affected him so as this one now, no. Why this death? Why had the killings of battles now have to claim this one, his Arigwhen?

The remorseless cold that arrested each painfully passing moment had washed over his entire life it seemed, so his future seemed just as lost and empty. For now what was the purpose of living without the beauty that graced such life? Why could not now the blade that struck her strike him, end himself who now did not desire to live further?

But his emotion seemed to die with Arigwhen, his other, darker emotions claiming him. The cold that was his forsaken life intensified into an icy anger, a ruthless rage. A new emotion came alive that only his ability to kill would sate. The wicked emotion then did kill all of his grief and apathy and did overcome all tears and weakness that had been along with grief and apathy's deepest tortures.

This emotion's name was vengeance. Vengeance with a thirst for the blood of Syndirin.

XXXXX

Chapter Fifteen

Burial of Fire

KNEELING STILL UPON THE FLOOR was Drewth, Arigwhen's body still held within his protective arms, her head resting against his chest, face pale in her demise, eyes and mouth shut, sealed that way forever. Her body was still warm, but the warmth was dissipating. Was this how he was to remember Arigwhen? Was this his final memory: her cooling corpse? No, Drewth decided. Her body will not be claimed by decay. In her name, in holding to the memories of her life and youthful beauty, she would not be let go in her current state and degraded further in her image. Drewth would love her enough to let go now, at this instant. He rose to his feet, and Arigwhen's body, resting in his grasp, he rose with him. He made way to another room: Drewth and Arigwhen's bedroom. This is where they rested together. So this shall be her final place of rest. He laid her body caringly upon the bed, the bedding depressing slightly as it received her weight from Drewth's arms transferring her upon it. He bent down and kissed her shut eyes and quiet mouth lightly, stroking gently her face with his hand as he contemplated it in their final moment. Then took one step away from the bed.

He pulled from his belt a small Fire Spell Stone, and activating it in his fist, the magic flames enveloped his hands, but not causing any pain to him, being the generator of the spell. With that hand he clutched the surface of the bed, and the flames brilliantly took to the bedding. He watched as the flames crawled upon the entire bed, enveloping Arigwhen's body, at which point he turned away to let the flames do their bidding in this funeral, a burial of fire.

With his back to, the final images of Arigwhen were only past memories of her laugh, her smile, her eyes, loving words and her kiss. In one way, Arigwhen died today. In another way, she lived on with Drewth: a transforming of wicked passion. His senses were aligned now with that only emotion left living in him - vengeance.

Haunted with hatred, Drewth clutched his Dragon's Fire sword, the Fire Elemental crystal emblem in its hilt glowed an angry fiery red from its owner's intensifying magic.

And out he left his burning home in search of his enemy.

XXXXX

Chapter Sixteen

The Thief and The Driadon

DANTE – POISON ELEMENTAL

Bestowed by heritage with abilities

of a life buried in the past

"Bartender's Son" is but a guise

of guises from whom Dante and

his descendants really were.

Dante, the young Thief Hunter,

With a sly yet still noble heart

Is destined in journey to unveil bloodline secrets

And restore in journey his bloodline's honor.

DAYS HAD PASSED of conversing with the mysterious Rin, or of silence, as Rin disguised his ability of speech from any approaching prison guard. One night (or maybe day, as they still could not tell), everyone silenced their selves carefully, as the telltale dancing of the low hall flame lights indicated approaching persons. But no clumsy footfalls of guards, clinking of their armor, or off-key humming of a random soldier sounded at all.

"Hello, boys!" came a cheery, familiar voice. Down fell outside the cell window the tall, wiry figure of the Hunter's Grove Tavern keeper's son!

He smiled down in through the cell window at the bewildered three brothers. The three, caught completely off guard, responded in no words but a look of surprise.

The expression of the young man's face went stern. "What a way of greeting help, right? Come all the way down here, and no welcome party!"

The boy looked upon Rhoin with his dark eyes, and beamed up again in a smile. "Hello to you, again!" he said.

"Very well on coming to help, boy," Rhoin began questioningly. "But how do you plan to free us?"

"I've a trick or two up my sleeve," the boy said with a wink.

"For my first trick: finding you! And I say, that was difficult!" he said mockingly, wiping pretend sweat from his brow. "Such skillful, non-stinking, clever guards they were, right?"

In response to his jester there was only a solemn silence. "Had we not been starved and imprisoned with beckoning death for these days and days, perhaps we would be lighter hearted," began Seften.

"However!" He wrapped the small prison barred "window" with his knuckles and banged a dirty food tray on the ground with his foot. "I assure you such imprisonment is not the case of lighter hearts!"

"Tsk, tsk!" the young boy shook his head sternly. "Well, a lesson in manners to a guest will be taught of you later. But for now!" he reached into a pocket beneath his vest, pulling from it a leather case, and shaking it before the face of Seften, "Let us leave this place. Shall we?"

The boy knelt down before the metal prison door and examined its lock, in a rather practiced manner. Rhoin noticed this peculiarity. "You seem to know what you are doing?"

The boy only shrugged, and continued peering into the lock. "It's not all to unfamiliar to me – ah ha!" he exclaimed, and pulled out three thin metal instruments from the leather pouch. "Tricky, but simple, this lock!" He inserted the instruments into the lock and began carefully prying in different directions, two of the instruments deftly held by one hand, the third one in the second hand.

The boy grunted and stumbled away from the lock as with a green glow and several soft pops, a few magically generated green darts successively fired from the lock's opening, striking him. "A m-magic lock!" he uttered, gazing down at his chest where three darts were sticking out. The three brothers grasped at the small prison window and starred fearfully at the boy, ready to watch him die.

But the boy plucked the darts from his body, and after briefly examining them, cast them aside. "Poison darts!" he said, grinning up at worried faces behind the prison door window.

But ignoring their perplexed expressions, he went right back to work on the lock.

Rhoin peered down at him. "How did you stand the poison?" he asked.

The boy, not turning up to answer Rhoin, but still looking to his work, stated, "I'm an Elementual."

"Poison!" Paetoric exclaimed. "You are a Poison Elementual!"

The lock made a metallic clicking noise, and the boy pulled the door open, now standing face to face with all three of the Me'Aer boys. "That is correct," he responded.

"It is unusual that several Elementuals happen together, being the decreasing commonness of Elementuals this day and age. Poison, Wind, Water, and Esperential."

The boy gave again his characteristic nonchalant shrug, and only said, "We're free. Let's go!"

Seften did not move. "Wait!"

His two brothers and the young thief turned back to look at him. "What about Rin?" He turned to the young thief boy. "You have the power to free him; he can come with us! Why leave him here to die?"

The two other brothers agreed, and so the boy strode over to the locked door that imprisoned Rin and knelt down to begin his work, the way he had the first locked door. With a sigh, he again pulled his lock pick set from inside his vest, examining the prison door lock knowledgably and began his careful work.

"Can we have our saviors name, or do we call you 'boy' always?" said Seften.

"Name's Dante," he responded, and with a delicate thrust of one instrument, that lock likewise clicked open, and he swung the door ajar.

Dante peered into the dark, his eyes first cast down, as though upon the prison floor, but then he moved his vision slowly upward, he began taking in the prisoner within, and eyes grew wide as he backed away from the prison entrance, at whoever or whatever this prisoner was that was moving toward this entrance from the inside. The casualness and jovialness very much wiped from his expression.

But the brothers shared the fear as Rin stepped out into full view, the Rin that they knew but never had seen beyond the unrevealing prison wall hole, but a fear that was restrained only because of their knowledge that he was a friend.

Standing two heads taller than any of them, with scaly brown skin, and massive, powerful hands that ended in small black claws instead of human nails, a face with sentient slits of bright blue small eyes that were otherwise a fierce dragon-like gaze along with slightly elongated, pointy ears and nose, was the Rin they had now come to know.

"I am Rin," in his gravelly voice he introduced himself down to the astonished Dante, "and it is a pleasure to meet you, Dante. Thank you for freeing me." He turned his fearsome but thankful, friendly yet pained gaze upon the three brothers, looking into each of their eyes, locking with Seften's. "I am a Driadon, of the Driadonian people. I am a prisoner as my people are. Your heart now knows what your eyes and ears could not through the many lies and false tales there are about my people, the Driadon."

"We can free your people, Rin," Seften responded. "I understand. But for now, with Dante's skills, we all must escape!"

Rin nodded once, giving a throaty grunt of an acknowledgement.

"This way!" Dante directed in focused tone, turning and starting in his intended direction.

And with that, the five of them, lead by Dante, took off down a torch lit passage way.

RIN - MUNDAINANT

Both the brave

and the kind-hearted,

he is sentient in mind

despite the physical appearance

and malicious rumors

of Driadoniankind.

Under the deception

of earning redemption from past sin,

their race was enslaved, willingly.

Rin sees through the deception

to it's evil source

and fights as a rebel for freedom

from the tyrany his race befell under.

XXXXX

Chapter Seventeen

Warrior of Magic

THE PASSING DAYS as well lost numbers to Torius through the extent of his imprisonment. Chained to a cold stony wall by the enchanted, mysterious spider-shackles, he had been the subject of much torture, by magic and by whip, as his keepers attempted the extraction of vital information of his Kingship.

And in between such times of torture were the hours or days of silence, the only sound a soft silky whisper the flaming torches outside his cell made. He was undergoing a round of such silence for a day and a night, where he concluded that perhaps the Wizard Syndirin or his underlings had given up on him and simply were plotting his death, either by bloodshed or by neglected starvation in his cell.

But approaching footsteps told otherwise than that silence, and the struggling sounds of a man being forced along with the possessor of the footsteps. Torius listened intently to the struggler's grunts and wrestlings. Another prisoner?

His cell gate banged open and through it was shoved the bound and bloody unarmored Goodman! His knight!

Wrestling Goodman to his knees before Torius were two larger brutes, and Torius' eyes locked with Goodman's, his being wild with confused anger. His mouth was bound, but his eyes told Torius the tale of his tortures he had been through himself.

Behind those three strode Syndirin, his eyes of pure bitterness, no longer veiled by the arrogance from before. "A liar," he hissed, "you are, Torius. According to your fellow soldier," he indicated Goodman, "you are no more an outpost guard than himself!" Torius realized that all of his lies he had been telling Syndirin were found to be such lies by Goodman's data, whom Torius figured in that instant that the likes of Goodman, brave as he was, would tell more toward the truth, even toward his enemy. Though judging by the beaten state of Goodman, he resisted surrendering sensitive data very well.

Torius threw back his head in a thundering laugh. "Aye, I fooled you," he smiled at Syndirin with gritted teeth, "and being the fool that you are it wasn't that difficult!"

Syndirin reached beneath his cloak and pulled a long, fiery dagger, displaying its blade to Torius in his bony fist. "I am no longer fooled, knight," said Syndirin with the dagger still poised. "This dagger is with a cursed blade, which gives wounds that never heal. Let me show you now!" He thrust the wicked weapon into Goodman's back, Goodman quavering from the blow. "No!" Torius roared, lunging toward Syndirin, the only thing binding him back from attack were his spider shackles. Syndirin smiled again, a smile filled with evil joy as he brought his dagger again down upon Goodman, another unhealing wound in the back. Goodman gazed helplessly at Torius, Torius returning his own powerless, enraged glare, and he watched Goodman's eyes roll upward into his head as he fell over dead.

"Goodman!" Torius roared. "Goodman!" the veins were rising to the surface of his neck as he roared his companion's name one final time. Grief gripped him, and his brow hit the prison floor to avoid the vision of the dead Goodman.

Syndirin laughed mercilessly at his two defeated prisoners before him. Then, turning to the live one, Torius, he said down to him, "Let that be his lesson, knight. Yours is soon to come, and pray that it be quick and painless." He slid the wicked cursed dagger beneath his robes. "For now, I leave you to contemplate your death."

—

Alone in his prison, except for his murdered soldier, Goodman, Torius dwelled in his own thoughts. He would take lives and more for a chance to avenge his soldier. His tough sword hand instinctively clenched as he contemplated his great sword in it, himself in contemplation face-to-face with the terrible Syndirin, who, in Torius' mind, deserved no more now than an unworthy slaying.

He edged nearer to Goodman, near as he could manage with his limiting chains, and managed to reach his body. He pulled it toward him across the ground, and when he was close enough, he lifted him so that he was not completely in the dirt, and lied him straight upon his back, with arms crossed upon his chest in a burial position, rather than the crumpled heap Syndirin let him die in. He, with a torn off piece of rag from what he used to be able to call clothing, wiped blood from Goodman's mouth and body as best as he could. When he accepted that Goodman's body was prepared, Torius went down upon one knee – a praying position of knights. He knew no other worthy way in his circumstances of an appropriate funeral for Goodman than a common soldier's prayer that is made prior to a battle:

"May my will hold strong through loss and try;

"May my heart guide on though more I die;

"May my wit stay clear, my arm strike true;

"May I have what I deserve, and my enemies, too;

"May I sate my honor, despite inner fears;

"May I shed much blood, but my people, only tears."

He rested a hand upon Goodman's broad but lifeless chest. He looked steadily into Goodman's forever-closed eyes. "Goodman! Many a fight you have fought, and these fights were indeed fought well. I never thanked you for so bravely saving my blood back at the castle when we first defended against this new enemy. And so I thank you now.

"Goodman – my knight. I was honored to fight along with you, and feel not worthy of the honor of conducting your funeral. But honorable as you are - and forgive me that you rest before me in the prison cell that I am bound to and may die in – you still, though upon enemy ground and still before enemy threat, have a funeral, indeed.

"I know that you are dead, now, Goodman. Be still and dead in peace. You died at the hands of an enemy, but by my sword, and by my name, Torius, I shall be sure that it is not a death in vain!

"So rest and move on, soul of Goodman, and I myself shall finish the final chapter of your life that is your vengeance."

Torius broke his gaze with Goodman and bowed his head upon the earth. He let go Goodman's chest, letting go of Goodman in the way that he said of Goodman to let go in death, and rose upon his feet, the chains pulled taut at his wrists. He gazed upward.

"Any of the gods of fire, war or vengeance that exist, who empower me in battle, smile at my victories and laugh at my defeat – hear me if you deem me so worthy of your notice!

"I fought never at your burden but in your honor, with each passing of such victory or acceptance of such passing defeats!"

The impenetrable shackles upon his wrists seemed to grow hot upon his skin, yet he did not notice. Perhaps his own hateful racing blood, he instantly and silently decided, ignoring the phenomenon. He continued.

"Now again I seek to honor the honorable, and Goodman was such a man! Imprisoned I am, most unjustifiably. Imprisoned I was after a capture by outnumbering enemies! Was that not again deserving of your praise?

"Give me the strength – release me of these shackles! Lend me my sword, and I will repay your gifts with gifts of an enemy's death and a friend's honor! I plead of you now!"

The shackles were burning noticeably on his wrists. Their metal edges seemed sharp, cutting into his skin. They were becoming painful – Torius began clawing at them to remove them, and they became searing hot and glowed white – not with heat, but, and Torius felt shock – a true magic?

Torius no longer felt alarmed, but that hot familiar feeling of intense rage – as in the heat of a terrible battle – coursed into his heart, chest, his arms, his fists.

He roared and tugged at his shackles, the chains tremblingly pulled taut. The burning, glowing shackles bore into his wrists, which started bleeding.

There was a brilliant gold flash as the shackle on his right wrist exploded in chunks of red hot cindering metal that sprayed throughout the prison, imbedding as glowing dots into the earthy floor and walls. His right fist flew forward, no longer restrained. He looked upon his cut wrist, no longer bound by the shackle!

With renewed strength, he pulled with both hands upon the remaining glowing and burning shackle. It was as though his rage was burning hotter than the shackle, it glowing white as it was, and the rage seemed to overshadow the hot pain that the burning shackle produced. With a grunt, the shackle in turn blasted into red-hot chunks of metal, another gold flash of magic's energy.

With both of his wrists no longer restrained, he stood there in his prison, which was to be a prison no more. By what mysterious power, he was free of the dreadful spider shackles!

Be it the gods, be it some other magic, but magic indeed, he was free. With renewed determination, he glared down at Goodman's body upon the floor. "Goodman, I will try to come back for your body and a decent burial. But at this time, pray in turn for my capability to fight as I now must!"

He started as he heard a terrible cry that was as piercing as scraping glass, which filled the chamber and hurt his hearing so that he winced. He wheeled around to locate the source of the wretched sound, and saw that it was coming from the metal spiders, which were crying in what seemed to be death or pain, Torius could not tell which, and were writhing in the dirt on their backs with their sturdy metal legs clawing at the air.

He watched them, and as he was about to turn his gaze away, the screeching stopped with a sudden silence. One of the spiders rolled over back upon it's legs, standing poised a couple paces from Torius, and a thin red fiery line formed upon it's black metal body. The line widened, and opened up fully into a single bright fiery eye, which rolled around rapidly, looking around the room, but steadied its horrible gaze upon Torius. It cried again it's painful screech, and scuttled back toward the stone wall which Torius was once bound to. It climbed the wall, and a few feet up from the dirt below, it halted. It shuddered, apparently in effort, and one of its thick, short legs plunged into the rock wall. With another shudder, a second leg, a third leg, and finally the forth of it's short legs plunged into the wall, leaving his body of a glowing, fierce eye sticking out as if the wall had an eye.

Again a screech, only louder and what could be called full of rage, then the very wall shook, and dust of ages fell like heavy smoke from its many cracks and crevices from the quaking. The part of the wall where the fiery eye was fixed actually jutted out, further and further, and the room began to quiver. With a burst of dust and rock, another form jutted out beside the great bulging form of rock that the eye was centered upon. This thinner, sharply pointed form of rock extended further than it, toward Torius.

Torius began backing away to safety at this point, but continued watching in awe, and with the sound of grinding gravel, the pointed rock form halted, and bent down, slamming it's poited end onto the ground. It bent further like a leg would when towing a body, hauling the great round form of rock from the prison wall, and likewise there came a second pointed rock leg jutting out from the opposite side, bending and stabbing the dirt ground, which also bent further and hauled the great round rock form further out.

Soon the center rock form pulled way out, and separated from the wall, the two rock legs supporting it. Two more pointed rock legs extended out from what would be the backside and pounded down unto the dirt ground, thereby creating four legs, and the formed creature's massive stone body was overall the height of Torius.

The small red eye glared dangerously and viscously upon Torius, and from below it a stone-fanged gaping mouth opened in a terrible, ground trembling roar.

Torius turned and fled, but saw the second small metal spider scrambling ominously toward that wall, as he escaped the room into the poorly lit prison hallway. The ground beneath his running feet tremored as the great stone spider pounded heavily after him.

Terror alone would cloud a man's ability to concentrate, but many a time such blinding terror threatened his wit, in his battles and deeds, and each time he learned to suppress it, each of these times more and then more. It again threatened him now, but he suppressed it enough to think. As he sprinted for his life upon the tremoring ground, teachings of magic raced through his mind. The element – the element of the creature would be Earth. Earth's elemental weakness was the Poison element. Poison, Poison... he had no casting orbs or scrolls, of any kind.

Through his racing mind and suppressed fears, he saw an open metal door with a small barred window, and instinctively turned into it, supposing it to be a hallway, intending to safely shut the monster away behind him. He jumped through the door and wheeled around, slamming the gate closed, which thankfully locked shut. He heard the great stone spider's thundering come nearer and nearer, and so Torius turned to run, but only into a wall!

He turned to his left and right – walls! He was in another prison cell! He locked himself in – he was trapped!

But completely unbeknownst to Torius, this was the very cell that his brothers were dwelling in only an hour before.

Mustering the courage he could, he turned to the door, awaiting his enemy, feeling much like trapped bate to a predator.

The horrific spider thundered to a halt in front of the prison cell door, and raised its body to see with its single horrible fiery eye through the cell door. Seeing Torius within, it lowered, and crashed into the metal door, it bending badly, and the spider's head with the eye and stone-fanged mouth protruding through the small created entry. It roared at its victim, Torius, who looked around the room for a weapon or some form of escape.

Torius, seeing no weapon or escape, turned bravely to face the great stone spider. Before he or the great stone spider could act upon the other, the broken lock at the center of the door gave a brief green glow, and with several soft popping sounds, bright green magic darts shot in succession into the spider's body. The spider shuddered and growled deeply, and Torius noticed that the spots upon the spider's stone body where the darts struck turned charcoal black as if burnt, then crumbled away into ashy dust.

The great stone spider jerked heavily against the door, trying to get further in to attack Torius, trying to get out away from the lock's deadly Poison attacks. But the jerky slamming movement reactivated the lock, which again glowed briefly, and popped several times with its deadly darts, striking the spider!

The spider roared terribly, its fiery eye anxiously wheeling around in its stone head, and struggled strongly in its own created trap, shaking the room so that stirring dust clouded chokingly from the walls, ceiling and floor. The dust cloud so thick that the only visibility Torius had of the happenings before him was the glowing red eye and the flying, glowing green darts, which ceaselessly, rapidly fired upon the stone spider.

With a final, deafening roar, the red eye stopped glowing through the raised dust, and the darts ceased firing.

Torius waited, frozen, watching. The dust settled, revealing the spider before him, his whole body a petrified, ashy gray, and the spider eye unlit, but again iron black. The body shifted, and thudded heavily to the ground, and the still metal spider body fell from its place, clinking softly upon the rocky dirt floor.

Torius approached the defeated spider, the petrified, still, stone body. He pushed it, and his hands sunk into its body, which was now ashy dust. He pulled his hand out, alarmed, and his movement unsettled the rest of the spider body, which then crumbled to the floor in a great pile of such ashy dust.

The monster was destroyed!

Torius concluded that the Poison element that was the magic lock's defense against picking of its lock had destroyed the Earth- elemental spider-like monster. He picked up the small metal spider body upon the ground and pocketed it.

He climbed through the tortured-door-portal over the ashes, and took in his surroundings. His first instinct was to equip himself with a weapon, and any armor or at least any shield that he could find.

Thinking with the datum that in his own kingdom's design of prison cells, the prisoner's possessions were locked up in a closet or cell across from the prison, to be given back to the prisoner should he be freed. He did look, but there was no such cell directly across from any of the prison cells, and he recalled none in front of his own cell. He knew that he would not get his trusty two-handed sword back in his possession. And he dared not any time to search for it.

He located an open chamber down at the end of the hall, unlit. He took a torch from its place on the wall, and raised it above his head, stepping into the chamber. Glittering promisingly in it's light were the blades of several weapons!

An array of small, thin, curved swords, that appeared dangerously sharp. But this appealed not to his fighting style as much as the halberd lying beside the unusual swords.

He picked it up in his free hand, feeling the well-balanced weapon – he noted that the craftsmanship of the handle was very poor as compared to the magnificent, dangerously beaked sharp axe-and-spear halberd head, as if an amateur had refit the weapon with a new handle.

Torius recognized the halberd head – it was truly a weapon carried by a Beast Slayer! The Beast Slayers, the magic warriors that headed an army, to fend off the enemy army's larger battle monsters such as wyverns and slave ogres. It was enchanted variously according to the Beast Slayer's needs, but yet very powerfully.

His wondering contemplation of the weapon went interrupted as the ground beneath his feet tremmored once briefly – then tremmored a second time, a third time. He turned around and saw a second great stone spider charging down the hallway toward him!

Torius cast the torch aside and, wielding the magic halberd in both fists, he likewise charged toward the monster.

The fiery orange eye of the oncoming spider glared at him, and he glared right back with his own two icy-stone blue eyes.

The stone spider roared wretchedly as it neared Torius, but undaunted, Torius drew the halberd back, poised to thrust with its wave-blade spearhead. "For Goodman!" he shouted.

The halberd head flashed a sinister red aura of light just before Torius thrust it with all of his might upon the monster who with full charging speed was but a pace away.

The glowing halberd's spearhead landed true and center in the glowing eye, and the great stone spider halted right before Torius upon receiving the blow. It opened its black gaping mouth as if to bite or scream, but it was only silent as the stricken glowing eye flashed from orange to white and exploded in a larger flash.

As Torius stood, still holding the halberd firmly, the eyeless body of the stone spider lifelessly unformed and crumbled back into chunks of loose rock and dirt. The halberd's red glow faded and disappeared, the halberd head again appearing, although wicked in features, mundane.

Torius wheeled around and, holding the mysterious halberd in one hand with the spearhead lowered and pointed defensively in front of him, he charged down the hallway in his continued escape, ready to lay down any enemy that crossed his path.

XXXXX

Chapter Eighteen

The Way Out

DANTE, THE CLEVER THIEF, looked cautiously around a corner, careful to stay invisible in a shadow so as not to be seen in return. There were no guards. He held his breath and closed his eyes, and listened with his keen ears. No noises.

"Come!" he said back to the others, and so they – Rhoin, Paetoric, Seften and the Driadon, Rin – followed him silently down the hall. None could match the complete skilled silence of Dante's slinking movement except Rhoin.

Down the hallway silently, again the same pattern of blunting a torch that cast light around the corner they were to scope and then take, so as to be bathed in hiding shadow. Dante, as many times before, surveyed the new hallway with a careful eye, and bid the others to follow him silently again. Up a staircase, take the hallway to the left, pick the lock—it was not a magic one this time—moving the old door so as to make it have no noise in movement, and continue, closing the door shut behind them, leaving everything as it was.

"Do you know where you are going, young thief?" Rin said in a gravely whisper.

Dante looked back at the Driadon, who was crouched over in an attempt to be as low to the ground as the others, despite his inhuman height. "No worries, my scaly friend!"

"No worries, indeed," Rhoin echoed. "You memorized the path in, didn't you?" He said, perceptively.

Dante only smiled thinly, but did not match eyes with Rhoin. Instead, he continued surveying the winding, ascending staircase. "Everybody has their talents..."

Seeming to perceive safety, Dante proceeded, the others following now, no longer needing his instruction to follow as before.

They quietly ascended the staircase, Dante leading. Dante stopped, and turned around, looking at the others, who had likewise stopped and were looking upon Dante for instructions. "This is it – the last entrance until we are outside. I must do one thing – wait here!"

Dante went back down the stairs, disappearing around its turn. There was an audible series of clicks and clanks, and moments later, Dante running up the stairs. "I locked the gate below and destroyed the lock itself – no one can come up behind us, now. This is it – the great escape!" Grinning excitedly and roguishly, He slapped Paetoric and Seften on their shoulders, which were broader and stronger than his own slender ones. He grabbed the dim torch that lit the stairway's exit above, and dug it's flaming head into a stone step's surface, putting it out. He slowly, carefully, and skillfully slinked up a few steps, unseeable in the shadows he made by putting out the torch. He was at the entrance, and got full view of the inside of the prison castle that they were in. He craned his neck around to view any enemies: several posted guards upon the tower. A couple armed with crossbows. The ground before them was open, visible by the bright moon's light. When he had initially snuck in, there were clouds which darkened the moon's light. He looked to the sky for a possible passing cloud that would again hide the moon as before. The sky was completely clear. They could not double back to get disguises – it was too late, and under the circumstances which he quickly calculated, they had no choice but to move forward. "What now?" Paetoric inquired from further down the staircase.

Dante looked back. "What we need is a good distraction!" he concluded.

Dante suddenly heard heavy footsteps approaching from the right. He was luckily still within the shadows out of view from the approaching person, and thus invisible. He was quickly able to see that this person was not a soldier, but more like an escaped prisoner: he was large, with dark brown/red short hair, was completely unarmored, revealing both fresh and old wounds from torture; though by the brute size of his body was definitely not unfamiliar to heavy armors, and was brandishing a rather deadly and powerful-seeming halberd. He was running with all haste, a wild, dangerous look in his eyes, and Dante determined that he was not going to turn down the staircase his party was hiding in as he saw that these eyes of this man were focused ahead, into the center grounds of the castle.

As the large man barreled past them to the castle grounds' center into plain view of the tower guards, he saw them reach for their crossbows, noticing him right away. "A prisoner has escaped!" one of the guards shouted out in alarm to the other guards. The man continued running toward the castle entrance, the tall doors wide open from recent entries, but two of the guards were working fast to cause the doors to begin creaking shut.

"That'll work!" Dante smiled to himself. He quickly predicted that the immediate guards' attention would be drawn to the escaped prisoner as he left the castle onto the outer castle grounds, and they would no longer be focusing at all upon the inside castle grounds. At this point they could cross and escape, before the castle's great doors fully closed. But he knew that mere moments later more guards would appear from within the castle, and at that point they would lose their chance at invisibility.

"Come, now!" Dante said, no longer whispering in a secretive tone, but instead had yelled aloud with a definite urgency in his voice that aroused the two brothers and the Driadon instantly. They tumbled up the staircase next to Dante, who was now standing no longer in the hiding shadows, but in the moon's revealing light. "This is our only chance to escape – run!"

The moon's light did reveal the running figures of the three Me'Aer brothers, Dante and Rin. But as Dante predicted, eyes were cast momentarily in another direction, not noticing them. He looked at the guards briefly – they were turned to the outside of the castle, watching the escaped prisoner, firing bolts from aimed crossbows. Apparently missing, as they repeatedly reloaded and fired.

The closing doors stopped closing, held open. There were most likely to be horsed soldiers to come in behind them, to exit those doors, Dante determined.

And he did determine correctly – upon crossing through the castle gateway, he guided his party to angle to the left, pressing backs against the cold rough castle wall to hide from view above. A bare few seconds later, several horsemen came charging through, none noticing them, but were after and soon to catch up with the running prisoner they were pursuing

Paetoric gasped. "That prisoner!" he said in shock. "There ahead. That halberd he is holding – that's my halberd!"

Seften looked, and as well became shocked. He wheeled on Paetoric. "Paet! That prisoner – that's Torius!"

Paetoric again stared at the escaping man. "It is! What in the Gods is he doing here!"

"Who knows, but now he is escaping, as we should be," Dante commented hastefully. "And he definitely is heading in the right direction, though I must comment on his lack of craft in escaping," nodding his head up at the overhead crossbowman and over to the horseman catching up on Torius quickly.

"Dante, Rin!" Seften yelled, distressed even further by the casual commentating of Dante. "Help me – we have to save him!" Seften sprinted after the distant horseman, Paetoric and Rhoin close behind.

"Well, Rin," Dante said to the Driadon, as he began to follow the three brothers to the battle. "Guess we're gonna have to fight this one out, aye?"

XXXXX

Chapter Nineteen

Futility of Vengeance

SYNDIRIN, AFTER GUILTLESSLY murdering the beloved Arigwhen, began to take his next step in his plot on Drewth. Leaving Arigwhen's body, he recast his Invisibility spell and left unnoticed from the castle grounds. After some distance, he revoked his Invisibility spell and doubled back upon his path to the castle, heading back toward it, calmly, coolly, as if oblivious to any recent happening, any treachery.

And distantly, coming from the castle, down the path, came charging Drewth, mad, infuriated, uncontained, with his sword still in hand. Odd, he thought: Drewth should be grieving over the body of his wife that was killed in the slave-rebel Driadon raid! Where was he headed?

Nonetheless, Syndirin seemed to have noticed the distressed state of Drewth, and seemed to be concerned – but not too concerned to be unnatural of his usual self.

He hastened his steps toward Drewth, who doubled his own speed at Syndirin, sword raised, eyes glaring madly.

"Drewth!" Syndirin uttered, concern showing in his expression. "What has happened?"

"You worthless wreck! You filthy murderer!" Drewth roared with boiling blood. "Die, you liar, deceiver!!"

Drewth knew! Syndirin saw. How? What mistake did he make in the entire deception?

Taking no additional moment to continue on his failed deception, the false concerned expression he was wearing quickly changed to the true pitilessness that was Syndirin's feelings. His wicked sneering smile crossed over his face, his eyes flashed the same wickedness and narrowed as he again cast his Invisibility spell and darted to the side, out of the range of the deadly slashing sword of Drewth.

He cackled at the enraged and confused Drewth, who went hacking in the direction of the laugh, missing, missing. "I was only guiding you – forming you into a more powerful character, moving you upon the path to become a ruler, a champion – not the weak-hearted lover she was making you."

Another angry slash of Drewth's sword crashed futilely to the ground.

"And you so hold onto these emotions, these pathetic feelings?" he laughed pitilessly. "I will leave you to suffer for the rest of your life, to know that you could not protect your love, in your weakness! To live a painful and weak life; to watch those around me fall in death that would get in the way of my destiny."

"Watch – another of my victims," Syndirin said with a malicious smile that would not be seen but was known to be there by Drewth, and meaning to indicate the nearby event: an escaping prisoner that was soon to be slain by a pursuing group of horsed soldiers. The prisoner halted in his run, wheeling around, with a halberd brandished in two fists, to face what would seem a definite defeat against so many attackers.

"No Syndirin! Another shall not die today, and never again – I swear by the sword in my hand! No, not another death!" he roared, charging toward the outnumbered prisoner to aid him in battle.

XXXXX

Chapter Twenty

Knight of Rage

TORIUS HAD DECIDED, rather than running away further, to turn around to fight – better to face, rather than to be stricken in the back by, enemies much quicker than he, them being on horse.

His one advantage in the battle he quickly noticed was the range of his weapon compared to the horsemen – an advantage he took against them, an advantage that was his skill in pole weapons from times of his knighthood training.

The first approaching horseman died as Torius thrust him in the side with the halberd's spearhead. The soldier fell from his place, off of the jagged spearhead, a spearhead now stained red with blood.

The second horseman that approached he confronted by sweeping the air with the halberd's vicious axe-like blade, which caused the horseman's horse to rear in alarm, and Torius struck the horse in it's broad chest with another deadly thrust. The horse tumbled to its side, crushing down fatally upon its own rider.

But the remaining horsemen were coming on too fast for Torius – he stepped aside so that the fallen horsemen would act as a protective barrier, but the pursuing horsemen leapt over the bodies, coming down upon Torius still.

From knowledge gained by all of his battle experiences, he could calculate that he was about to die: a moment later he would swing or thrust his Halberd, most likely killing one of the two horsemen, but the second horsemen was too close, and he was to be trampled down by horse or cut down by soldier's sword.

But with endless bravery even of death he did thrust and did strike fatally the horseman in front of him, clashing through the horseman's shield, the clash seeming to sound final warning of his imminent death. He tried to turn fast enough toward the second horseman, tried to face the blow that would defeat him.

But the blow never came.

The second horseman was engaged in a losing battle with another!

A soldier, armored in black half-plate that was glittering with important rank of an officer knight, was battling the horseman. He was helmetless, revealing a young face that was contorted with violent emotion.

The young officer knight was holding a hand-and-a-half sword with both gauntleted hands, and was striking skillfully upon the horseman. The horseman came down upon the officer knight with his sword, which was deflected with a powerful swing of the officer knight's own sword. The officer knight came back quickly with a second swing that landed on the horseman's chest and neck, killing him.

Standing amongst the dead horsemen were Torius and his unknown savior. Torius looked upon the man - who was smaller than he was but knowledgably still as dangerous –and the young man looked back, eyes and expression afire with terrible anger, hate, grief, confusion. "Run!" he yelled at Torius. "Run and live, go – your death is not upon this enemy ground! You are free!"

"Torius!" proclaimed a very familiar voice. Torius turned away from the man, toward the voice that said his name. And even more bewildering than the appearance of the savior officer knight was now the appearance of Seften, Paetoric – even Rhoin! All three of his brothers!

Before the four united brothers could break the speechless moment of silence, the officer knight roared in anger, and they looked to him to see the matter.

With death in his eyes, the officer knight was charging upon Rin!

Not wanting to hurt either one of them, the brothers were late to respond. Dante would not step in, no; to be crushed between an insane knight and a powerful Driadon was not his desired fate, he decided to himself.

"Wait," said Rin softly to the officer knight. He raised his large, open hand, signing him to stop.

The officer knight, whose eyes were red by tears held back from a possessing rage, stopped heavily, hesitating momentarily.

And in that moment of hesitation, Rin spoke. "I am not your enemy. I cannot say that I know what happened to you or say I understand your anger, but know that I am not your enemy, oh protector of my friend's brethren."

The officer knight, through his all but blinding haze of anger, did truly see compassion, a sentience, in this Driadons eyes. Fiercely shaped as they were, they still glowed with sympathy, with care. Not as he was educated in how Driadonkind characteristically were, no – mindless rage were the ones he battled before, he enslaved with the cursed Syndirin before. But this Driadon before him was indeed an ally.

Rin lowered his hand down to his side, not breaking eye contact with the officer knight.

A clatter of distant but approaching hooves did then draw Rin's gaze away, to look back through the night in the direction of the escaped prison castle. "There are more approaching enemies, knight. Please be with us, guide us to safety," he turned to look back upon the officer knight. "Guide us away."

The officer knight, who had by necessity of will power raised above his craze, uttered in an emotion-suppressed voice, "Come with me."

XXXXX

Chapter Twenty-One

Follow

THE OFFICER KNIGHT broke eye contact with Rin, thrust his black sword into the scabbard at his side and turned away, sprinting. Seften, Rhoin and Paetoric acquired a sword and shield each from the possession of the slain enemy horsemen, and, with Rin, they took off following after the officer knight.

The horsemen, though none looked back they did know, were gaining ground quickly. The running path the officer knight took was in a steady direction, but this path did lead within the cover of a forest.

Dante jumped ahead of the others and turned, waiving his arms wildly, signaling the few to turn, which they did, and Dante had lead them into a completely shadowed-black ground, behind bramble and fallen tree, where they all crouched and hid.

Dante had purposefully lead the others in this manner, for the enemy horsemen were near enough to see Dante signal a change of path, where they changed their paths as well with intentions to follow and catch, however as it was never a true change of path, the horsemen charged past the unseen hiding party in the different direction, never to catch them. Dante poked his head above a bush and grinned. "Oops!" he said with a shocked look in his eyes. "I'd hate to be them reporting back to Command that they had been outrun by few prisoners on foot whilst they rode many on horse!" And with a shrug, "Oh well."

They all rose from hiding and continued following the officer knight, safe from the lost enemy horsemen.

The wood did thin out into a treeless field, and the moon's dull light seemed bright and burning to their eyes from the contrast their eyes had adjusted to of the thick wood's lightless grounds.

But on the end of that stretch of night-lit field were the guarded rocky shore docks of the enemy! Escape by sea!

This would be the last stand to a final escape.

XXXXX

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Summoner's Task

LORD SYNDIRIN was furious with what he had just seen – a band of escaped prisoners, including a Driadon, lead and protected by Drewth. It was an anger that consumed all of his actions, leaving him standing still, and that raged merely inside, yet his Dark Element pulsated as black orbs emanating from his hands, which likewise were yet arrested from even clenching by the utterness of his anger, and only hung at his sides.

A raven dived to the earth beside him, which upon landing exploded in a flash of dark reddish smoke and instantaneously transformed into the cloaked human figure of Korchloc, Syndirin's Summoner. "You summoned me, M'Lord." he began, but was cut off.

"Kill them," Syndirin ordered dryly, glaring steadily into the distant wood to which the prisoners and Drewth fled. "Or be killed." The black aura at his dead still hands continued to emanate, as did his cold but silent anger.

Korchloc turned his gaze to the ground, the hood of his cloak now hiding his grim features in shadow. "M'Lord," he acknowledged, and in another flash of dark reddish smoke he transformed back into raven's form and flew into the moonlit night toward the direction that the escaped prisoners had took.

XXXXX

Chapter Twenty-Three

Battle To Sea –

Anger of The Halberd

DREWTH WAS RUNNING hard, his black armor clinking in the movement, boots thudding down the dark earth toward the rocky shore docks that would be their escape. The Me'Aer brothers, Dante, and Rin followed behind and aside him.

In the distance he saw many masts jutted into the night sky, swaying slightly as the ships bobbed in the water washing underneath the docks at which they were bound.

Alarmed shouts of voices arose around the docks that were from enemy soldiers noticing the oncoming unrecognized group, lead by Drewth. And still, the party charged onward, gripping their weapons tighter in their fists, ready for combat. Rhoin and Rin flanked the sides of Paetoric and Seften protectively, as enemy soldiers in the distance began likewise charging in their direction, their own weapons brandished in hand.

Dante noticed, by silver reflective flickers that were flapping wings, a raven descending and landing amidst the grounds before the docks, which exploded in a dark reddish flash of smoky light, transforming into a cloaked figure. By now, they were close enough to hear what he next yelled. "Stop them!" this cloaked figure demanded, glaring from his left to his right, eyeing soldiers still among the docks that had not taken off after Drewth and party as of yet. "Kill them!" he demanded again. The soldiers brandished their weapons and charged off passed the enraged Summoner by his order, to head off their escaped prisoners.

More than a dozen black-armored soldiers were charging upon Drewth's party, the closest of them was but 100 paces away from Drewth, who was at the lead, the remaining soldiers following not too far behind, their black armor glinting dully in the moonlight, their steel weapons glinting brightly.

Dante, who was running behind Drewth, with several sprinting strides, came to the side of Drewth, large daggers held by the blade at throwing hold in each hand. While continuing to run and looking upon the black armored enemies closing in ahead, he asked, "I must ask, what are your plans to overcome this? Outnumbered three to one by armored soldiers and," indicating with a nod the cloaked Summoner, at a stance upon the wood docks far behind the battle scene, who was mid creating some unidentifiable magic in his closed hands which were generating a purplish glow, "a shape-changing Wizard?"

Drewth drew from scabbard at his side with a gauntleted hand a cruelly serrated black sword, and muttered in response to Dante, "Kill them."

"Clever, aren't you!" responded Dante. He slowed a few of his paces and fell back behind Drewth a short distance away, between Seften and Paetoric.

"Brothers," Rhoin addressed Seften and Paetoric, "I cannot keep you safe, as I am depleted of any power that you had known me to have before, from wasting away in the prison cell. Run if it keeps you alive!" Seften and Paetoric did not respond. White faced, they yet were white-knuckle-fisted as well of determination with which they grasped their swords and shields in hand.

The closest enemy closed in on Drewth who was at the lead. He hacked at Drewth with a shining white steel blade, which saw no blood of Drewth's as Drewth crouched and ducked to the right, bringing his wicked sword up, hacking the enemy soldier's body through armor that his Black Dragon sword's blade bit through. Drewth, his blade still up from the swing, took two steps further and brought his wicked sword down, hitting away the next enemy soldier's swinging blade, and he then quickly brought his sword back and forced it's tip through the enemy soldier's chest. He brought his steel boot up and kicked the enemy's impaled body off from his weapon.

Another soldier came closing in on Drewth's right, but Dante missiled with skill a dagger at him, aiming for the unarmored face, and it scored fatally a hit just below the eye. The enemy staggered two failing steps and fell dead.

A soldier was unfortunate enough to encounter the powerful Driadonian Rin, and swung upon him with his weapon. Rin caught the soldier's fist that held the sword, his own great Driadonian hand fully enclosing around the enemy's smaller human hand, and pulling it to the side, he drew his other hand back in a heavy fist and pounded full force into the enemy's horrified face, making a cracking sound, and the enemy's body rolled backward from the blow and lay killed, his face a bloody wreck.

Rhoin came to face a rather large soldier knight, dwarfing him in size. With a grunt, the soldier brought a heavy axe down with such force that Rhoin could not parry it. But with keen Elvin-trained skill he leapt up in the air, and kicking off of the soldier's massive arm he was able to leap over his head, then he turned in mid air and landed behind the soldier, as the axe cut into the earth where Rhoin had been standing. Rhoin drove his sword into the soldier's back, who growled in defeat, thudded to his knees, and then fell over to the ground.

"No!" Rhoin gasped as he noticed an enemy soldier closing in on Seften and Paetoric, and he was too far to respond in action.

But with some skill in sword that had been handed down through training from Father to Paetoric, Paetoric parried the enemy's sword that swung down at him. The enemy pulled back his sword and swung again, Paetoric again hacked it away from his direction, throwing the soldier off of balance, but himself loosing balance as well.

The soldier had staggered back and—regaining his balance before Paetoric could—whose feet failed him and so he had fallen to the ground—now rushed forward to deliver the final blow.

Seften came up to the side of the soldier and hacked angrily at the soldier with his sword, at the defense of Paetoric. His sword hammered the soldier's shield arm, but although it did not cut through the black plating there, thwarted his killing move upon Paetoric. He instead swatted Seften with the back of his gauntleted fist, Seften crumpled back from the blow, blood flowing from his nose and one eye blood-red from the strike.

The soldier came toward the fallen Seften, but Paetoric, who had since got to his feet and grabbed up his sword, swung his sword down, cleaving the back of the soldier's head, cutting through the leather helmet he had been wearing and spilling blood, the soldier falling forward to his hands and knees before Seften, who while lying on his back had managed to kick him squarely in the face with his own leather boot, causing him to roll to his side. Paetoric hammered down upon his head brutally with the round pommel at the bottom of the sword's hilt, another move taught by Father in his basic teachings, which ended the enemy soldier's life.

"Yeah!" cheered on Torius in an adrenal-hoarse voice, "Show them what a Me'Aer is made of!" he yelled at Seften and Paetoric of their victory against the skilled enemy. He struck an oncoming enemy with the butt of the magic halberd's staff, and as the enemy fell backward, he turned the halberd around and in a great swing he hacked the enemy soldier a deadly blow.

"Let's go!" Drewth commanded amidst the fighting to his companions. He ducked under a swinging sword and thrust his own into the enemy's side, then shrugged him back off of the sword with his armored shoulder, and ran toward the docks, his companions following, leaving behind their slain enemies.

Drewth halted momentarily, turning his head left and right, hastily looking at several vessels amongst the dock. He set sights upon one ship, and started running toward it, his black steel boots thudding down the docks wooden structure. He neared a ship with tall masts and a stout but accommodating body of 50 feet, and hacked with his sword one of its lines that secured it to the dock. The rope severed, the two severed ends still tied to the dock and one to the ship fell and hung into the water below. "Board the ship!" he again commanded, and his companions instantly complied, running past him as he stood upon the dock battle-ready, the stout ship rocking slightly with the sudden displacement of weight of its several new passengers. Paetoric saw the vessel's name inscribed on the side: Sea Hammer. The vessel had at the rear an abnormality – extending out to the left and right from the rear of the ship were sturdy, short walkways, and at the end of each walkway were floating platforms with each a single, tall sail upon the top, though not quite as tall as the mainsail. Such were characteristics of an extremely fast, maneuverable vessel.

Drewth ran aboard the ship, and down it's deck, turned, and reached over it's side with his free hand, pulled up the remaining line that secured it to the dock, and drew it across his sword's serrated edge, severing the thick line with ease. The Sea Hammer was no longer secured to the dock.

"Look out!" Seften yelled, as two enemy soldiers ran up the dock, weapons drawn. The first soldier raised a loaded crossbow in his left hand and aimed it at Seften, who went to jump behind a mast of the ship to evade the weapon, yet the soldier fired quicker than Seften's response. With a clank, the crossbow launched the bolt, the bolt yet missing Seften by a distance. The soldier cast the crossbow to the wooden deck, took several strides and jumped aboard the ship, the second soldier following aboard as well.

Rin clutched a full wooden chest with two clawed hands, lifted it, and intercepted the two enemy soldiers. He grunted and swung the heavy chest in a single sweeping motion in front of him, both enemy soldiers managed to retreat out of it's path, yet one of them yelled in pain as his sword hand received the hammering blow, his sword flung from grasp and clattering across the deck of the ship. Rin took two steps forward and pulled the heavy chest around in a second swing, again one soldier evaded his attack, yet the other one still staggering from the first blow was struck with full force upon his shoulder and head, the armor providing no absorption to the hit, and he slid backward, unconscious.

Rin again swung the chest around, but let go of it mid-swing, the chest flying forth toward the remaining soldier, and it landed and tumbled forward upon the deck of the ship, from which the soldier could not outrun. It struck him in the back of the legs, and on impact it opened up, dumping it's contents everywhere, and continued forth, tumbling over the soldier's fallen body, leaving him half-covered in it's contents as it tumbled onward and struck the bulwark of the ship, finally stopping.

Paetoric and Seften, who had disappeared below the deck of the ship, came back up with long spears in hand, and they rushed to the side of the ship that was along side the dock, and reached the spears over the side. They pushed with all effort against the dock with the spears, and the ship began inching outward into the water.

Drewth had undone the mainsail of the ship, and its black breadth unfurled and filled with sea's wind, pulling the ship further into waters.

"Ha!" exclaimed Dante, as he whipped a dagger skillfully at a soldier that had just entered firing range in running toward their ship. It glanced off of his armored shoulder, unharming, but a second dagger followed immediately after, scoring damage to the soldier's leg, the soldier then stumbling onto his hands and knees. Dante, standing over a pile of daggers he had gathered, reached down and grabbed another one, quickly aimed, and let it loose at the soldier, who had just forced himself onto his feet, striking the soldier again, in the chest, causing him to fall yet again but this time dead.

The ship was now a small distance from the dock and gaining distance still, as well gaining speed as Drewth had unfurled the ship's other broad sail, itself billowing out with filling winds.

A flash of dark red light caught the attention of Dante. "What's he up to now!" Dante shouted to the others, indicating in the direction of the flash. The Summoner wizard, whom had been disregarded in the fight for escape, had generated a dark red, whirling fireball, which flew in an arc up into the air, landing on the docks before the escaping ship and exploded in a column of dark reddish smoke. The smoke dissipated, revealing a summoned monster.

There was a giant troll, with brown scabby skin, a broad snout and a terrible mouth of twisted yellow teeth, stood double the height of a man, double the width of a man, and many times the strength. It, under control of it's Summoner, began moving toward the ship, eyes on the passengers, massive, gnarled and brown thick hairy feet shaking the dock with each heavy step.

Paetoric, with bare knowledge in any Seamanship taught him in a brief voyage he once took with Father, was at the helm of the ship, turning the wheel hard to the right, and the ship started turning likewise, wind pushing into the sails, water lashing at the sides of the ship.

The massive troll, angered at the retreat of his enemies, roared horribly, which reverberated throughout the body of the ship. It turned and grabbed a large storage crate with it's thick hairy hands, raised it over and then behind it's head, and with another horrible roar, hurled the crate into the air toward the ship.

Seeing the massive crate flying toward them, the escapees scattered out of what they thought might be its path. It was heading straight toward the helm of the ship, where Paetoric was manning the ship's wheel.

"Look out, Paetoric!" Shouted Rin from the front deck of the ship. He looked onto Paetoric anxiously yet helplessly.

Paetoric Looked at Rin, and on doing so, saw the massive crate soaring at where he stood. He let go the wheel and ducked down beside it.

The crate crashed against the side of the helm, spilling it's contents—buckets, sails, sacks, boxes, ropes, crossbows, any many other items—down the side of the helm and across the helm's deck surface. The impact-destroyed remains of the crate fell and crashed onto the deck below the helm, revealing a large hole in the side of the helm where it had struck. A black sail – one of the crate's contained items – had draped over the wheel and over where Paetoric had crouched.

"Paetoric!!" Seften yelled fearfully up at the helm.

But up on the helm, an arm swung out from underneath the black sail and pulled it off, revealing an unharmed but shaken Paetoric. He, not noticing the anxiety he filled the others with, glanced into the air to see if another flying crate was to follow, saw none, and scrambled with the black sail to get it off the wheel. He kicked the rest of the sail that had piled beside the wheel off of the helm deck, it falling below, he glanced quickly again into the sky cautiously, and took the wheel, turning it again but to the left this time.

The ship gradually turned to the left, and as it did, the wind started filling the black sails completely and began pulling the ship noticeably faster.

The terrible roar of the giant troll sounded again, but farther away from them than last time. An enemy soldier had foolishly ran onto the deck beside the giant troll, at which point the giant troll picked him up, struggling and yelling, and heaved him into the air at the ship as a projectile weapon. The soldier's body, turning, flailing and yelling, flew at the ship but landed short of target disappearing into the water, as the ship was much too far away.

A dark red fireball flew over the ship and landed a distance ahead of it into the water. Several other dark red fireballs consecutively flew over and beside the ship, and as well landed and disappeared below the surface of the night black waters.

"Prepare yourselves," Drewth warned all in a grave tone. He raised his cruel sword in front of him, looking upon the waters that the Summoner's fireballs had gone into. "The works of this Summoner are a dangerous sort."

There was the sound of scraping claws as an unknown creature began climbing up the side of the ship. Drewth faced in the direction of the unseen creature, sword still raised, awaiting it to come into view over the wall of the ship's side.

A form flung over the side of the ship, hissing and howling. It landed in front of Drewth. It was humanoid, but scaly, small, thin and sinewy, with webbed clawed feet and hands. It glowered up at Drewth with it's round, wet, yellow eyes.

"Sahags – Water Demons!" Drewth growled, and he swung his sword upon the creature, which leapt up out of the sword's way, and clawed quickly over Drewth's armored arm and upon his armored back, and went to bite the back of Drewth's unarmored head. Drewth spun his body, and the Sahag's gnashing teeth did not catch Drewth's head, but caught his striking black-armored forearm instead. The Sahag fell away and upon his back, but as soon as his back hit the deck he bounded in a backward roll, landing instantly on his clawed feet again, and howled at Drewth, glaring at him.

Another Sahag flung over the side of the ship, landing beside the first Sahag. Two more Sahags came over the left and right sides of the ship, and one over the rear wall of the ship.

Under magic's control of their Summoner, the Sahags commenced their attack, without pause. Drewth again twisted and wrestled with an agile Sahag, his sword a moment behind the Sahag's dodging movements.

Dante proved an equal match in agility to one Sahag he fought – he dodged a slashing clawed hand of the Sahag, coming equally as fast with his own knife in hand, the Sahag dodging. But the Sahag missed the second knife coming in Dante's other hand, and received a slash across it's scaly face, and having hesitated in his moment of pain, Dante brought his knife back upon it in another slash, cutting fatally into it's thin scaly throat, spilling it's murky green blood.

Rin had two Sahags leap upon his back, clawing and biting into his flesh, scoring bloody wounds. He twisted his powerful body around to throw off the Sahags, but they kept their hold onto him with their clawed hands and fanged mouths. He dove forward in a somersault upon the floor of the ship, attempting to crush the Sahags underneath his body, but they scurried out from beneath him. Unfortunately the Sahags went into reach of Rin's powerful arms, and he clutched his own large hand's claws into their chests, and with an angry deep roar he lifted them simultaneously, one helplessly struggling Sahag grasped in each hand, and drove them against the deck of the ship. He raised them both again and again drove them down, this time crushing their bodies and killing them.

"Come, tiny demon!" Torius challenged a Sahag coming toward him. He cast aside Paetoric's halberd, and raised his clenched fists in front of him as weapons. The Sahag leapt into the air, opened fanged mouth lunging for Torius' neck. Torius swung his fist to the Sahag's small bony face, but the Sahag, with it's demonic agility, clutched upon Torius' outstretched arm with a quick clawed hand, and swung his other clawed hand upon Torius' eyes, to rip them out. Torius jerked his head back, evading the swiping claws, and managed to get hold of the Sahag's small sinewy swinging arm with his other hand. He began pulling the Sahag away from him, but the Sahag twisted underneath Torius' other large, wrestling arm and lunged again his fanged mouth hungrily upon Torius' throat, only to have his small neck locked tightly in Torius' other hand. The Sahag clawed fiercely at Torius' hand that held his neck in a deadly grip with both its clawed hands and feet, gashing Torius' hand and arm bloodily. But Torius brought his other hand squarely into the Sahag's bony face, rendering it unconscious. He shoved the Sahag's body to the ground.

Seften was wrestling bravely with a Sahag, a bloody claw mark on his angered face. He twisted and wrestled with the Sahag, attempting to pin his arms with his own, but the Sahag was likewise twisting and wrestling and barely escaping Seften's pinning. Another Sahag had approached Seften and the wrestling Sahag from behind, unseen by them. He leapt upon Seften's back, wrapping his arms around Seften's arm and under his shoulder. Together, with the other Sahag, Seften began losing the battle. They began forcing Seften backward, toward the edge of the ship.

Rhoin slew the Sahag he battled with quick actions of a soldier's sword. He watched it stagger and slump to the deck and struggle with death until it lay unthreateningly still. He felt as though someone, or something was looking upon him, a sensation he perceived usually from the eyes of an enemy, and looked to the direction of the stare. That which it came from was a hideous creature of which he had never seen before.

It was a single, enormous eyeball, almost as large as Rhoin was tall, with wretched huge pulsating veins coursing upon it's slimy yellow surface around a deep, black pupil, a pupil that was shaped like a four-sided star. The veins around it grew thicker as they wrapped around the back of the eye, gathered like a brain at the backside and hanging down below it, looking like horrific hair. The dark reddish smoke of the Summoning fire was still dissipating from around it.

The hideous Death Eye was gliding through the air toward the ship, gaining on it with its swift, relentless speed. It's huge unblinking stare focused not at Rhoin, but at one behind him. Rhoin turned to follow its gaze, and saw that it was focused upon Torius!

Torius was gazing back, yet not with his brave and challenging expression upon face, but rather emotionless, thoughtless, hypnotized. The Death Eye had him locked in his fatal gaze. Torius' hand that held Paetoric's halberd had relaxed grip and swung lifeless to his side, the halberd clattering to the ground beside him. He, still with lifeless entranced expression, fell powerlessly to his knees, staring into the advancing Death Eye.

On contemplating the approaching Death Eye, Rhoin sensed an invisible force emanating from the Death Eye's path of gaze. Rhoin glanced in the direction of the gaze's force he sensed, seeing nothing with his eyes. He reached with his arm through the path of the invisible force, and then felt a humming vibration enter his arm and permeate his body, then upon the sensation he withdrew his arm.

The vibration faded from his body, and he recognized the force – it was an Elemental force, and it was the same as his own Element. It was the Spirit Element! The Death Eye was Spirit Elemental.

But the Element was not purely Spirit – it contained another force with which it was combined. A very dreadful, deathful force. Another Element with which it was combined? Perhaps the Element of Dark – Rhoin could not definitely identify due to his lack of Elemental knowledge.

But he did know that this creature was Spirit Elemental and he did have his own Spirit Element which he could confront the creature with, but it was still quite drained from his extended time starving in captivity, which would not allow it to recover much at all. He closed his eyes to concentrate, and the battles in his most immediate vicinity closed likewise from his view, the grunts of human, Driadon and Sahag likewise fading to insignificant echoes in the silence of his focusing energies. His Spiritual Element focused and grew into a field of awareness, perceiving the mental and spiritual aspects of existence about him: feeling the empty emotionlessness of the bewitched Torius, the confused rage of Drewth, the enslaved minds of the Summoned Sahags, and his other allies' emotions, until the field expanded past the edges of the ship he was physically standing upon, and continued to expand over the water, which then in it's spanning had reached a terrible entity, the Death Eye.

Rhoin perceived the Death Eye's own Spiritual field encroaching and consuming his own in a Dark power, radiating the Dark power throughout it in pulsating waves. The Dark energies unstabilized Rhoin's concentration and his Spiritual field began to contract and cloud his awareness, and continued to contract until it diminished entirely under the Dark force, arresting Rhoin's concentration. As Rhoin's Spiritual vision went black, he opened his eyes to the physical world and fell unstably upon hands and knees. The Death Eye was near the edge of the ship, still concentrating it's horrific gaze upon the affected Torius.

Rhoin pushed with his hands, throwing himself back into standing position. He was facing the Death Eye, which was but several paces away, floating above the ship, it's fleshy hanging tendrils barely not touching the ship's deck. Rhoin looked at the kneeling Torius, and saw that his open eyes were dull as death, and skin a bloodless white. He was dying by the power of the Death Eye.

"We have to destroy this monster!" Rhoin shouted aloud to the others. "I'll hold him as best I can!" He stepped directly in front of the Death Eye, now standing between it and Torius, and felt that terrible invisible power of its gaze again permeate his body and muddle his mind. But gritting his teeth he again concentrated and closed his eyes, generating a frail Spiritual radiance, which had in itself a quaking sensation, as the full power of the Death Eye focused on Rhoin.

Drewth, having slain a Sahag with a deadly strike of his sword, pulled it's serrated blade from the Sahag's limp body and turned ready to face what Rhoin was battling. There, only arm's reach away from Rhoin, was a horrid Death Eye, poised unmoving, concentrating some evil force upon Rhoin with it's gaze. Rhoin was apparently resisting the power of the gaze, his own eyes closed in concentration. He saw that Rhoin was failing, as his own skin began to pale, and his knees began to shake with an overcoming weakness. Drewth quenched all dread from his mind of the creature with battle's anger, and charged forward, sword clutched ready still in hand. He grasped his weapon with both hands and raised it, ready to come down in a powerful strike upon the Death Eye, and when he was within striking range he brought his sword down. His blade halted motion inches before making contact with the Death Eye. Some invisible barrier about the Death Eye resisted the weapon's strike! Drewth leaned upon the magically suspended blade, attempting to force it into the Death Eye. Despite his force the invisible barrier resisted, and sent vibrations through the sword, vibrations so strong that Drewth's hands numbed of feeling. And then suddenly the vibrating force exploded upon Drewth and hurled him through the air, backward, sword and all.

Paetoric, who was aiding Seften in wrestling two Sahags, heard Drewth's armored body smash against the deck of the ship, and he turned and saw the battle with the Death Eye. He saw that his brother, Rhoin, was confronting it, but failing, as he tremblingly fell to his knees, death white as his elder brother Torius was next to him, both apparently dying.

Paetoric managed to grapple his Sahag foe around it's neck and by forcing his body upon it he drove it to the deck of the ship, the full weight of his check upon the Sahag's head, knocking it unconscious. He left Seften to wrestle with another Sahag, to aid his other two brothers in battle against the Death Eye.

Coming up from behind his two brothers, Paetoric came in full view of the horrid gaze of the Death Eye. Although he was receiving no gaze from the Death Eye, and the full power of the gaze was concentrated on Rhoin and Torius, he felt the cold, cruel force of it emanating and hurting his own mind, simply by being in it's vicinity. He clutched his head painfully, turning from it, trying to shut out the pain the Death Eye's vicinity was putting into him. Dizzy, he stumbled over, and attempted to catch himself from his fall by outstretched hands. His right hand smacked upon against the deck of the ship, but his left hand landed upon a wooden staff that lay beside Torius. Upon his left hand contacting the staff, the pain diminished from his mind. He looked at the staff and saw that it was in fact his constructed halberd, with its dangerous halberd head. The halberd head was glowing a dull red aura, which startled Paetoric, yet he did not let go grasp – this unusual power had protected him from the Death Eye's mental pain, so he held onto it for the sake of his apparent safety.

With his wits gathered again about him, he stood up, taking the glowing halberd up with him, and held its handle in both hands. "Brothers!" he shouted to Rhoin and Torius, who could not hear his voice in their nearing death. He stepped inbetween them, face-to-face with the dreadful Death Eye, whose gaze affected him not while he wielded his magic weapon. He charged forward, glowing halberd head's spear tip lowered into thrusting position. He drew the halberd head back, and with all of his strengths, thrust it forward, into the center of the Death Eye's gazing demonic pupil.

The glowing halberd head struck true, sinking into the Death Eye's flesh deeply, and the red glow which emanated from the halberd spread across the Death Eye's staring gaze and then haloed it's entire horrid body, twisting and turning bright red glowing energies, reaving the Death Eye of life and power. The Death Eye screamed in death, a scream that was not heard by Paetoric's ears but filled Paetoric's mind painfully, causing him to stumble away backward, leaving the Death Eye impaled by the halberd. The Death Eye's body quaked and fell dead to the deck of the ship, and then magic red flames consumed its entirety, disintegrating it rapidly into nothing, the flames then disappearing as well. The Death Eye was defeated, and the halberd which was it's doom clattered to the deck of the ship where the Death Eye once was, the red glow fading away as well to nothing, the halberd lying mundane and normal in appearance once again.

Paetoric, trembling with both anger and alarm, half stumbled, half ran to the halberd, gathering it in his hands with tight grip. He turned about, looking around for more enemies, ready to fight with this weapon and it's sporadic bursts of power.

"Help!" Seften exclaimed in a strangled voice. Paetoric wheeled around, brandishing halberd, in the direction of Seften's voice. Seften was struggling wildly with a Sahag, which had Seften in a strangling hold with it's wiry arm wrapped around his neck, and was tugging and jerking him backward, nearing the edge of the ship. Seften's eyes were wide and expression was wild with apprehension of his death, a fall overboard, and into night-black waters inhabited by these water demons, where he would be helpless.

The Sahag reached the edge of the ship and Seften had found resistive foothold against the base of the ship's bulwark, which gave away when two Sahags leapt aboard the ship from the water, landing on either side of Seften and the wrestling Sahag. The three Sahags easily overpowered the one Seften. Holding upon his body with their clawed hands, they forced him backward head first into the water below, with them, to his doom.

"No!" Paetoric roared in futile rage. He charged to the edge of the ship Seften had fallen from. Rin came in front of Paetoric, large clawed Driadonian hands outstretched, ready to stop Paetoric from dooming himself as well. But as soon as Rin came to contravene Paetoric, he withdrew from Paetoric's path, full alarm on his face and in his dragon-like eyes, as Paetoric's halberd illuminated again with power. Paetoric charged onward with the halberd forward as a thrusting spear, at which point the halberd head was in his view. He saw that again it was illuminated, but not with the wicked red glow, but a white blue aura, with lightning crawling and toiling around and about it.

Paetoric leapt over the edge of the ship, swinging the halberd around so that it was pointed straight downward at the water below. Lightning flashed in a twisted pattern up the shaft of the halberd's handle, embracing Paetoric's arm. The flash blinded Paetoric, consuming his vision and mind with total white light.

In that blinding white he saw a face appear before him of a young man, not clear enough to be identifiable but clear enough to see upset and anguish. His mouth moved, saying hatefully but meaningfully the single word, "brother..." Emotions seeped into Paetoric's mind - feelings of an unforgiving hate with a secret grief, the emotions that must belong to this unknown man. The young man's afflicted face faded away, and his emotions faded away from Paetoric's mind as well. Nothing was left but white in his vision, which itself faded away into utter blackness.

Paetoric, unconscious but somewhat aware, felt the cold, cool water that his body was in, the halberd, once again plain in appearance, was sliding against his limp hand as it sunk away deeper, sinking faster than Paetoric. He made every effort to awake, to save Seften, to wield the mysterious halberd against the Sahags, to reach the surface of the water, to breathe. The smooth wooden shaft of the halberd was slipping still, his hand not responding to his efforts, his body unbreathing, his eyes staying closed that would not open.

A strong hand grasped Paetoric's shirt, tearing it slightly as it tugged Paetoric upward, toward the water's surface, to air. His eyes opened with blurry vision under water, his lungs inhaled – not air, but water, his body jerked to life, and his hand clutched with little strength the shaft of his halberd, seizing it from loss, taking it up with him.

Paetoric's head was forced above the surface of the water, and his convulsing lungs drove all water from them, and drew in air in coughing, panting gasps. The water cleared from his eyes, and he was able to recognize his savior. Rin had a single thick arm around Paetoric's chest, and had been struggling to keep the still unconscious Seften's head above water, which was, with neck still limp, half submerged and expressionless.

The Sea Hammer, with Drewth at the helm, had sailed far ahead with its increased speed, but was turning around to head back toward Rin, Paetoric and Seften.

Paetoric looked over Rin's rocky shoulder at Seften, who had not regained life yet. "He'll be alright," Rin said to Paetoric, while he was kicking fast with his legs to keep all three of them afloat. "We need to get him aboard the ship quickly, out of the water."

Paetoric felt a mass slide up against his leg, bumping against his arm and surfacing right next to him – a Sahag!

Uttering a yell in fear, Paetoric attempted to jerk his halberd up from the water, but saw then that the Sahag was dead, it's terrible yellow eyes were bulged, unfocused, and bleeding green, thick blood. Its body was covered with bursting boils, as if it had been burnt to its death.

Around him he saw that several other such forms were bobbing lifelessly upon the wavy surface of the sea. The halberd had destroyed them, he thought to himself. But not harmed him or Seften with it's power. Why?

Asking himself this question in his mind, he tightened his grasp upon the halberd, determined not to lose it. He pulled it up further, grabbing hold higher on its shaft, keeping it safe from slipping away.

The Sea Hammer slowly drew up beside the three, at a greatly reduced, controlled speed. Ropes were flung over the side by Dante and Drewth. "Grab hold of the rope," Rin told Paetoric, still holding onto him until he had done so.

Paetoric reached with one hand and grabbed the rope, holding it against his body, and Rin's arm unwrapped around him, leaving him to float by his own strength. Paetoric reached his other hand up, raising the halberd out of the water and high, toward Dante. "Grab this first," he said to Dante.

Dante looked at the halberd and then back at Paetoric, gave a half smile, and with humor forced through anxieties he said, "Well, a man's treasure is a man's treasure, rightly?"

He swung spryly over the side of the ship, descended the rope, grabbed the halberd securely, swung it aboard the ship and set it to it's deck with care observant of Paetoric's for this weapon, then helped Paetoric to ascend the rope. Paetoric needed his aid—he was struggling in his weakened state.

He looked over at Rin beside him climbing a rope, who had Seften lying over one shoulder, smaller human head and arms hanging down Rin's back. Rin was ascending the rope easily even with the added weight of Seften's body.

Drewth reached with gauntleted hands and grabbed Seften and Dante by their belts to help both of them over the wall of the ship and safely aboard the deck. Paetoric crumpled weakly to the deck, unbalanced and still half-breathless, not realizing until then how weakened he actually was.

Rin swung himself and Seften aboard the ship, landed upon the deck, and lay Seften carefully down.

"Move," Drewth said, and Rin made way for him as he came to the unconscious Seften, lowering to his knees beside him.

He removed a gauntlet from his right hand, and placed the unarmored hand upon the center of Seften's chest. He concentrated for a second, as if to evoke magic, but with a complexed look upon his face, he removed his hand from Seften's chest and looked at it. He clenched and unclenched his hand several times. "My – my magic, it is gone...?" he uttered brokenly, unsure of what he was even saying. "I don't feel my Element anymore..." he said, contemplating his hand, which was plain and powerless now, in both appearance and feel. "How can this be?"

He stood up and stepped backward away from Seften. "I am sorry..." he uttered in an apathy to the anxious Paetoric. "I cannot help your brother." He turned away, facing the sea, the night, and the dock that they had escaped from, distant. "I cannot help any of your brothers..."

He slowly walked away, seeming insensitive to the commotion of the Me'Aer brothers' near-deaths.

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Syndirin's Plans

BACK ACROSS THE night consumed dark waters, beyond the broad docks from which the adventurers just escaped, and beyond the forest wall which hid them, Syndirin stood upon the field, the anger which bereft him of the usual self-contentment had abated in his contemplations, new plans brewing in his clever mind.

These were contemplations upon which he gave pause to any action against the escape of his prisoners. His plans were not ruined – but changed, and changed to further his ends. And so his anger was abated.

A black raven descended to the ground to the side of Syndirin – careful to not land directly to the front of Syndirin – and exploded in a twisting spire of dark reddish smoke, which dissipated, the Summoner standing there, returning from his failed task. "M'Lord...," he began to speak, almost plead, anxiously.

Syndirin slowly shook his head, not ready to speak words. He was rotating his staff in his bony hand. The Summoner's eyes were fixated upon Syndirin's hand, fearing a fatal strike of his magic. Moments passed, Syndirin stopped rotating the staff, but instead of raising it, lowered it, still upright in his hand, to the ground at his side. "Do not fear me, Korchloc. Your failure has let them escape. The consequences are of no doubt – amongst them being a traitorous knight, a speaking Driadonian slave, and a prisoner that lived through torture, their intentions have as their end all but to foil and destroy me."

"However," he began, turning to face Korchloc, giving the faint sign of a smile at both what he was about to utter and at the fear he instilled in Korchloc. "Their actions against me will be a simple and useful tool for me to use for myself, and as well to turn back against them. Their only options in their actions are to lose, or to lose. They do not understand the politics of royalty like you and I do – do they? And this matter is of royalty, in the hands of royalty, out of reach of peasants such as they. Contrarily, this situation is my opportunity, Korchloc."

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Darkened Light

UPON THE SEA HAMMER, the sun had risen above the horizon of the sea, the sea turned from it's murky black to a glistening green blue, and cast it's rays upon the polished decks and smooth sturdy walls of the Sea Hammer, showing decent features and craftsmanship it's usurping crew failed to admire in their escape the night before. Drewth, who had been at the helm of the ship all night, still was there, skillfully guiding the ship's direction toward Windpass Isles, which was far from view as of yet.

Despite all appearances of his concentration, his mind was barely on this – his mind was aclutter with conflicting ponderings: what was he to do, aboard this ship, upon the new land he was traveling to? Why was he ally to these prisoners? Why was he ally to Syndirin – the murderer of his beloved wife? The decision seemed right in front of him, yet ever distant, ever ambiguous. What was to become of him? And why was he even asking this question of himself as though he did not know, when in fact he did not know? Perhaps the answer was not in the death of others, but in the death of himself.

His final pondering, the death of himself, remained solemnly in his mind. He turned the wheel slightly, guiding the Sea Hammer in a desirable tack with the winds, to gain speed, a skill applied in sailing. Seften had approached him from behind, and he had not noticed. Seften stepped up to the side of Drewth, likewise facing the sea before them, holding onto a partially smashed wooden railing with one hand, to steady himself upon the gently sea-swaying ship.

"I wanted to thank you for saving us, sir," Seften said sincerely to Drewth.

The first thought that entered Drewth's mind was his failure to heal Seften, unconscious, of the night before. "I could not save you, no doubt you did not remember," he replied flatly, in reference to that failed Heal spell.

"Here we all are now, alive," Seften said against Drewth's negative reply. "And you consider yourself so the failure to save?"

Drewth did not respond. He wanted to hatefully comment on the death of his wife, but he could not wrest the words from his mind. And so a moment of only cold silence passed after Seften's words.

"I was told by Paetoric of your failed Healing Spell, and you're seemingly absent Light Element. I've heard the lore once, of Darkened Light. Did you hear of this yourself, sir?" Seften asked of Drewth. "My eldest brother, Torius, told me of this once. He described to me this data of Dark and Light Elements in the tale of two warrior brothers who could not be of either Element as the Elements raged within the warriors themselves. The Element was called Darkened Light, and had no power until it became either Dark or Light inside. In the tale, one brother becomes Dark, and one becomes Light –"

Drewth had cut him off. "I have no time for stories, young Seften. And you've no mind for my matters."

Seften nodded in respectful silence. He gave a moment's pause, but then persisted in his communication. "I do not mean to bother you with mere stories, sir – but I mean only to reference what you seem to be showing as to what you feel. And that you could not heal me the night before – perhaps this will be the answer to your own questions that anger you. Perhaps this Darkened Light?"

"Off with you, boy!" Drewth said angrily, raising a gauntleted fist threateningly, looking upon Seften for the first time since he spoke to him. A very unnatural response of the usual Drewth.

Seften did flinch at the blow that yet did not come, and even raised his hands in front of him in protection. "Sir – I mean only to help, as you helped me," he said humbly, and patted Drewth upon his armored, clenched fist, as he turned and walked down from the helm, leaving Drewth alone.

Drewth lowered his hand down again to grasp the helm's wheel. "Darkened Light," he muttered, "is still another question, and no answer. No one can answer my anger but my anger, it seems."

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Chapter Twenty-Six

The Voice of The Halberd

"RHOIN," PAETORIC SAID, quietly, to gather Rhoin's attention. "I have to tell you something."

Rhoin, who had recovered from the effects of the Death Eye much quicker than Torius had, because of his Element and the shorter duration of the effect upon himself, had been several paces away, turned to Paetoric and approached him closely, curiously. "And what is that?"

"Last night," Paetoric began, an excited look in his eyes, but still with quiet voice, "When I used the halberd – or it itself acted up in magic, whichever way you wish to describe it yourself – I heard the halberd speak to me."

"What do you mean 'speak to you'?" Rhoin asked, baffled. "What did you hear it say?"

"Well, when my vision went white from the blast, a face appeared – a face I have not seen anywhere before, but a man's face, as young as you or Torius – and it was filled with anger and pain. I was filled with anger from myself before the halberd generated that lightning attack. I think it corresponded to my emotions, my anger and his power's anger. And the vision said aloud to itself, not to me: 'Brother'. What do you think that could be? Perhaps a soul trapped inside this weapon? Maybe a wizard's?" He looked down at the halberd he had laying across his lap.

Rhoin likewise looked down at the halberd. He bent down and picked it up from Paetoric's lap, turning the halberd in his hands, examining its head. He placed one hand upon the halberd head, and closed his eyes in Spirit Elemental concentration. After brief moments, he opened his eyes, with no answer apparent in them. "I do not understand this halberd, Paetoric," he said, handing it back down to Paetoric, who grabbed onto it, his treasure, securely. "It does appear full of anger somewhere inside of it, but, and I did verify, there are no souls trapped inside of it. I would have been able to see them. I am still as confused as you are about the voice you had heard. But we do know that, despite it's appearance, it definitely is powerful, and it apparently can release its power in your possession. Take care of it, Paetoric – perhaps it is the key to great secrets, and it's key is apparently possibly within your reach, in the future, we can suppose."

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

An Adventure's End

And An Adventure's Beginning

BEREFT OF THE LADY Arigwhen, Drewth bearing alone a dwelling hatred, and suffering infliction of the Darkened Light element, knows neither his journey nor his fate, having only insatiated vengeance possessive of his heart and mind. Dante, living a deceptive and mischievous but secluded life before, has his trained wits drawn into the beginning of this adventure. Paetoric and Seften likewise are bereft of lives they lived before, having eventfully escaped the wrath of a Dark wizard and his minions, and Paetoric having learned that his halberd has secrets and yet even more incomprehensible secrets to learn. Rin, the enslaved Driadon, will, through the help of the Me'Aers, reveal the corrupt intentions of Syndirin, in an attempt to thwart his destructive actions, and has as a goal to himself the possible freeing of his enslaved peoples.

Rhoin, having learned the purpose of this secretive enemy across the waters, must return with this data to his Master, but alone, once again leaving his brothers.

Syndirin, once respected superior of but now bitter enemy to Drewth, has cunningly began creation of a new plot, staging all of the intentions and actions of this party of adventurers as the controlled movements of mere pawns upon his side of the field, not hindering, but quickening the execution of his campaign for war, with mystery's veil still drawn around his truer ends...

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Legend is a writer and illustrator from Racine, Wisconsin. He has been creating the Esperynzian adventures for years, and now has begun to produce them in written form, starting with this first adventure.

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This is the first book of many. I am currently working on the second book.

Please feel free to communicate to me!

~ Andrew Legend.

