 
THE KING OF LIGHT

J.B. Kleynhans

The King of Light

Copyright 2018 by J.B. Kleynhans

Smashwords Edition

Dedicated to a Very Special Lady;

Liddy-Joan Marran

Thank you for a remarkable friendship

And Happy Birthday

When the need is great. They will come.

### Prologue

Year 3889 S.E.

They did not reach the mass grave, the journey long, the country a wide frozen wilderness. King Ryeth, the second of his name, was already tempted to halt his entourage with their first setbacks. They pushed on then, but with the mountain passes revealed to be snowed shut it was clear there was simply no way to continue.

'This is as far as we can go!' said the King to a retinue a hundred men strong, his voice carrying well in an otherwise silent and barren valley. Young Anka was somewhat relieved; he had only been shipped to the north to witness the latter part of his father's gruelling campaign in Cerron, finding the place more inhospitable than he could have possibly imagined, and finding ire and embarrassment at his own lack of basic skills necessary just to get through the day here.

Whenever Anka was in doubt he would glance at his father, or the Wolf called Hathai if his Sire was not close at hand. Now too was such a time, feeling unsure on a horse that had not shown him acquiescence after all this time, and try as he might not to disturb the column of riders, it appeared his attempts at showing grace in the saddle encouraged the opposite.

Many of these riders with them were the stoic Wolves of the King, his elite warriors, but also part of their entourage were survivors of some of the worst massacres of the local populations, some of them prominent, others ordinary citizens. Anka put his own worries aside seeing Armadan, a now homeless nobleman, walking toward the wall of snow that fell into the neck of the mountain pass, blocking the way. He put his hand up to the root of a wild fig that had been unearthed by an avalanche, tugging at the buried tree without heart, as though it was going pull open a passage through a thousand tonnes of snow. There was no way through.

He saw Armadan make peace with this fact, laying down the banner of his House, which he had intended to lay down at the site where his wife had been killed, along with many, many others. On the other side of the mountain range was the now silent city of Urels, one of the first to be decimated by the dragon worshippers.

He kneeled dejectedly at the tattered banner, the complicated eagle device almost unrecognizable. Unfortunately it was a reflection of what had become of this place.

'The last vestiges of Cerron are done for!' Armadan cried angrily to the sky, wiping the tears away before they could freeze on his cheeks. His five year old daughter rushed to his side, and not understanding his distress hugged him. He sobbed a few times holding her, before looking up at King Ryeth.

'King of the south, do you have need of men in Attoras? I no longer want to stay in Cerron! I do not ever want to see this place again!' he cried.

Ryeth could not help but chuckle amidst the sadness. 'I am not often called King of the south, it's a marvel that any civilization is found north of us... many think that the world ends just north of Mount Dunnoom... If you are a man of peace and haven't lost your sanity, then you may voyage with us. At least for the sake of your daughter.'

The little girl tugged at her father's arm. 'Where is mother, daddy? Won't she come with us?'

'Mother is with the Benevolence now, she is safe with Him, _and it is warm there!_ ' he said that last part almost as though lamenting the bitter cold they currently dealt with.

'Can we go there too?' asked the girl.

'Not yet little one, one day,' said the father with sorrow, his voice an emotion filled thing trying to be brave.

They turned around after that, and already there were murmurings of leaving Cerron for good among the men, an uplifting thought for everyone. Anka too was hopeful.

He put his foot in the stirrup to re-mount, for a moment scared that his weight might pull down the saddle, having done the buckling himself. He was still getting the hang of it. The landmass at the top of the earth had put a healthy respect of death in him. Fear, discomfiture and bleakness were the only states of mind this far north had for its own people and soon had that effect on anyone visiting these lands. As such, being prepared and diligent was a lesson quickly learned. Also, it was _cold_ here, not the moist cold of Attoras, but a dry remorseless cold that stripped the body from strength and made ache bones and joints.

He rode at his father's side now, as they headed for the coast. 'Have you practised wielding the Seluin light?' asked the King.

'Not as much as I should have,' admitted Anka. 'I have to remove my gloves to wet my hands, and if the water is not frigid cold, then it's frozen at the bottom of my urn.'

Ryeth chuckled. 'The urn keeping the waters is a tradition as old as our House - but, I suggest you keep the Seluin waters in a good old waterskin for the duration of our stay here - it won't freeze as easily.'

'Will we... be long here still?' asked Anka.

'I doubt it. Most of our encounters have been reduced to skirmishes, the dragon worshippers are broken, their forces scattered. If the refugees weren't so helpless, I would have us set sail home already.'

'I will practise my magic as much as I can once we are home, and also my swordsmanship,' said Anka.

Ryeth barked a laugh. 'Your swordsmanship is fine. Your riding however...'

Anka cringed. He had hoped his father wouldn't notice, but of course he did.

'If you take some more time with horsemaster Aldron, I will let you start duelling with Erenciel. Your arms and shoulders should be strong enough to swing it around a little by now.'

This excited Anka more than anything, his father intuitive to what might motivate the young prince; there was no heirloom of his House that he valued as much as the blade of the King. It was an imposing two handed sword, an ancient steel crafted in both beauty and deadliness, and a sword that had helped cut the very history of the kingdom.

Anka's thoughts turned solemn as their return journey invariably passed by the scene of another massacre, bodies of the locals strewn and dismembered in the valley; this group had been on the run and had been caught by the soldiers of the dragon army. They spared no one.

As they rode on, the King then thought it prudent to say this much to his son, the thoughts brought about seeing the reality of death:

'When I lay my head to rest one day, you will be the King of the Mountain, son. You will be the one to carry forth the light. And you will carry the Erenciel blade.'

'I know father.'

'It is not just a given son. You will be thrust into a world that has many things to deal with; some things that you are good at and other things that will be difficult for you, but above all else - and remember this - you must find something that makes you a true King, there is... always one thing that comes to define a man, something that keeps him honest to the person the kingdom needs him to be.'

'Like war?' asked Anka.

Ryeth's face hardened, downcast, and his right hand came up in an automatic gesture passing over his chest, where Anka knew he kept a locket of Anka's mother. It had been three years now. They too had a lost a mother to their House.

'No...' he said curtly. 'Find something else.'

He continued on: 'And do not take those princes of the south as an example, they are a boisterous lot without substance; if a chance of a just King exists in the west, it is with Attoras.'

Anka nodded.

With the King's retinue rode Redulphalas, an unlikely leader against the enemies of Cerron. When he first joined Ryeth's war he had little more than the pitchfork with which he had first defended his family - now Ryeth was about to leave him in charge of the entire central mining district, whereabouts the majority of the conflict played out. 'Put your brightest minds in charge of running the mines. You will find it much easier running the country - and defending it - with gold in your coffers,' Ryeth had reiterated a couple of times to Redulphalas.

'I expect biannual tributes. One fifth should do, we will send out ships, just make sure the loads are ready to be collected.'

Redulphalas agreed without argument. If it had not been for King Ryeth's intervention, chances were not a single innocent soul would have escaped the scourge of the dragon worshippers.

It was of course deep in the mines that they unearthed the Stone of Privilege, and most of the soldiers' talk had revolved around it for quite some time, as the King became its keeper. It was an ancient artefact by all accounts and supposedly too precious to leave behind.

Anka had a look at it every now and even though his father kept it covered under a cloth when they camped, he felt compelled to see it. It was large; almost the size of a bull's head, an obsidian jewel cut many-facetted that played any light that fell on it in a strange way, as though trying to reveal something of its secretive nature.

Whether a jeweller would value it Anka was not certain, but there was talk surrounding the stone saying it held great powers. Ryeth, being a King of Seluin light, along with his Wolves and also the disciple called Demetri had studied the thing closely, and even wielded magic on it. No one could make even a single tentative suggestion on its power other than Hathai's lone observation; it gave speechless creatures the ability to talk \- those intelligent enough to do so in the first place, which were few and far between. That made the stone of no use to humans of course.

'Piece of junk,' murmured Ryeth. 'If we can't sell it before we leave here I'll toss it into the ocean on the voyage back, maybe some siren will find its song playing with the stone.'

The others were not as convinced of its unimportance as the King. It had an ominous presence, and the King declined to get rid of it on two occasions, so Anka started believing that his father too felt that the stone hid an unknown danger.

They made good headway southwards and it was then that Anka came to witness the supposed end to their campaign in Cerron. They had expected to make contact with the dragon worshippers earlier in the day already, but had to make do with running into them on the return to the coastline. They were the most frightening aspect of Anka's tenure here. The magi among the worshippers wore their hair long, and twined old dragon bones into the thick unwashed locks which hung as matted ropes over their shoulders.

Tarah was the leader of the worshippers, famous and feared, and marched forward brazenly from his brothers. The Wolf called Hathai brought out a sword with blinding speed from atop his horse to point it close at Tarah's neck.

'Back off!' the Wolf encouraged, 'and I will feel your magicks before you can even think of doing anything untoward.'

'Hathai has a nose for magic, and an appetite for blood. I would not cross him if I were you,' said Ryeth calmly as he dismounted his horse.

Tarah simply smiled, not intimidated, but indicating with his hands that he came in diplomacy.

Standing face to face with the dragon worshipper, the King continued: 'Your surrender is very sudden. And I'm curious why you only now realized how badly you were losing.'

Tarah still smiled. 'I was under the impression my messenger would relay a truce under negotiations.'

'The negotiations are simple. You take your spineless horde, start marching east, and never come back - and I get to go home.'

'I want the stone,' said Tarah evenly, as though he had heard nothing the King said.

Ryeth was speechless for a moment. On the one hand, he was happy to part with the stone and get rid of it. But he was also not too keen at just throwing it at the enemy when it reportedly had powers.

'Your forces are already scattered,' said the King.

'And you would rather not return. Give us the stone Cold King, and both yours and our plight will end here.'

'That's all you want? You'll take the stone and your presence in Cerron halts without exception? Indefinitely?' asked Ryeth.

Tarah nodded. 'We'll settle for the stone,' he said, trying not to give away too much desperation to gain it.

Ryeth frowned and twisted his mouth in distrust. 'Then why a war?' he asked in a low voice. 'Why all this misery if the stone alone is what you want?'

Tarah looked up Hathai. 'We know the Wolves have noses for magic. It took longer than we anticipated, but you turned your attentions to the mines, and there, where we could not, you sniffed out the stone in that labyrinth. Of course, a full scale war and nothing less is all that could bring the Cold King and his Wolves to this place.'

'You threw an entire continent into war so that you can lure the Wolves here!? You bastard!' shouted Armadan. Even before the nobleman could move the Wolves restrained him, otherwise he might have flown into Tarah then and there.

'The man is right, I should cut the head from your shoulders right here!' said the King at Tarah.

'Then all hope of a truce is off. My men would maraud unceasingly, and you will have to hunt down every last band of raiders that I command.'

Ryeth looked back at Armadan. The widower quickly had a change of heart, his anger evaporating for the good of Cerron; he seemed to beg the King with his eyes for any hope of letting the war come to an end. He nodded at the King.

'Very good. Take the stone. Let the dragons talk all they want. Let them sing of their own glory. And if they come near my mountain, we will crush them!'

'My Lord! I must advise against this!' said Hathai.

'Does the stone have any properties you have not explained to me?'

'No, but-'

'Then what can come of it? The dragonkin are gone, those that remain sit in their nests and brood on past glories, and at the mention of the King and his Wolves they hiss angrily in a bid to disguise their fear.'

'My Lord I-'

'Enough! They can have the stone...' Anka swung to Tarah: 'Dragon Worshipper! If I ever need to sail to these blasted lands again and find you marauding it, I will cut out your heart that has betrayed your own kind for some disastrous scaled monster, and feed it to my dogs! Do you understand me?'

'We will not haunt these lands again. We have what we need. The next time you see us King, we will come for our mountain.'

Anka threw back his head and laughed. 'Your masters are dead and the dragons that remain are of the lesser kind, barely worth sparing a thought over.'

Tarah did not reply and the dragon worshippers hungrily took the stone and marched away with it. They were all happy to see the back of them.

'We'll camp on the coastline for a week, and make sure these cowards move out before we set sail,' said Ryeth.

Anka did not remember much else of that day, but his father's defiance stuck with him. It seemed to him, even young, that one day the stone would come back to haunt them. He did not know how, but that stone would one day sound the battle drums of a war unheard of on this world. At thirteen years of age, he did not bring his fears to his father.
Chapter 1

### Homecoming

Year 4005 S.E.

The seas had been kind to Anka for a change, the usual presence of a warrior-king somewhat diminished by the lack of firm land beneath his feet. Today, the end of the second campaign to Cerron seemed to calm even the bitter oceans of the north, cruellest where the waters were pressed between the barren shores of Cerron and the fair ones of Attoras in the south. Anka's stature however had never given him leave from the men's jokes, even if he was on land, where his presence had become indomitable. He did not mind. They needed something after all to keep them sane and going north was often exactly that - not so much a conquest of land as it was a defence of sanity.

It was a much different war than the one his father had fought. Back then his father's efforts had stopped the dragon worshippers' mad plans to bring back the dragons to power. Despite the late King Ryeth's success, the damage they had done was lasting and Anka was left to deal with the rogue kingdoms that emerged, with criminal warlords ravaging the land. Anka remained involved in war only because he had to, but he also admitted having developed a secret love for these desperate struggles.

Almost sixteen years to the day it was time to return home again, and he was eager to do so once more. He had taken his father place, remembering him standing on the deck near the bow like Anka did now, only, he favoured a much different look to his father, who had always dressed very finely, if a little ill-suited for the icy northern wildernesses.

Anka on the other hand wore furs, his broad shoulders accentuated by the pelt of a brown bear, and grim armour of faded gray steel showing where he was not covered up otherwise. With his hair and beard uncut during the campaign, along with his attire, he looked more like the warlords of some of the barbaric tribes that roamed Cerron, than the King of Attoras. He was rarely seen without Erenciel and his armour, battle-ready to the end, but that was where his mind was still after all. It was hard leaving a war behind, even if it were over.

Locked in thought the waves carried the sound of battle back to Anka, as though they echoed across vast oceans, even if they came from the depth of memory.

There was a moment in particular that came back to him, one that seemed to outshine the rest of the bloodshed and made Anka reflect on things. It came sometimes in the form of a troubled dream, but it was in his waking moments that he mused over it in such a way that stirred a profound restlessness within him:

In the town of Sethia they had shattered most of the resistance there. Whatever bloodlust they aimed at Anka and his men was well met with the King in particular already known as an avatar of war. Most of the town had been evacuated, when he came across a woman and her child, a boy of maybe ten. The denizens of Cerron might've thought Anka a tyrant at the time, but he was not there as a conqueror. They did not understand this and a soldier of Sethia threw himself between Anka and the woman and child.

He wanted to tell the man to take the family now and flee, and not return to this land until Anka had left. Anka assured him he would not harm the woman and child... it fell on ears that did not believe him. The soldier charged at the King.

The man was poor with a sword, and Anka was great enough to match blades with the best of men. Anka blocked an enraged attack, pushed the man hopelessly off-balance and then tore the gold and ivory blade of Erenciel through half his torso when he came at the King again. He was dead within a second.

It was the look of the man however that made Anka think so hard afterwards. By the rumours that followed Anka the man must've surely realized who he was facing, and yet he had glanced at the woman with a lifetime worth of longing and then in folly challenged Anka.

The dead man's folly had never been Anka's privilege. However misguided, the man believed he was protecting this woman, or his wife if that was the case. For Anka, after so many slain foes, not once could he look over his shoulder and think of protecting something as precious as going headlong into a losing battle.

That train of thought brought a name to Anka's lips, the sound of it swept away in the sea wind. It brought him pain and discomfort; it was ultimately the reason why he fled the court and immersed himself in war to begin with. He resolved not to think of it any further, and as if to help him exit his reverie, the speeding ship crested some choppy water, blasting so many droplets in the air that sprayed like fine mist over his face. He smiled; these waters were as temperamental as none other, one minute fine, the next a cauldron of ill-mannered whitecaps.

Returning his focus to his surroundings, Anka noticed a lanky soldier wiping the deck, carefully navigating around the King, labouring to clear every inch of wood while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible around his Lord.

'A King should not be left to his own thoughts,' said Anka out loud.

The man stopped mopping, looking up, and wondering if he were meant to respond.

'Stand closer soldier, tell me your name.'

'Sibo, my Lord.'

'Sibo. I have not seen you before.'

'I was mostly with the supply trains sir.'

'Do you have family?'

'Yes my King. I wed shortly before we set sail.'

'You were conscripted?'

'No my Lord. I had no craft at the time and I needed the income.'

Anka nodded. 'And have you a plan now, or will you remain with the garrison? It is not an easy life, being newlywed and soldiering.'

'It is late in my life, but I want to be an engineer your Majesty, my leanings more to carpentry and siege engines. I have taken a liking to principles surrounding leverage and load bearing, pulleys and cranes, tension and the use of winches, gears and... well, my Lord gets the idea.'

'You can read?' asked Anka.

'I can my Lord.'

'Then you are off to a good start.' Anka noticed something strange in the way Sibo's arm was wrapped around the mop, as though he bore some sort of deformity.

'You seem to be healthy and young enough to be a front-liner, why were you with the supply trains?'

Realizing the King was looking at this arm Sibo said truthfully: 'In my very first skirmish when we landed, a man struck my shield-arm with a hammer. It was a terrible blow and my arm might have been pulverized had I not taken the hit on the shield. I managed to survive the day, but the arm was dislocated and broken. At the time I had no one to help me with it. When we finally joined with the greater group again, I considered coming to Your Majesty, but they told me the bone had set and healed already, albeit skew, and that your Lord's magic won't straighten it for me.'

'You cannot be an engineer with that arm,' said Anka bluntly.

'Maybe I'll take an able-bodied apprentice, and I will delegate.'

'Are you so inventive that an apprentice will want to be in your shadow, and not go about doing his own thing?'

'No,' said the man, looking dejected.

'The healers didn't give you all the options, or know too little about the human body to be considered healers at all,' said Anka, sounding a little bit angry to Sibo. 'I can fix your arm. But it will painful. Would you bear pain if I can get it right?' asked Anka, a low note in the King's voice making it clear to Sibo that it would not be pleasant.

Sibo nodded, and Anka lunged forward before the man could back out.

Trained in medicine and anatomy, Anka had an intimate understanding of the human body, and how his magic needed to navigate its intricacies.

In terror Sibo experienced the King's strength, hardly believing his eyes as hands as hard as vices grabbed his forearm and twisted it into another break. He cried out in pain, writhing, but not able to wrestle free, not understanding how his hereto benevolent King could do this to him.

'Hold still,' commanded the King, now reaching with his right arm into the waterskin kept at his belt; therein he kept the last of his Seluin waters. It was the source of Evrelyn's magic, the water of the mountain being the very substance used to summon the light of Seluin.

With his hand wet it went aglow as Anka muttered the incantation, a cold white light engulfing Sibo's arm as the King brought his hand down on it.

The soldier stared wide eyed as the light flowed into his mangled arm, and he felt the change and the warmth radiating through it. Pain was relieved, replaced with fierce itching, then numbness, and finally a feeling that was freedom of movement, something he thought he had lost forever.

'I had to break it again to straighten the ulna, only then can my magic bring the arm back to its full function,' explained the King.

Anka let go, and in wonderment Sibo stared at his arm. 'My King...'

'Get something to eat Sibo, your body will need nourishment, I relieve you of your duties.'

'Thank you my King,' said Sibo, with a face as pale as milk, sweat running from his brow even in this cold. But there was a flicker of hope in his eyes.

Feeling satisfied with the outcome Anka stared out forward again with a slight smile, which grew slightly wider as the very first specks of islands appeared on the horizon, islands that belonged to the shores of home.

They anchored at Depaché beach, a lone lighthouse on the rocks making it the only viable port for the moment. It was a little far to the east, so Anka and his men would still have some riding to do. Most of his men would return to the garrison, not too far from here, while those who were homebound would form part of Anka's retinue for the return journey to Attoras.

Bringing his warhorse from the ship, Perapolis, the horse veered off the gangway and jumped into the ocean. A soldier who was eager to impress and retrieve the King's horse was ready to jump in after it, but Anka grabbed him by the collar to stop him. 'Nary had there been a King in my line who did not have ill luck with horses. Let it be, it will swim to coast and meet us there,' advised Anka, knowing by now pursuing the horse would be a waste of time, and further encourage it even. The bloody beast didn't even once turn its head as it swam off in the distance, as though running away forever, except the King knew of better.

As the men offloaded the rest of their goods and animals at the pier, Anka marched into the tree line near the coast, scouring the undergrowth. He found the horse, still dripping with water, mauling a bush of berries, his mouth working feverishly to pluck the minuscule fruits and swallowing them in the same fashion.

'Don't pretend we didn't feed you... although these berries are quite something,' said the King, pinching a prime looking one for himself from the higher branches. The horse of course moved defensively toward the King to shield his find from his master, but the King caught him by the mouth.

Gripping Perapolis by the girdle, the King said, 'born and yet to be born, I'd wager no horse will ever be as difficult as you are,' Anka swung himself up onto the horse's back.

'Now with that title bestowed upon you, can we call a truce of sorts? At least until we get back home?'

Perapolis snorted.

'Very well. Seeing that you are so full of life, we'll ride hard today. I am keen to get home. There has been a name on the wind, and in my dreams. I have been away for too long.'

Anka returned to the men at the pier, who had finished up for the most part, and not long after they made good on Anka's suggestion that they not saunter. Despite what Anka had said earlier about his line and their ill luck with horses, he had become an excellent rider all the same, forgotten the days he could not command a horse in battle or otherwise.

That first part they rode through the brush of thriving undergrowth, a sweet scent of pine issuing from the forest floor, and also from the gordanae shrubs, which burgeoned so even into the last parts of summer, autumn for all intents and purposes it must be said. It was still nothing compared to Cerron, which seemed to enjoy a nearly perpetual winter. Soon that same winter would throw at the south its blizzards, and the forest and its trails would lay heavy with snow, everything covered, including the shrubs, buried alive where the trees get to live out their immortality, or something close to it. The air here was much improved from the dire air of Cerron, and yet it felt as though the air of Cerron had moved into Anka's lungs and made a nest there. A cough returned to him that had persisted on and off for the last couple of months. He would need to ask some of his more learned medicine men if they had a solution for him in this regard.

He could not however attend to his chest with his own magic, a lesson he had learned long ago, ironically from his father falling on the wrong side of his luck with horses. Ryeth the second had once fallen trapped under his horse in battle. His wounded horse soon died and Anka's father was left with a broken leg. Anka was a little surprised that the King did not attend to his own leg, letting a disciple do the healing.

"No use creating a corruption in my body son." Anka didn't understand the matter too well at the time, but later experience in magic had taught him the folly of healing oneself. Like a snake feeding on its own tail.

They made camp not late that night, the men eager to lit cook fires after they had spent so much time on the ship. They kept the fires going, only later letting them dwindle to a bed of coals, cooked their meal and ate, and then fuelled them back to a many-tongued glory as they talked long into night. Anka sat with his men, and he was glad to hear a hopeful tone in the their voices; now close to home they started planning a life after war, which Anka knew could be both an exciting and hard prospect all at once. Military life gave structure if nothing else, and some men needed that. That many of the men had plans such as Sibo, was heartening, Attoras would need these men to help build on a Kingdom that was often struggling to keep up with the wider world.

'First going to build a house, got it all figured out because my cousin is a stone layer,' began Gimor, a somewhat toothless veteran of the army.

'You mean the lad that added the outbuilding to the apothecary's shop? It collapsed you know,' said Eberd, who was painfully cynical for a young man.

Gimor waved his hand angrily, 'that was because the master chemist shorted on payment for the mortar, forced my cousin to build the outer wall single leaf.'

'O dear, I can see you moving in with me... if you survive the collapse that is,' said wide-bellied Denjard. That brought about a laugh.

'My cousin's stone laying abilities are just fine! My point is, once my house is settled, I'm going to start a ranch! M'dad always reckoned I had one of those horse whisperer voices, reckon I can get a good establishment running in no time.'

'You're going to have the same problem as me. Going to have to compete with the guilds,' said Lemis coolly. 'I want to go into fine metal work, jewellery mostly, not so much steels. But the guilds dominate the industry, as they do with horses.'

'Do you all want to piss on my parade?' asked Gimor.

'It's true though, the guilds have an enduring stranglehold on many of the trades. They hardly leave space or resources for anyone to compete with them,' said Eberd.

Lemis swung to Anka. 'Is there any chance King, that my Lord could intervene in the way the guilds operate? They've had their way with Attoras for such a long time.'

'Are their products any good?' asked Anka.

'Yes,' said Lemis reluctantly, 'but I think mine can be better.'

'Then why must a kingdom punish the successful proponents? I can understand that they need competition, but must I one day undermine you as well when you see the fruits of your endeavours?'

The men were quiet, looking at each other.

'If you have a good plan, or good product, bring it to my court, and if I think the merits are reasonable, I will make you a loan and whatever needs be to get you on your feet.'

'That is more than we deserve my King, but I must insist on the guilds' underhandedness. Though not all of them are so, those most protective of their territory use extortion, intimidation and market manipulation. Even murder is not beyond them.'

'If that is their way then they will find an enemy in me. I will protect their rights only in as far they do not stamp on those of others.'

Gimor smiled widely, showing a missing tooth or two. 'We had a wager how long it would take our King to declare a new war on someone. That didn't take long at all!' he said happily.

Anka chuckled with the men.

One man had not spoken through all of this, and Anka was curious to know his way forward. Merohan was the youngest of the group here, but had a cool head in battle.

'How about you Merohan, have you given any thought about your future?' asked Anka.

'I... wish to join your guard Majesty. That I think is my calling. I have other prospects, but I enjoy a steady life. I'll maybe start something of my own once I saved up enough.'

'You ain't getting rich working in the castle young man,' said Gimor.

'Shush, don't discourage the only good man among you talentless hacks of joining my guard,' said the King.

'As long as I can provide for my family, my ambition is the safety of Attoras.'

'Good, then you can help me clean out the guilds! Your friends here will have something to thank you for...'

When Anka himself looked homewards, there was only one thing he was hopeful to return to. It was a secret ambition he had told no one about, one that he had been nurturing for so long. If his father's arrangement still held, one made many years ago, then it was something that would come his way, _hopefully_. Even so he felt uneasy about it all, least of all because it wasn't something that could come to fruition by a simple arrangement, not in the way Anka wanted. He but hoped it would provide the first step of realizing his ambition, and now, it brought him homewards were not many things in the world could. Anka could not really care about the dignitaries of Attoras, let alone those of Rostrad, but there was a certain dignitary from Rostrad exempt from this indifference, so much so that when Anka heard of her name again amongst the men, he had slowly decided to call the second campaign to an end.

A timber wolf still far from the Dunnoom range sounded a piercing howl when darkness had fallen on the wood in full. Staring at the last of the embers, Anka became absorbed in his own thoughts again as the light receded around the camp, the men turning to the tents they had pitched, until only the King sat there, listening; to the spit of the fire, an owl passing briefly by, and then eventually a second howl responding to the first.

The true sons of Attoras, the Wolves, were not with their King tonight, and they had not been with him on his campaign as they were with his father on his. Anka had toured and conquered Cerron, with nothing more than ordinary soldiers of Attoras. He wished that accomplishment could silence the question he had sat with for so long: _Where were the Wolves? Where are they now?_ The thing was, nobody knew for sure.

Vile rumours had sprung up when his father had passed, because this was the same period of time that the Wolves had retreated from the public eye - not that they loved attention to begin with. The rumours insinuated that the Wolves had not looked on Anka as favourably as they did his father. Not only had Anka suddenly been entrusted with the name King, but he had also lost the services of some of the best warriors in the world. He did not know what to make of it. Maybe that was why he fought so fiercely in Cerron, to justify his position as Commander of the Wolves. In his heart he knew that was not the answer, something else kept them away, and that scared Anka a little.

'Another matter to resolve,' said Anka to himself, dousing the fire, and heading for rest.

When they set out at dawn, an orange glare slowly ate through a dark purple bank of clouds, rays of gold piercing through a resilient wall of heaven. They rode toward it, more visible as they left the woods along the coast, bypassing a winding road of old by trading it for a lumpy and stone riddled veldt, of which at least the grass were short thanks to Harman's wondering goats, his estates covering a large section of the north west. They saved some time by this route, albeit the growing altitude adding burden to the horses, and soon they were under the cover of trees again, just as the sun had risen above the clouds and were revealed in full force.

Anka was glad to be rid of the nuisance of its glare again, at most filtering through the canopies of greenery overhead in specks of gold.

Large parts of Attoras still lay obscured under woodland, and it would probably continue to do so for a long time. The _Groves_ as the greater woodland areas were known as, were a protected part of the northern continent. They had power these Groves, kept and tended by the Druids. This particular part of the woodlands had overrun a set of forgotten ruins; aqueducts and their outbuildings that had connected two cities fallen before the establishment of Attoras. All the same the woods here seemed as ancient as all the others, and something in the air that day alerted Anka to a whimsical visitor, one of many powers.

The eagle flitted above them, darting out of sight as to have anyone doubt they had seen the thing to begin with, except that they all talked amongst each other of course.

'Stay here for a while; the spirit of the woods is shy of many men. I will track it alone, and see what it has to say,' said the King.

'I cannot recommend riding off alone in a place like this Sire,' said Rasban.

'I'll be alright, and I'll go on foot, so please keep an eye on Perapolis, he is even more capricious than our visitor.'

So Anka was up into the knoll around which the road ran, walking patiently around so many bushes and tree trunks, sometimes squeezing through them, until he was at the foot of the aqueduct. Whatever civilization had left the aqueducts here always impressed Anka, as he inspected the littered stones in the glade, shattered segments that were both walls and water channels in function. All the while he followed the eagle, flitting from place to place as Anka humoured the creature.

Anka walked on until he was faced with a stone wall, encapsulated by so many roots growing up its side. The eagle was nowhere to be seen, but the wall caught Anka's attention right then, his eyes catching movement the moment he looked up. Suddenly, the roots on the walls writhed like snakes, and seemingly dug into the stones as fingers would. With a coordinated clench they broke right through the stone, revealing a little chamber beyond... but Anka could not care for that, as members of the same giant plant lifted out from the forest debris near his feet, the roots having laid in hiding. They came with aggression, as supple as whips, and as hard-hitting as rocks. With a screech of steel Erenciel was clear of its scabbard, and two full bodied swings came from the King in great arcs, severing the roots that almost hit him from both left and right. Just like that the roots retreated.

Anka looked warily around him, a little bit uneasy that he had placated the plant so swiftly. It was hard telling anyone south of Attoras that the woods were alive; you could ride a hundred journeys through the Grove and see nothing untoward ever, but let your name be Anka and luck would have it a malicious thing such as this would hunger for a King's flesh.

With nothing else stirring and coming for him, he marched forward to the now opened section of wall, Erenciel still in his hands. There, inside the chamber were the plant whose roots sprawled so far and wide, and Anka was a little surprised. The stem was quite high, but not nearly enough to justify such an elaborate root system. It carried on it giant red flowers sitting like a crown, and above it peaked a stem of tightly packed black seeds. Anka still approached, wandering if he would do any travellers or the Grove for that matter a favour by killing it. Beyond the broken wall he went, and stood ready to cut it down... Then the seeds bristled, the plant showing life. Anka swept up his cloak instinctively, to cover his body and face, just in time as the seeds exploded from their parent body in all directions, ricocheting into everything and shooting off in surprisingly far distances. Some at least would have fallen into favourable ground for growth. Dropping his cloak and looking up, he saw the plant suddenly shrivel up, as though it had just given everything to displace its seeds as widely as it could. Anka crouched and picked up one of the seeds in curiosity.

'Should I get rid of you as well?' asked Anka.

Something landed behind the King and he spun around, just catching the Druid after he had transformed from eagle to man, feathers still clinging on his cloak from the transition.

'You should not,' advised the Druid.

'Metrus of Vasala!' said Anka in recognition.

Not answering the Druid walked up to the King and removed his hood so that his eyes were exposed; two emerald coloured irises unmistakably marking him as one of the protectors of the Grove.

'It's good to see you return King, you were away for so long.'

Anka nodded. 'I have grown addicted to these wars, and there is little else than administrative issues to deal with in my father's halls. But I am tired now and will find comfort in being with my people. The campaigns are over, and Cerron is as close to liberated as it will ever be.'

'You're lucky the seeds didn't perforate you my King, they have been known to do so when shooting off... you must keep this seed, take it with you to Attoras.'

Anka looked down at the seed, the size of a stone of a peach. 'Why?'

'We had a dream about what would aid the balance of things... The Kuradee flower, though a devourer plant, will not act as maliciously if it's liberated from the corruption it carries.'

'This is a Kuradee flower?' asked Anka, immediately seeing it in a different light. 'I didn't know there were any left...'

'Its mutated form as you've just witnessed comes from ridding the forest of dark magic, but unfortunately what it feeds on eventually corrupts it... As it is an endangered species, we want you to plant it in a protected place and let it come up in a pure form. But you will have to find a way to let it come up pure, as the corruption sits even in its seeds. It won't just die like any other plant would, but you must care for it. You must find a way to tend to it.'

'I doubt my Seluin light would work on such a plant, am I the right person for this task?'

'It's not about your powers King Anka. It is a symbol for something to come. Our great dreamers told me that they see a union of great importance.'

'Truly?' asked Anka, now gaining some hope.

'They speak of a lasting alliance between your House and my people, and that it may be built on something more.'

This was all music to Anka's ears, for various reasons, but above anything else, the only sure way the Druids would commit themselves to the House of Evrelyn would be if the rulers of Rostrad were suddenly adjoined to his.

'Have many of your brothers gone to sleep again? Dreaming like they do?'

Metrus nodded. 'More than ever before, and I, as an almost lone vessel for their power in the lucid world have been growing in power ever since. But this trespass of balance is needed - we are deeply troubled King Anka, I came to you because our relief of your return is great.'

'What has gone wrong Druid?' asked Anka.

'I may not say... directly.'

Anka was getting the idea he was not going to get many coherent answers from the man today.

'Your loyalty has always been held by the court of Rostrad, is it they who are keeping your mouth shut?' asked Anka impatiently.

Metrus nodded. 'I cannot however let you pass here without warning, otherwise the entire continent might fall.'

'A warning without content is no warning at all.'

'I am bound not to say anything more, only that you must know that danger is on your way...' said Metrus.

Anka did not hide his displeasure, blowing angrily through his nose. 'Did you then choose to show yourself to give me nothing?'

Metrus did respond immediately, but then under the King's gaze offered this: 'I can ask of you however: _what are the origins of our alliance?_ '

Anka thought hard, frowning. 'The greatest threat ever posed to the Grove is one and the same with every north-born child's greatest nightmare. The flames of the dragons swept away your precious forests. When my forefathers drove the dragons away from here, the Grove came to know a previously unknown period of peace. It was then that we grew amicable towards one another, although your loyalties are with Rostrad.'

Metrus nodded.

Anka only then realized what the Druid was insinuating, looking incredulously at the Druid. 'No, _no_ , the powers of the dragons are broken Metrus. There were only two great kings that remain among them, and only one of them mad enough to oppose us.'

'It is him.'

'And yet he is broken, not even his worshippers can put him back together.'

'They have found ways to do so.'

Anka felt like he needed to sit down. 'Then what in the blazes is Rostrad thinking that you must withhold information like this from me?'

'Because they are blaming you for this, although they have not let a squeak to other persons of the continent of a possible dragon threat. They feel your interference in Cerron have awakened the dragon's need for revenge.'

' _This Druid_ , is why I go to war! Because I have not a single sympathetic hair toward these political affairs where every wretch is squandering time backstabbing the next poor fool!'

'I am sorry King. Our position is precarious.'

'You did well enough to warn me, and I know why you did it. If your fear is remotely true, only me and my Wolves will contain the threat. I do not however believe you just yet. There are many lies in the land Druid, some that may fool even you, and the dragon worshippers were never keen on admitting this; their king was brought to the ground back in my father's days, sustaining very heavy wounds and when the ballistae unleashed a volley on his stranded being much of his fierce strength was killed. Without him the dragon host gave up Cerron. Under truce, they carted him away like some sorry thing, and my father negotiated the end of that war. Their supposed resurgence was a false dawn.'

Right then Anka felt Metrus wanted to elaborate further, but his tongue was kept in check.

'If you are right King then we of the Grove rejoice, but understand we could not see this danger and not raise a word of warning.'

'I understand. Your warning is appreciated. It was good to see you again Druid.'

'As it was you, King. Safe journeys. We will watch from afar.'

And like that the Druid turned back into the eagle, and flew away.

Anka too did not linger, his men probably wondering by now what had happened of him, and he did not want the Druid's warning of dragons to echo in his thoughts. _They are a spent force._

The men welcomed him back with a joke as he rendezvoused with them, something along the lines of a King and a struggling bladder, hence his late return. They never spared him the banalities they would inflict on each other.

The King barked a laugh. 'See that river over there? That was me! Be glad I stepped away far as I did, or you would've been swept away!'

They laughed, but unwilling to give the King the final say Gimor shouted: 'Yar, an unfunny King, who would have thought? But laugh hard boys, lest the King backs the guilds once we reach home!' They intensified their laughter, leaving the King smiling in an overbearing chorus of forced laughs.

They were off without much ado, as though the meeting with Metrus had not happened. And yet riding there was no escaping it, the Druid's warning starting to echo in Anka's head. _Dragons, just the possibility... the damage they could do even if theirs were a losing cause..._ Anka quashed the thought.

He turned his mind to a much more pleasant hope the Druid had brought him, patting the lump of the Kuradee seed in his pocket. The Kuradee flower was the patron symbol of the House of Vauliette, rulers of Rostrad, a city that fell under the Attoras Sovereignty. On their banners, the flower was so illustrated that it resembled a small flame, but the thorny stem beneath it left little doubt that the flames' multi-layered blades could be seen as the red Kuradee petals as well. There were no powers in their House, but the flame was representative of the scholarly intellect that they prided themselves in. They were also very close to the Druids, which at least to an extent explained how come Metrus had given Anka this rose.

As a devouring plant, the Kuradee was more than capable of eating away the dark magic sitting in the fires of a dragon, prone to corrupt forests even long after the dragons were dealt with.

Why the rose was significant to Anka however was not to whom it belong, but to what member of that House it represented, and who Anka hoped Metrus was alluding to. _The Lady Salstasha_. Ten years ago, Anka and his father had travelled to Rostrad on official business, moreover, a diplomatic arrangement to marry the prince of Attoras to the Duke's daughter.

Such an arranged marriage was trite business, and Anka had gone with his father in reluctance, silently vowing to himself that he would spring free of such a thing should it not please him.

And then, in the courtyard of Rostrad castle, he had first run into Salstasha. As a young man he had lost his heart right there, and the prospect of marrying her had suddenly replaced any other ambition he might have had at the time. It took him two days of running into her before he could manage the courage to speak with her. What followed was a memory he often return to, a week and a half spent with her, two often isolated royal children finding bliss in each other's company.

Since then however, Anka had the hardest time just to get an audience with her, seeing her a scant few times over the years, and only for brief period of times. His intentions had been to court her, always foregoing any possibility of forcing the marriage on her, but she had seemed distant and uninterested after their initial meeting. After the umpteenth time of trying to get her to visit, his life at the castle of Attoras had become something that reminded him daily of an unbearable void - and so the King went to war.

With the Druids words however, Anka felt a tiny tinge of hope reignited. This was the reason he had returned after all, and now again as many times before Salstasha was in his thoughts as he rode, planning how to best approach the matter this time. The rest of the day however was not enough time for him to come up with something foolproof, neither did he thought any amount of time could be when it came to matters such as this. Close to twilight they had covered an enviable distance, free again from the northern Grove, the lands of the city of Attoras undergoing subtle changes of vegetation.

Anka knew this would be his last night on the road before finally reaching home. He rode in growing anticipation, his gaze following a thin line of stars just over a horizon created by tall-standing pines, until the almost indistinguishable outline of the great mountain was there.

'We might as well camp for the night Highness, it's a way to go still and we've put many miles on the horses today,' said Rasban.

With the mountain in their sights, Anka felt satisfied they did as good a job of it as they could.

'Agreed. Let's leave the rest for tomorrow.'

In the morning they were off in a hurry, with a cold breakfast in their stomachs that was much more bearable knowing they were close to home. The last of the northern Groves gave way to the principal holdings of the north, the mountain peak a constant promise they were moving in the right direction. The base of the mountain rose out of the horizon until Attoras itself was there. And Anka took pause.

He looked fondly at his home, the stature of his nostalgia growing as he closed in on a place that had not changed much since his childhood. The castle was built right in the nook of the great Dunnoom mountain range, its stones almost indistinguishable from the colour of the mountain. Yet its features had been set with great care, by the Masons themselves, so that if anyone were to draw the outline on a piece of paper, no one would doubt it was the castle of Attoras by the uniqueness of its features. Lower down was the town; quaint when compared with other cities of the west, yet held its own when it came to trade and commerce. Anka knew that it was the quality of the goods, and more important, the people, that made this small Kingdom compete with much larger counterparts. He let his horse canter along a brook whose origin was the mountain itself, not heading directly for the city, and quietly he observed the mountain. There was not a greater mountain on the world anywhere, a fierce giant whose peak was so high that a perpetual vortex raged there at the top, a blizzard with winds that no eagle or dragon could fly though. As Anka understood it, the great clouds migrating as they do, were drawn by the mountain, or maybe blocked by it, he was not sure. Either way, rains and snow were in abundance here, and the water streamed from the Dunnoom range into the rest of the land, most of it going toward the world famous Norwain forest, a collective name for the many Groves of the Druids.

Several miles of rock stood between the caste and the peak, and yet the illusion that they stood close to each created a wonderful and breathtaking scene. Humbled, especially so coming back from war, Anka considered how much he loved this land.

Word had evidently outrun them and let know Attoras that the King of the north was coming home, even though Anka had been so intent on sneaking in silently, desperate for a quiet and restful week before closing his hands around the reins of the kingdom. That was not to be.

Anka was two miles out when soldiers of Attoras came riding out, with banners and trumpets, coming to collect a King that was looking much more humble than his own men in gilded cloaks and armour. They circled behind the King and his guard, and then sped up to ride in stride, the King arriving at the gates with a bolstered force, an impressive cavalcade of raining hooves and trumpets blaring.

Coming into the town, he was a little surprised at the welcome he was to receive from his people, gathered in a crowd that filled the lower streets to the brim. Certainly Anka had expected a reception of sorts, but he had never been a Lord that received adulation before, so he was a little unnerved by all of this, as flowers were thrown at him and under the hooves of Perapolis. He greeted the people with a smile and a wave, but also studied the people's glee with suspicion. For one thing, some of the people almost looked surprised to see him. The man named Luwin certainly was.

Luwin was of no royal blood, but an influential politician when royal members used him for his glib mouth or scheming mind. He came riding directly at the King with a consort of his own, and if the Anka didn't know of better, he was being intercepted. They had never seen eye to eye.

'Good King! We have not expected you to be back so soon. We had not even time to arrange a reception! The voyage I was told could be long,' said Luwin.

'This reception is fine, and the seas were kind. The death cry of seven boastful Lords of Cerron silenced the storms themselves.'

'That certainly makes for a good story. One I think the courts will be eager to hear.'

'Ah yes, a good story, but the courts will wait. I will first have my rest.'

Anka could see Luwin bite back further comment, and he feared the politician had come to diffuse a possible fallout. _What have you done this time little man?_

'Of course my King. Attoras welcomes you. I will leave you in peace.' With that Luwin veered his horse away and disappeared along another road.

Anka was hell bent on riding without pause until they reached the isolation of the caste gates, but another entourage moved toward him, and this time he was happy to come to a halt, and dismounted to greet them.

Kenilla, the Steward of Attoras in Anka's absence, came down directly at them, flanked with other prominent persons of the castle administration. Kenilla was possibly Anka's most valued of subjects, being a great administrator and an important cog in the north. More than anything, Kenilla was Anka's best friend.

He was finely dressed, _as_ _always_ , looking trim, dignified and colourful all at once, not one piece of his bearing or clothing appearing downtrodden.

'My King!' cried Kenilla in greeting as he came down the steps. 'If there is a more tattered and ragged man wearing a crown, than I've yet to meet him!' he said, taking aim at the King's dress.

For that Anka gave him a bear hug embrace that could've popped a rib or two, squeezing the breath out of him.

'Your affection is, as always, _painful_ ,' wheezed Kenilla as the King released him.

'I come from a war, keeping the realm safe. Of course I'm going to appear ragged,' said Anka.

Kenilla grimaced. 'Yes, but do you have to show it so?'

Anka shook his head smiling. He was not going to win this banter with the Steward of Attoras.

'How is the wife?' asked Anka as they climbed the stairs together.

'Heavy with my second child. She is worried she is fat, even though parts of her can still fit through the eye of a needle.'

'That is good to hear,' said Anka. 'Attoras needs more sons.'

'And yet, I can see the Benevolence blessing me only with daughters, just so that they don't have to run around fighting in your wars my King.'

Anka laughed. 'You must've missed me. Blazes I'm glad to be back. My kingdom for a warm bath and a fresh hot meal that is neither ashen in taste nor frozen solid!'

' _Easy_ there King,' began Kenilla anxiously. 'You might not want to give away your Kingdom so easily for so little...'

Anka was used to Kenilla's manner, so he detected just enough tension in his response to warrant concern.

'Please tell me that this sycophant is here purely by accident,' said Anka, throwing his thumb back over his shoulder at the crowd, more specifically at Luwin.

'Oh there are some developments you'll need to know of, of course.'

'It can all wait. I won't be gallivanting beyond the town walls for a long time.'

'I'm... afraid they cannot my King. For one, I have stepped down as Steward of Attoras.'

Anka did a double take. 'Why would you?'

'I did not do so voluntarily. Don't worry my King, I have still done an excellent job managing this place, even if I had to do so indirectly.'

'What is going on here? And do not talk in circles, I have not the energy for it.'

Kenilla let pass a rather defeated look on his face, which Anka had rarely seen before, 'the unity of the realm is in peril my Lord - and us, all of us loyal to you, have had a war of our own trying to keep some ambitious souls from taking your throne.'

'What?' asked Anka, not understanding how Kenilla's story could even surface as a possibility.

Kenilla, with a painful look on his face said, 'all it took your Lordship, was a rumour of your demise. It was enough for the council of Kings to be reassembled, to deliberate a new King. To vote on a new King.'

'We were at war! The council has no right!'

'The council is within its rights to deliberate on Kinghood when the incumbent is deceased.'

'I'm very much alive!' roared the King.

'But no one could prove it. No one knew your fate.'

'So they are scheming?'

'Of course they are my King. You cannot expect them to have changed.'

'Who are they planning to crown?' asked Anka, not taking his question too seriously, but outraged by how Kenilla was making this sound like a crisis.

'Of the more hopeful candidates, Lord Chaton of the House Hamenra, Prince of Rostrad.'

Anka shook his head, feeling like he had been asleep and that the world had changed during his slumber.

'Wait a minute, back up a bit. Lady Salstasha of House Vauliette is the rightful heir to the throne of Rostrad, as vassal, she would be Princess, until she marries me, whereby she can join me as Queen - certainly another will take her place as monarch of Rostrad once this happens, but not before then.'

'House Vauliette has fallen out of favour my King! That's what started this entire mess!'

Anka was left reeling.

'Lord Remer, her Lady Salstasha's father, died two months after you set sail for Cerron. Upon his death it became apparent that there were some irregularities in his administration.'

'I don't believe it,' said Anka.

'I do not have the details, and I certainly don't want to speculate, but the Lady Salstasha stepped aside as incumbent when the news surfaced; she handed control over to Hamenra: Chaton, and his two impetuous cousins, Henry and Steven. This is problematic, because your return I fear will not quell their ambitions.'

'You will have to tell me everything of what has happened since they got here,' said the King grimly.

'Agreed, but let's first get indoors, so that we may discuss in private,' said Kenilla.

The King nodded and they marched on, the castle grooms taking the horses and veering off to the stables, Anka's entourage growing smaller and smaller as they went over the bridge, through the gatehouse and into the castle, from the main hall quickly ascending to the upper floors with more private quarters.

'Is the secrecy warranted?' asked Anka.

'Yes,' said Kenilla blankly, 'since you were away my King, every political animal both worthy the name and not has made their move, some of which we are housing as guests right here in the castle... hence I do not want to talk in the open.'

Anka stood there in disbelief as Kenilla explained.

After the news Kenilla had given him they discussed the last few months well into the night, postponing the rest he had so yearned for. At least Kenilla was succinct. _If it was Scholar Naceus standing there, it would've taken three days or more_ , thought Anka, not removing the possibility of the Scholar going into several tirades on the topics of alchemy, astrology and maybe a few feats of naval engineering, because that _too_ had nothing to do with the matter at hand. Still, he wished the Scholar was here and would sooner rather than later invite Naceus up to the castle - his knowledge on the law of the council was considerable. Anka absorbed as much as he could before holding his hand up, 'I think that is as much as I need to know right now - and I'll want the rest of my advisors with me when we discuss a plan forward in full. My head is in a whirlwind at the moment.'

'Bottom-line your Highness, I hope you've not come home seeking any kind of solitude. With the council of kings called into action, we host an army of Lords, and they will ask for your ear in the courts, for whatever small matter they deem important.'

Anka grunted. 'I should've stayed where I was,' he said annoyed.
Chapter 2

### The Flower of Rostrad

Anka postponed going to the council meetings as long as he could. He would not set a foot in a court setting until he knew exactly what the political landscape was like. Staring at himself in the mirror, he saw a boorish looking man with wild hair and beard looking back at him. _I will have someone trim and shave me proper, right after I've put the fear of a warrior-king in my guests,_ he thought. He did however make time for a brief assembly to reinstate Kenilla immediately as Steward of Attoras. He also put off on calling Master Dieral to his side, from whom he hoped to enquire sending a request to Rostrad, more specifically the Lady Salstasha. Of the all the dignitaries visiting Attoras, she was the one he actually wanted here, and wanted to convey that much to her. _This time, if she doesn't come, I will ride to Rostrad myself._ He was however too nervous to go through with writing a request right away, given his previous failures. He would need to consider his words very carefully.

First things first Anka went to the back of the castle yard, near the base of the mountain, where a round pool was built into the ground that caught the Seluin waters as it streamed down from the melting snows of Dunnoom. At times, members of the House of Evrelyn tested themselves here in the cold waters; a test of strength. Today however Anka stopped but briefly to refill his waterskin with the precious water, his chest infection leaving him in no condition to brave the cold, the mere thought irritating his lungs. He would still have to get someone to attend to that as well.

In the meanwhile he saw to some other errands, most of which involved setting up the people who would correspond with- and administrate Cerron as vassalage to Attoras. There was also the issue of recompense for the families that had lost men to the war. That last part was draining, visiting as many of the families as he could, the rest picketing outside the castle gates in search of news of their loved ones. For some at least he could give good news, flipping through a ledger that recorded the status of his men, and could assure some of the folks that their husbands, fathers or sons had merely returned to the garrison and would visit shortly. The payouts the King made to those who had lost a family member were generous.

With that behind him, his hand drifted to the seed the Druid had given him, which he stashed in his pocket; the Kuradee flower would be planted soon enough. He hoped to show it to Salstasha the moment it came up and bloomed. With Kenilla's warnings of the supposed insurgence also not leaving his thoughts he decided that dealing with his enemy and his desires were one and the same thing; securing Salstasha's hand would bury any half-hearted attempt of capturing the throne. _She might've fallen from grace, but as Queen she will be restored again to a position only second to mine, and I will be free of this quagmire of politics._ _Maybe I should put that in the letter? Maybe not..._

Anka soon spent the following morning roaming the halls in anger. Under diplomatic obligations, the castle was now home to so many dignitaries that it was impossible to cover one room to another without tripping over small gatherings of well-dressed fools, to Anka's eyes as useful as the vagrants in the streets. To get some solitude, he took as task the return of Erenciel to its rightful place. He came to the forlorn throne room in reverence, maybe more so now that there were rumours of dragons. This seat of power was born out of the conflict with that an old enemy.

On the dais sat the winged throne, crafted at the same time when Erenciel was first forged with fire and magic. The throne was specially designed with a recess down the spine of the back-rest, so that Erenciel could be slid blade-first into the throne. Holding up the sword high, Anka lowered the blade carefully into its designated place, the slick steel fitting perfectly as it were swallowed by the recess until the hilt pieced together with the top of the throne with a click. It felt then, finally, as though his war was over. Erenciel would only come out again in crisis. He nonetheless thought again of Kenilla's warnings about the men trying to unseat him. _None of them are worthy of lifting Erenciel,_ he thought adamantly. Now would begin a totally different war.

It had been such a long time since he had last stood here, in the halls of his fathers. It would be unimaginable to lose them. For a moment he contemplated in fear what would have happened had he arrived but a month later; _would they have declared another King in my absence?_ Even now, Kenilla had made it plain to him that his arrival alone would not placate the court completely. _If I were married... it wouldn't be an issue, no one would be able to instigate a council of kings._ But never would he have taken a spouse merely for the sake of reassuring his place. _I should talk to Dieral about that letter sooner rather than later._

'I thought I might find you hiding here,' came Kenilla's voice.

Anka mustered a smile. 'I'm enjoying the silence before the storm.'

'You still have a lot of ground to cover before we even gather here.'

'I'm aware of that. I was just about to set out.'

'Let me accompany the King then.'

'If you must,' said Anka, Kenilla barking a laugh at the King's feigned displeasure.

With that they left the throne room, the halls not yet quieted down, and to add to everything, the King then saw the Lord Chaton - a vaguely familiar and handsome face he had once spotted many years ago in Rostrad.

By Kenilla's account he was the foremost of candidates for the supposed council of kings, and it was likely he and his entourage that propagated the rumour of Anka's death to begin with. Anka was more convinced of this seeing not only the cousins, Stephen and Henry, but also Luwin traipsing in his shadow like a lapdog. Luwin had clearly fastened his fortunes to House Hamenra's mast.

Unlike the others Anka was keen to front up to him then and there, and politely send him to hell. He bore down on him and his entourage and stood in their path, where they studied a painting of Master Olot against the wall, absorbed by the painter's nuance.

'I don't believe we've been introduced,' sounded Anka to get their attention, and they turned to him as one.

'My King,' Chaton said with a reflexive smile and a slight but gracious bow, his retinue following suite. 'We welcome you back to fair Attoras, by all accounts you were missed, and I trust that your journey went well. It is of course good to see you are in good health, after such terrible, but luckily, misinformed news.'

'Yes, well, _thank you_ , but I have to raise an unpleasant topic that relates. Everyone will appreciate that I will have to clean my castle of any interloping danger, not just me having returned from war and have much to see to, but more so in light of this misinformation that were clearly geared to imperil my sovereign. I have to ensure no such agents are within my castle, that they pose no threat to my guests, and that I persecute them for treason. I have to see to the welfare of my household, which includes you at this point in time of course; winter strikes the western most passes first, even in early autumn. You must be keen to return home before everything is snowed shut, and I would urge you to do so, so that I can see to my own without worrying about my guests.'

'We have time yet to beat the snows,' said Chaton, 'We would like to conclude the council of Kings, as it is a duty that is more important than our fears of a difficult journey. We owe the kingdom our presence.'

'It would be awfully tedious for yourselves to witness me taking a position I already have. I will spare you that, and send the entirety of the results documented in writ and with royal seal for your records, all haste with my best messenger once we conclude proceedings,' answered Anka.

'Of course Highness, and that is considerate of you. But there is a matter of lands acquirable in the new order within the principality of Rostrad. I myself already enjoy the greater Rostrad, but my cousins, Henry and Stephen, have stood by me even in times when my House were beneath notice, and I would be remiss not to see them have important principalities of their own, both for their loyalty and their canny governance of prior estates, small they may be.'

'It will have to wait,' said Anka more curtly now. 'I'm sure in time we can see to all of this.'

If only Chaton was not so passive, and took exception to Anka's dismissal, they could escalate it into a conflict that would see the King chase everyone from his castle in no time. But that didn't happen, and then the man turned the tables on the King.

Chaton looked contemplative for a second before saying, 'Has your Lord seen the Lady Salstasha yet? I'm sure you must be eager to speak with her again after all this time? It was she that suggested we have a look about the corridor with Master Olot's work. They are truly a treasure of Attoras...'

Anka was taken aback, waiting for him to elaborate. If Chaton had wanted to catch the King off guard he had certainly managed it.

'She forms part of _our_ retinue your Majesty,' Chaton explained as he registered the look of surprise on Anka's face. 'I do not know how much my King knows about the run of misfortune of her Lady Salstasha's House, but it has been difficult for her. Though our positions have been altered dramatically, she has been most amicable, beyond what I would expect of someone in her distress. I've invited her along as an esteemed guest, and vowed also to fight for her to have her own principality, where now she has none.'

Anka was a little dumbstruck.

'Luwin if you would be so kind,' said Chaton, looking over his shoulder.

The stocky politician stepped forward, wrapped in autumn coloured robes, from which produced a letter of some sort. Handing Kenilla the plea, the Steward immediately opened the carefully rolled up parchment bearing the Hamenra seal, but also that of House Vauliette Anka noticed. Chaton was not lying.

'What does it say?' asked Anka quietly.

'Not much, but enough that we will have to hear them out in court. It is a contestation of previously settled matters. I might be able to annul it, but it could prove more trouble than it's worth, and if they have a valid cause, they might be back,' whispered Kenilla.

Anka's mind was racing, his thoughts with Salstasha more than anything. He would give a landholding to her of course and she would be on the receiving end of such under any reasonable administration. But better yet, with her here, he might finally realize his courtship with her. It would however mean he could not chase away Chaton and his consort.

'Let's see to this then,' said Anka, conceding to Chaton's wishes.

'My Lord is very kind,' said Chaton in a manner that was becoming painfully irritating.

Afterwards Anka cursed the entire situation. 'I should not be hearing them out. '

'If it is any solace, that was the most eloquent I've seen you handle yourself.'

'And what did it help? I should have barked until they fled from the castle.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Because of Lady Salstasha. She's part of their retinue, and I am not willing to send her back. And why on earth did you not tell me that she is here!?'

'In the greater scheme of things, with your throne being under siege, I thought it unimportant,' said Kenilla.

'You couldn't be more wrong,' said Anka, barely audible.

'Your thoughts your Majesty?' asked Kenilla.

'Be ready tomorrow morning, I want to go about the castle before we get embroiled in meetings of the court. There must be a hundred petitioners or more already lining up, other than that of House Hamenra. And I won't be caught off guard; I want to see Attoras's workings for myself before I get questioned on it in court.'

'Very well your Majesty, agreed, but just so that you know, I have waylaid a thousand matters already in your absence that you would have had to deal with ordinarily. '

'As I know this Kingdom, a thousand more would come, just for me, everyone beholden to the belief that the King owes them something,' said Anka.

'That I can't argue. Good luck to you and your right hand man!'

The very next day Anka again was up and about before the rest of the castle could stir. He put off getting shaved and his hair cut, knowing he would have to do so before talking to Salstasha, but his angst of doing so had not allowed him to commit to any activity related to the matter.

He went up to middle sector ramparts, those that protected the heart of the castle, eager to view the castle defences himself; the warrior in him would not let the standard of his fortress fall, nor would he accept a report from a subordinate stating adequacy without confirming it himself. He was up the stairwell, a little surprised that the cold stone interior was already well lit, wondering if the guard had failed to snuff it, as no one had business going up here. He wondered then if he should address this with the guard as he reached the tower exiting on the rampart. _Maybe they are patrolling the stairs,_ he made an excuse on their behalf, although he did not see the merits in it. _Always patrol the cut off points_ – _looks like they are forgetting the basics in my absence_ , was his thoughts as he closed his hand on the door handle leading out onto the ramparts.

Pushing the door open against the wind on the outside, he was surprised to find more than just the howl of the mountain trying to come in the other way. _The Lady Salstasha_.

Anka was so surprised with the lithe figure that he took a step back, his heart hammering as though he had walked into an ambush. He was not ready for this.

Her gaze locked on his, her cloak blowing about, her ears and cheeks stung red by the morning chill, the latter just peeking past a long dark curtain of raven hair, framing a beautiful face. She had piercing eyes that were like gemstones and in them Anka saw an intelligent disposition that Anka was fond of. She sometimes looked stern or contemplative, but when a smile did come over her face it dimmed everything else in his world. This is how Anka remembered her, and time had only added to her fairness, and his dreams lately have forgotten to account for any maturity she might've gained. Suddenly the thought of not trimming his hair and beard became regret. His face was still wind-burnt and the continuous stiff cold air had left his voice raspy. _Ragged King,_ Kenilla's word haunted him then.

'Come inside!' he urged, realizing he was staring at her while she had been adamant to get out of the wind, and away from the cold.

She swept passed him and Anka closed the door, turning around to face her, glad and anxious all at once that he had found her.

'It's summer the one minute and winter the next!' exclaimed Salstasha.

'It's the will of the mountain, it throws a reminder of winter from its peaks every now and then.'

'As if one could forget a winter spent here,' she said, pulling her garments tighter across her chest.

There was a moment of silence.

'My Lady, it has been too long,' Anka breathed.

'It has been Lord Anka,' she acknowledged, curtseying, but then folding her hands in front of her in both a reserved and dignified manner. Or maybe it was just the chill?

His mind raced to ask " _what are you doing here?"_ in a more courteous way. 'If a view is what you're looking for, the trapdoor to the north tower is always unlocked, and looks out to where the verdant edge of the Grove and the foot of mountain come together; a place most beautiful. If it is the city you want to see, you can walk this wall to the west. It seemingly runs into the mountainside, but there is a small path of rock one can cross if the soles of your shoes are not too slippery. Over the rock your will come across the outer wall without having to go through the upper town. Then you simply walk back to the gatehouse, whereby I deem is the most intimate of view of the city, but still casting a wide enough vantage to see all of it at once.'

Salstasha smiled slightly. 'I will remember that. But I was merely sending my messages by crow.'

Anka resisted asking to whom she was sending messages to, rather taking in her presence. Suddenly Anka could not avoid going into what laid on his heart. He had been waiting for this moment since his campaign had ended. This was the reason he had returned after all.

'Do you remember when I came to your court ten years ago? It was high summer, much different from our own summer I admit. I remember it fondly, and often wished for such simpler times...'

'Yes, it was when our fathers deemed we should be betrothed.'

'I was thinking about that - I'm so very sorry about the passing of your father Lord Remer, I heard only on my return.'

Salstasha looked downwards for a just second. 'Thank you,' she said guardedly.

'I just returned and I know that the Kingdom will demand much of my attention, but now might be a good time to discuss what our fathers-'

' _Yes_ , I wish to renege on the arrangement,' she said suddenly, her tone changing faster than Anka could imagine.

'As in, not be wed?' asked Anka, his voice rasping in distress, the wind taken out of his sails.

'Yes that is what I meant by _renege_...'

'I know what it means,' said Anka, now appreciating that Salstasha's face was a shade sterner, making it clear to him then that she didn't want to discuss or negotiate the subject.

'Good. I don't want to be here overly long and I think we can both agree that we would not be suited to each other.'

That stung Anka so hard he struggled to utter a further word.

'My father and my House no longer hold power, so our pledge to you would come without any benefits or treaties previously stated.'

'That would not be a proble-'

'It is to me King Anka. On my own volition I do not wish to go through with this. On behalf of myself and my father, I would apologize that fate has reduced my House to such a low status, and that we could not add to yours. Yet I think things have worked out for the best. We are both free to decide our own way forward.'

Anka battled and swallowed hard on questioning her on her stance. Something told him he should not pursue this right now.

'I hope your stay so far has been agreeable?' he stammered, trying to hide a bitter disappointment.

'I have been seen to,' she said, her tone softening just enough to spare Anka further pain. Another harsh word might've been his undoing.

'A... fair day to you my Lady. I hope we can talk at ease sometime.'

Salstasha nodded, and without further word she went down the stairwell. Anka was so distraught that he forgot where he was going for a second, walking absentmindedly out the door and onto the rampart.

Anka put his hand on the crenellation, as though he needed the support. He felt his own face fall then, sagging under a sudden nameless depression, as though hope had just fled down those stairs and had promised to not return.

The ramparts were in good order, but that by no means satisfied Anka when he went back down into the castle, given his encounter now with Salstasha. Suddenly, all that he had hoped for on his return were in disarray. He had so revelled in the thought of marrying Salstasha that right now he didn't even know where he would begin.

Not a long way down and Kenilla fell in stride alongside Anka, appearing from the King's right. 'You are scarcely returned and I notice that dark storm of a look about your face, my Lord.'

'Today I have reason Kenilla. The Lady Salstasha rejected my offer to marry.'

'That's very unfortunate Sire. But it might also be good news. If Salstasha is part of Chaton's entourage, and there is no reason to keep her here for your supposed marriage, well, then send them all home. This is your castle.'

'I would rather not.'

'You would not? I swear they knew you were coming back, and they knew if they brought Salstasha along, they'd play you like a lute. Clever ploy if there ever was one.'

'She might also be their downfall. I first want to talk to Salstasha again. I feel as if my first impressions are not always of the best.'

'Have you two then just met?' asked Kenilla in a bout of fake surprise.

'I might as well have just now. She wasn't exactly warm towards me.'

'She is in the company of Chaton,' reminded Kenilla.

Anka waved that away. 'I ran into her by accident and then of all things I remind her of our _arranged_ marriage, instead of trying woo her and gain some affection first. At least make it appear that the arrangement part is a pleasant coincidence. Add to that I look as well-kept as a woodsman.'

'You should have gotten the haircut,' said Kenilla.

'I know!' snapped Anka. 'Now take me about the rest of the castle. I need to know the lay of the land and how things stand!'

Kenilla first showed the King the new addition to the armoury, which had been expanded to accompany a growing household guard. Modifying the castle however was not a simple task, first, for the lack of space available on the perch of the mountain shoulder, and second and more importantly, being the very stones of the castle themselves. The legendary masons have laid the stones of the castle, in such a way that there was a magic and essence unique to it, establishing a realm that was safe from shadowy creatures. Even the light of Seluin had seeped into this essence and so become the hearth of Anka's family always, even should they not rule here for all time.

Building on, meant breaking some of the wall sections, and strategically relocating the stones so that they were spread out among the new ones that were not enchanted. Anka would not have entrusted anything like this to anyone less than Kenilla; he was an excellent administrator and understood what was necessary to keep the castle strong, in all ways.

'Marshall Gibbon is procuring more recruits even as we speak. Weeding out the lesser ones,' said Kenilla.

'Let him send me a list of the final recruits for approval,' commented the King.

'Already done. Although you are free to override my choices I guess.'

'I should have known you'd already have the matter wrapped up with a bow, but there are some of my own men I wish to recommend for duty.'

'Mere foul-mouthed garrison folk?' asked Kenilla.

'The best guard, is a good balance between courteous watchmen mixed with a couple of veterans. Besides, the lad I'm considering comes with a sound mind and a quiet nature.'

They took a walk to the castle smithy, where they had to make another stop, Master Erwin having passed not long after the King had set sail to the north. His sons now kept the place, and Anka was satisfied with their level of skill, and that the experience of their father would come to them eventually. He urged them to keep the fires hot, assuring them that any surplus of arms or tools could be sold for their profit.

'Nay Lord, the trade guilds won't allow castle stock to infiltrate the market,' said the lad named Drellic.

'I will deal with the guilds. Just keep crafting the way you do, sell your things under my name if you have to.'

'You should be weary of the guilds siding with Lord Chaton, as I'm afraid they are already doing,' said Kenilla.

'I made promises that I would help alleviate the influence the guilds have on Attoras,' said Anka.

Kenilla sighed 'Of course you did...Chaton in the meanwhile has been feeding them the narrative of a King absent, not able to look after their best interest. He is also trying to lure their industry toward Rostrad. An exodus of money is something not even a King can survive.'

'When I'm done with them they are going to agree to my terms _and_ I will have their loyalty.'

'I don't think they intimidate that easily.'

Anka grunted. 'They've yet to deal with me. They will be in for a rude awakening.'

'I would still urge caution, these Rostrad politicians are already proven to be conniving and they might still get more sympathy with the guilds if you come too hard at them.'

'I do not underestimate the need for it. I've been thinking of what you said this morning, about Chaton being clever in utilizing Salstasha against me.'

'Indeed, _and?_ '

'I do not know Salstasha's mind, but we need to be prepared. Before we go into court, we need to hold a meeting with all my advisors as to what might be the outcome of all of this.'

'That's sensible. I will get on it right away. Go eat something Sire, I should have everyone available by tomorrow evening.'

Come morning Anka decided to act on yesterday's hard learned lesson. He had likened running into Salstasha to ambush, and he was not battle-ready at the time, something he usually prided himself in. So he called in deBella, the handmaiden, who was as much responsible for the castle and staff administration as many of the higher positioned men, but of course with a more motherly disposition, and yet not many would dare get on the wrong side of her either, her scorn earned often a lasting kind.

She came up to his room and entered along with a draught of wind that always haunted Anka's room.

She was short and somewhat stocky, her hair in a bun, and her simple dress belying the aforementioned importance she had in the castle.

'Can you send someone up to cut my hair and beard?' asked Anka of her.

'Very well King, high time too. I almost thought you had decided to turn into an animal, the way the Druids do!'

The King laughed, 'Nothing like that.'

'Have you met with the Lady Salstasha yet?' asked deBella.

'I have.'

'And?'

'What?'

'I _know_ you've had feelings for her since the very first time you met her. I've watched you with her when she visited Attoras that one time, and your reaction when she went home again. I've seen you lit up every time someone mentions her name. My question is King; why on earth have you never acted on it?'

'I have! We were arranged to be wed for goodness sake. But I could not get her attention since then.'

'And you went to war.'

'The one thing fed into the other. Her reluctance drove me to do... something, and then, once I've committed to the war, it left me with no time to pursue her further. Now things look to be more complicated than ever. And I may running ahead of myself, but from what I've seen, her disposition to me has gone from indifference to aversion. I don't even understand why, except that she has inexplicably aligned herself with my enemies.'

'It would be worth talking to her again, especially if she might give insight into what you are facing, or even help your cause. Often such aversion as you say is a matter that troubles the person because of whom they are sided with, and they need to show their conviction to avoid thinking on where they _should_ be. If she had been indifferent only - then I would have been worried.'

Anka nodded. 'Thank you deBella, I feel lightened having talked about this.'

'Of course you do, you have been tight-lipped about it for years on end,' said deBella sagely. 'Now stay put until I've sent someone up. Don't go bandying about the walls again because you're restless.'

Anka agreed and bade deBella a good day.

So he waited and the restlessness deBella predicted was starting to pull at him when a knock sounded on his door.

'Enter.'

Swinging open the door, Joshua also entered with the draught, cutting it short as quickly he could behind him.

'Joshua!?' greeted the King in surprise, looking at the tall and willowy leader of his disciples, who managed the King's infirmary. 'deBella sent you?' he asked, noticing he carried with him a satchel on his shoulder and a bowl of oven heated water in his hands.

'Yes Sire. I more often than not have to shave and cut the hairs of longstanding patients. I have gotten quite good at it over the years,' said Joshua, as though it would be something the King was unaware of.

Anka laughed. 'I just thought you might have more pressing things to attend to.'

'Grooming the King is not an important task?'

'How stands my infirmary is what I mean? Is the patient-load under control?'

'You should come have a look yourself my King. Please sit,' Joshua gestured to a chair and threw a towel around Anka's shoulders as he did. First he washed the King's hair and beard, Anka grateful that the healer had chosen to bring warm water.

'And I will, come visit the infirmary that is, and if time permits me, assist with a few patients. Just so that you know, half of my battlefield effort up north was with men cut down, friend and foe alike of course.'

'I know King. As for your question, we are still the pride of Attoras, Highness. If anyone ever doubted what your House has brought to the castle, they need but see the worth of the halls of healing.'

Anka grunted as Joshua started snipping at both his hair and beard. 'You don't have to tell me, but these men who seek to overthrow me probably have no interest in preserving it once I'm gone.'

'Do they have a case in that regard?'

'Not at all. Which is worrying all the same...While you're here, I have done a number on my lungs in Cerron and now it seems I have an infection that will not leave me. Would you care to look at it?'

'That is the other reason I came to see you my King. Kenilla has already brought it to my attention.'

Finished with the scissors, Joshua took a small vial from his bag that undoubtedly held icy cold Seluin waters. Master of this brand of magic, he emptied but a minuscule amount in his left hand. Putting the vial down he joined his hands as though in prayer, the water on his palm wetting the other hand.

The tips of Joshua's fingers went aglow and as he directed the light at the King, Anka could feel the probing effect of the magic. As comforting as the light of Seluin could be, the diagnostic spell developed by Joshua was anything but. A quiet few moments passed as Anka sat as still as he could, with Joshua's face in stern concentration.

'A treacherous disease to heal, and unfortunately, well beyond my means. I can take some of the discomfort away, but nothing less than your own power will banish it, but that is out of question completely. Given enough time though, it should go away, as long as you take it easy. We'll put your Highness on some more traditional medicines in the meanwhile.'

'Thank you. I thought as much. Guess I have no recourse but to rest.'

Joshua handed him a mirror and Anka studied himself, seeing a dramatic change in appearance. Still he thought he should lose more.

'Let's do away with the beard completely.'

'Oh? I have not seen my Lord clean shaven in all of your adulthood!'

Joshua lathered the King's beard in soap and then took a sharp razor.

'So what brought this about?' he asked as the panes of Anka's cheeks were cleared.

Anka did not say, laying back his head so that Joshua could finish his neck.

Before getting stuck into so many matters of the Kingdom, Anka first sought to plant the Kuradee seed. The flower being the patron symbol of Salstasha's House was maybe the only reason Anka took the Druid's task seriously. Normally he had much better things to do than testing the greenness of his thumbs.

The garden was a peculiarity of the castle. On the tier-one wall, to the north, the wall ran into a castle wing and then rebounded in a quarter bevel to cover the northern flank of the castle. Anka's grandfather, Ryeth the first, had laboriously undertaken to fill up the small area behind the wall with rich soil, and there started a patch of greenery in an otherwise fortress of cold stone, the once defensive wall now acting as a retaining wall. Anka searched carefully for a place for the Kuradee seed, a place where it wouldn't be choked off by other roots, and yet also be sheltered slightly by the other plants' canopies during its most fragile growth cycle.

Remembering Metrus's warning about the corruption within the seed, he wet the tip of his finger within his waterskin, and spoke alive a tiny light. With it, he touched the seed, as though to heal it. Somehow, he thought what he had just done was completely vain. _Fine gesture it would be, if the King upon his return planted a seed that would become a plant attacking the staff of the castle,_ he thought in amusement.

Not going to risk something like that he wetted his finger again, but this time spoke a complex sealing spell, using the light to enchant the seed with the light of Seluin; it would not grow until it was rid of the corruption. Satisfied, the King dug a small hole in soft rich soil and tentatively planted the seed. He would check on in it and made sure it survived; why exactly this simple task had fallen on him he did not know. But the Druids did not do anything without resounding purpose, this Anka knew for certain.

Anka sighed. Sometimes he did not understand. With the rose with him, a secret hope had been kindled that he and Salstasha would finally see eye to eye and get married, that it were a sign given to him by the Druids themselves. _But yesterday she made it very clear that is not what she wants._ In war, the greatest trick any man could hope to pull was to just keep looking ahead, often being bull-headed against the doubts arising from small defeats and charge toward any possible victory. Aim for targets of tactical value, not sentimental. He could not apply the same here. After so many years of this coming to nothing he could still not get past the feeling that this was supposed to amount to something.

Anka moved toward the battlement, stopping short of the crenellations and staring down at town. The view from here was not much, or least, not as panoramic as Anka's favourite haunts. Still, as fortune would have it, straying into sight were the Lady Salstasha and two of her personal guards, visiting none other than the Madam Telesa's shop.

She was dressed lightly today, the weather allowing a green summer's dress that matched her hat, just enough of her dark hair visible below the wide brim for Anka to be sure it was her. Two of his guards followed in her wake, keeping a healthy distance so that she did not feel too cocooned. She made good use of them as well, stuffing the things she bought into their arms. This gave Anka some hope that she would stay for some time in Attoras after all. All of her exploits were not for herself, as she seemed to hand out a fair share of her purse to the street urchins, the lads no doubt also heading for Telesa's shop.

Doing so however meant she run out of money by the time she came to madam Telesa's stall, who was famous for her chocolate and her fudge. Anka realized this in distraught as Salstasha rummaged through a tiny purse, only to apologize to madam Telesa realizing she had nothing to spare.

Anka patted his own overcoat, feeling two forgotten silver coins. He was off in a dash, along the wall and into the halls, the soldiers crying 'my Lord?' wondering if something was amiss with the King. He ignored them. _I will go down there and-_

Anka suddenly stopped.

_What am I doing?_ he thought, realizing it would take him two minutes or more just to get out of the castle, never mind the ridiculousness of running himself ragged to assist, and ultimately admitting he had spied on the woman. He found the nearest window where he had stopped, looking again at the market below. It seemed Madam Telesa had given Salstasha a small batch of her treats all the same, without payment.

_Bless you Telesa,_ thought Anka in relief. Telesa however was smart in this, once you had a taste of her treats one would invariably be back for more. He watched Salstasha a while more as she roamed the market, disappearing from his sight. He came to realization that, one way or the other, he would need to do something about this woman. _What_ , he was not sure. _I still have to speak to her again,_ he thought, but considered it folly to dash into town to do so. He then thought of going to his most loved vantage of the city, the one he had boasted to Salstasha about. With a little a bit of trickery, and if he was lucky enough for her to return to the castle through the main gate, maybe he could lure her to him.

Anka was sitting on the outer wall overlooking town, the children playing Bajural in the street below. They looked up at him often, seeking praise when they had scored particularly well placed goal.

Salstasha approached from behind: 'they know their King.'

Anka craned back his head.

'Ah, I see you took my advice... and you wear sandals, which is good for crossing the rock where it meets the wall.' He managed to say this without showing how his heart had leapt seeing her approach.

Salstasha nodded with a smile. 'And you've lost your mane,' she noticed.

Anka nodded shyly.

'You come here often?' she asked.

'Not often enough. This view of the city is a little more intimate than the others, as I said before. I like to see the look of my people. If there is a misery on peoples' faces, or anger, or hopefully happiness, then I want to see it - do you want to sit my Lady?' asked Anka.

Salstasha looked at him curiously.

'Of course, with that dress, sitting on a crenelated wall - forgive me, I've been out of civilized company for far too long,' he said, standing up instead, so that they could speak face to face, but still in a position that the boys below could see him.

'So you've been,' she said, and Anka realized she was still a little stiff toward him for whatever reason.

She too must've noticed her tone and with one team scoring a goal below, she followed up more spritely, 'And you get some entertainment here too, coming here, watching your people.'

Anka smiled. 'Before I set sail, I would sit here and watch their game. Apparently, the story of the King watching their matches endured in their ranks and they are happy to see him observing them again. There are many new faces among them if I can trust my eyes from here, and from the others they hear of the favour of the King looking down on them. I hope it's something I can do until my old days.'

'So how do they know it's not an imposter sitting here? A man the King sent to sit here in his place?' said Salstasha narrowing her eyes, clearly baiting Anka in a playful manner.

'Because I used to do this,' said Anka, happy to prove what she was looking for, standing a little closer to the edge of the wall. He took a swig from his waterskin, but not swallowing, and then, in a trick he had done a thousand times, sprayed the water from his mouth in a fine mist, at this height taken by the wind and carried a good distance. Already enchanted by the King's touch, he willed the light into being and every droplet seemingly bubbled into the briefest explosion of white, in the dusk light absorbing just the faintest golden hue as it expelled in all directions.

The children below were cheering and applauding, and Anka looked over his own shoulder at the Lady just in time to see her face going from surprise to a big appreciative smile. Of course the two of them were much nearer to the explosion of light than were the children and Salstasha admitted blindness for that tiny second before it folded open into its pleasant dissipation. She could not help but smile.

'I had to make sure,' she said, 'I saw the lightworks from town, it's why I came... I saw a figure sitting here, and I was wondering if it were the King. I did not know you can wield the light so.'

'The light is often what it needs to be, and if one is smart about it, can be wielded in many ways, as long as it's first touched by the hands of my House, or the disciples committed to my bloodline. The waters of the mountain help create the light. The light as you know heals and protects us from darkness. As long as my House reigns here, Attoras will have the healing hands of the King,' elaborated Anka.

Salstasha face was unreadable then, but Anka could see a change came over her at his insinuation, and then when she responded Anka could not help but detect some venom.

'You've done a wonderful job of entrenching yourself here, even if you were away in war. People will follow you because of the infirmary. They will follow you because your magic protects the stones and provides the rules of realm. They will follow you because they still believe that the Wolves are yours and hence the mountain as well.

'Of course I've entrenched myself. This is my kingdom, my domain. What King would build a healthy kingdom that he does not own?'

'One that is interested in a succession good for the people. What happens if you die?'

'Succession maybe, but only by my own blood.'

'The council was made to regulate the rule of kings. To see to it that the most fitting family takes the throne. But you've so much power Anka, that many across the continent feel so far from being ambitious that the land itself stagnates.'

'Tell me who these poor souls are that fear my House so my Lady? Is it commoners? Of course not. The only ones spending so much time in fear is men of conquest who know they cannot unseat Evrelyn because my House has surpassed and endured every belligerent little rant they muster even when my family is abroad. They know they must resort to every little trick and trap to get the throne. As for the people, what do they care as long my fields are tilled and my infirmary do wonders that not even the Crimson City can!

'And in the cold, men of our towns lock heavy doors and stoke flames in the hearth before their families go to bed at night. But it is not truly the heavily bolted door and the flames in the hearth that makes them sleep soundly, as it is knowing that the Wolves that walk the mountain will have no mercy against the enemies of the land. My protection and my healing hands is what they have in a King!'

'Where are the Wolves?' countered Salstasha.

Anka took pause. 'They are withdrawn and in hiding. I have not seen them for many years.'

'Men are saying the Wolves have left you because of your faults as a King. What if you grow into a man who cannot see his own faults? That is why the council was established in the first place, but you have not allowed them to play their role.'

'The Wolves are coy, nothing more. As for the council they should have decided otherwise when my father passed. They failed to deem me an unfit King then and so I took the crown. They could not even take their best opportunity to lay me aside and I won't tolerate any amendment they forward now.'

'You were not crowned here. Your father passed, and you rushed off into war. There was not even a time to question your fitness, and you let your friend govern here in your stead. You say you provide so much, but would you provide all these things even if you were not King?'

Anka had a hard time getting angry at her, but was also dumbfounded at why he was at the receiving end of all this.

Gathering himself, Anka asked. 'May I ask about your affiliation with the men from Hamenra? That is what this is all about after all?'

'They have graciously kept my House relevant, though they are the House that have unseated my own.'

'I am the King, I decide who is relevant and who is not. I have not had any say in your father's matter.'

'Yes, the warrior King, the one who decides everything and can keep the world waiting if he wants to.'

'My Lady, is there something amiss? I fear I do not understand your protest,' said Anka, flustered.

'Yes, you ask me where my loyalties lie, and it is not with you. When my father fell from grace, you were not here to defend him as only a King could, more than one House was ready to force Vauliette from the pages of history, never mind the seat of power. House Hamenra somehow secured enough power to rise to the top, and were wise and kind enough to not only spare us further disgrace, but make of us a part of Rostrad's administration still.'

Anka could not help but feel guilt as she spoke this.

'Has... has your father been proven to be guilty of these crimes beyond a doubt?' asked Anka carefully.

'What does it matter now? He has passed.'

'I... care for the fate of your household, as old allies should.'

'Then a fair warning to you, Hamenra and his cousins are exceedingly ambitious. This motion to initiate the council of kings was opportunistic by some faction or another, but Hamenra will not stop at gaining a greater political reach, most likely at your expense.'

Anka angered then. 'Who are they to go against their King?'

'The question is King Anka, who are you to keep your throne? An absent King? A warmonger?' She left it at that, turning and storming away.

Anka sighed. He couldn't believe how differently he had imagined his time with her.

Evidently, there had been some issues with Anka's campaign that angered her. He was glad to at least know where her hostility came from. But it left him feeling terribly guilty. His intentions with his campaign to Cerron had been far from failing his duties at home _._

If you only you knew Salstasha, the reason I left in the first place...

Anka failed to eat before their meeting that night, so Kenilla got the advisors in the dining room, instead of the war room, which was not as private as the King liked, but allowed the cooks of the castle to set out a warm meal that stood full the long table of the dining hall in the west.

Those gathered here were Anka's loyalists, his most faithful. Before any of the food was touched, they lined up in front of the King like a troop of soldiers. His most trusted included Kenilla, Gibbon the Marshall, deBella the Handmaiden, Joshua the leader of the disciples, Master Dieral (the somewhat huge and heavy-set master of ceremonies), and next to him, the diminutive figure of Scholar Naceus, an absent-minded genius. These were friends to the House of Evrelyn, some of them allies to the throne for generations by now.

'Can someone explain to me how I leave here for a few months doing a King's duty and suddenly my throne is imperilled?'

No one answered, and Anka marched a little as they remained silent.

Anka stopped at the Ceremonies Master, Dieral, and looked at the man slightly puzzled. 'You have gotten much larger since the last time I saw you Dieral. Are you getting enough exercise?'

Dieral shifted uncomfortably. 'Just a temporary malalignment of fortunes Highness. Winter is a time most us are prone to eating tomorrow's share of food is it not? I will of course endeavour to be presentable as behoves someone of my high position, mayhap join Gibbon's men on their morning run about the training grounds.'

Gibbon chortled, 'I'll chase you like a dog, regardless of your _high_ position, you'll quit after the first day, _master of pies.'_

Dieral swung to Gibbon. 'Well excuse me for dealing with my stresses by eating while others are doing so in wanton drunkenness,' said Dieral hotly, his cheeks trilling.

Gibbon's face flushed and his moustache quiver gave preamble to an outburst so angry it got mainly stuck in his throat, stumbling over his words.

'Will you two shut up? I didn't call this meeting to discuss anyone's vices, nor pass judgement on them. You are the most trusted council I can hope for. More than anything, I know you are persons who take care of the welfare of Attoras as you would your own children. Unlike our guests.'

'I think my King, let us start with how this mess came about,' said Kenilla calmly.

Anka gestured for him to continue.

'Our own troubles were only a recent thing, but it began with Lord Remer, Salstasha's father, falling from grace.'

'Do we know what was the nature of Remer's crimes?' asked Anka.

'Not a thing. Remer pleaded guilty, but his confessions happened behind sealed doors, for fear of prosecution or retaliation by some agency or another, the city of Rostrad handled it internally and the successors were decided so. Because my King was abroad, we could not really weigh in on the matter, which in hindsight, might've been a mistake.'

'How come?'

'Because we might have had someone other than this Hamenra family take the seat of Rostrad. The Lord Remer was already sickly and passed away not long after. It left the Lady Salstasha with the reins of Rostrad, but still with a considerable shadow over her House I was told. She stepped aside to avert a drawn out war of factions, potentially leaving herself with a title but no land holding, as she needed to forfeit the seat of Rostrad itself. Enter the cousins of Chaton, Henry and Stephen, who were but minor nobles. Chaton, the more important of the three gained ascendency. My sources says Chaton guards his ambition and mercilessness from the public eye, but uses his two cousins to do his dirty work. In turn they are climbing the ladder with him. Chaton disarms his opponents with his docile manner, but his lackeys are ready to be cutthroat if needed to. Of course they even got the Lady Salstasha on their side, offering her some kind of amnesty from further political fallout and making her a part of their retinue, hoping to come to Attoras and secure holdings for herself, Stephen and Henry.'

'But their coming here coincided with something else entirely your Highness,' chipped in Joshua.

Kenilla nodded. 'Before I could hear them out on holdings, which was just an excuse to be here I think... a statement went up that you had fallen in Cerron. They said that the King is dead.'

'It doesn't even make sense! The healing hands of Evrelyn would have disappeared from existence! My disciples would lose their healing powers if I had died!'

'These politicians do not rely on logic or truth my Lordship,' said Joshua.

'Who said all of this?' roared Anka.

'The Lord Torssen of House Tierdom, he brought it to the court's attention, and based on that information the council of kings was called into action to elect a new King, with you having no spouse or heir. I wanted to wring Torssen's neck personally of course, but he only relayed the message,' said Gibbon passionately.

'From where did he get the message? And why would he even take serious such a thing without evidence?' asked Anka.

'A ship hit the rocks to the north-east of his holdings, with men of your campaign aboard the wreckage. It was a ruse, staged, elaborate and convincing enough. They claimed that they had suffered a heavy defeat in Cerron, and barely made it out, their ship damaged by a storm and then powerless as they ran into the rocks,' explained Kenilla.

'Deserters,' said Anka. 'I remember now, some of the men commandeered a ship and they were off. We didn't pursue, we had a war to finish...'

'These deserters said the King died in battle and that the army was crushed. Someone paid them to do this we think. We would speculate that the cousins might be involved.'

'Where are these deserters?'

'Gone underground. What Torssen could bring us however were banners, the figurehead of the ship, the registry... and without having heard of you my King there was no evidence that you were alive.'

'I sent my own messenger! Not long ago even. He would have let you know that I am alive and well. He even carried my report stating that the Kingdom must catch and prosecute the deserters should they reach our shores. It was a man by the name of Jeren, did he not give you news of my return?'

Everyone stood there in stony silence. Kenilla's gaze went floorwards. 'We received notification from the garrison, by pigeon, when your Lordship was already close. But your man that you sent from the north, Jeren, he never reached us.'

Anka was a little stunned. Jeren was one of his best men. The thought of him not making the journey was somehow absurd. 'Is it possible, with claims of my death being bandied about, that foul play is involved with Jeren's disappearance?'

'I cannot say, but it is likely. We may have to assume that he is dead.'

Anka sighed dejectedly, slamming his fist into the table, the cutlery rattling and deBella jumping in fright. He stood hunched, leaning on the table in quiet anger.

'No point in standing here with empty stomachs, come help yourselves to some food,' said the King sombrely, thinking on what could possibly have happened to Jeren.

Anka didn't eat right away, neither did Kenilla, letting the others have their pick while he now paced angrily. 'They have chosen the wrong King to double cross. There will be hell to pay for!'

'Don't worry my King, we have the kingdom's best minds around this table,' said Kenilla.

Gibbon stopped chewing right there and then, and looked up with surprise. He had never before been accused of such a virtue.

'At ease Gibbon,' said Kenilla and then added softly, 'admittedly some of the brilliance is diluted,' so that only Anka could hear. That at least brought a smile to the King's face.

'Alright then, what has happened is in the past, let's look forward and how best to deal with this. These Hamenras, do they have any good case against me?'

'Directly no, not at all. By law and letter you are already King.'

'Then how on earth can they march into my court and hope to unseat me?'

Only Kenilla was willing to answer. 'There is discord your Highness. They have sown it. More specifically, an economic one; if your standing down as King is not an option, they hope to entice our industry to a richer Rostrad. The guilds in particular pose a problem.'

Anka blew angrily through his nose. 'So they wish to become a power onto themselves?'

'Only insofar to force Evrelyn from the throne. They still want Attoras, they still want it to be the principality of the north.'

'The mountain closest to heaven,' said Dieral, 'they all mock its bitter coldness, but they all want it.'

'And why was their discord so readily took up?' asked Anka through gritted teeth.

'Maybe someone has not told you this yet dear King, but Rostrad is older than us. They are twice our size and have been mostly loyal to Attoras because of your ancestry chasing the dragons from these lands. They have however always nurtured the hope that their own rulers would take their rightful place as Kings of the north.'

'Yes, but how is that relevant?'

'It's relevant because the cousins have stacked up a large part of your constituents as support for themselves. This included the Lady Salstasha's House Vauliette as you've seen.'

That last part bit Anka again. 'I spoke to her today again. She almost seemed angry with me for going to war, made it sound like I forsook my duties. Is that how the court sees me?'

'Unfortunately yes. Hamenra's propaganda has been working hard at it. '

'So what do we think will be their approach at court?'

'It's hard to say King. This application for a hearing on title holdings is only a means to get everyone together in court. They may ask for the council of kings to go ahead even though you are back, to which we will decline.'

'Am I the outright the loser in such instance, should we entertain the council of Kings?' asked Anka toward Naceus.

The Scholar had been quiet thus far.

'That is what I fear Highness, they will seek to put you in a bad light in front of the rest of the realm, and use that as leverage, combined with what Kenilla pointed out as the formidable amount of dignitaries and resources that are home to Rostrad. What they will do then I am not sure, but suffice to say they will attack your tenure. We must not give them a soap box to stand on Highness!' said Naceus.

'What Naceus is getting at, is that if you throw the lot out you might stall the problem or avoid it altogether,' said Joshua.

'That is out of the question.'

'Why Lord?' asked Gibbon, 'I'll throw them out myself!'

'Because of Lady Salstasha,' said deBella, like she was explaining it to a child.

'Oh bother,' said Kenilla. 'Either they are very clever or the King is very predictable. Bring along the Lady Salstasha, and they are protected.'

'I am not happy with my outcome with Salstasha. If I marry her I will hold some portion of the Rostrad political strength is it not?'

'That would certainly help, you won't have a better ally in this than her. She will automatically be elevated in the Rostrad political sphere and she would garner much more support from the undecided residents of our neighbour. But _Highness._ I thought it was abundantly clear she is not in our camp.'

'I will go talk to her once more. Her father was very amicable toward my family, I can't see why she isn't.'

To Anka's annoyance Kenilla laughed out loud. 'My King, you know nothing of women!'

'I know she is not interested,' said Anka as he wrung his hands somewhat anxiously. 'But I haven't given up completely.'

'Just promise me one thing Lord. Seeing that she is part of the Hamenra retinue, please exercise caution when speaking to her, anything you say she can relay to the cousins.'

'I am not going to treat her like a spy.'

'You should, regardless of how you feel,' said Kenilla forcefully.

Anka grunted. 'You've yet to tell me how to deal with all of this.'

'I would suggest not making any call for treason. At this stage their support and any demise you impart on them would make them martyrs. From that, another brazen trio will be born, and they will have their path blazed to success by the fall of the cousins.'

'We'll give them rope to hang themselves Sire,' agreed deBella.

'So we will have to sit through court?'

'Indeed,' said Kenilla, 'seeing that you are unwilling to dispel Salstasha and her cohorts.'

'I've waited too long for a proper audience with her. Now that she is here, I'm not letting her go until I've had my say.'

'Very well. What we need is more information. Leave that to me, I'll dig up what I can. Oh, and your Majesty, before I forget, specially for you, the beaker on the far left is a remedy for your cough, it ought to take away the worst of it. I would suggest getting some in before Gibbon tries it,' said Kenilla.

Anka nodded, pouring himself some of the off-white substance, taking to heart Kenilla's warning about Gibbon even if it were meant in jest.

Knocking the cup back, Anka gagged in disgust.

'What's this? Are you trying to poison me?'

'It's brandy and milk, honey, herbs... and other things,' said Kenilla. 'Family recipe,' he added.

Anka took another swig, smacking his lips. 'It's alright I guess.'

'You're welcome my King. That's as tasteful a medicine as you will get.'

'Well you certainly made it strong enough for me to forget about the problem momentarily,' laughed the King.

'It'll help your chest in a moment.'

Anka grunted. 'I need to get rid of this damned cough! And quickly! I can't labour through court with these politicians while having a dog's bark.'

'Give it time Lord. Luckily you'll get to rest now that you are no longer roving the far north.'

'I tempted to take my magic to myself and...'

'No!' shouted Kenilla, his curt answer ringing from the walls. 'You know full well my King that you cannot heal yourself - strengthen yourself, sure - but healing of one's own effort is short-sighted.'

'And yet my own healers cannot help me.'

Kenilla fell into a chair next to the King. 'You are the last living source of your own power. The disciples' power come from you, so it stands to reason that if you alone are the source, any of their power spent on you would also be minimal in effect, albeit not as dangerous as using one's own resources to heal oneself.'

'Yes, mending a dress from material of its own cloth, I have heard the stories. It remains tempting.'

'If your Highness were to sire some children, and you were no longer the sole source of Seluin, both your offspring and your disciples would be more able to tend to you in times of emergencies than as it stands now.'

'That's your answer? It doesn't help me now.'

'No bastards growing up in Cerron?' asked Kenilla.

'No. You know me better than that. '

Kenilla sighed.

'Is that what I get for being a King not mired by scandal?' asked Anka.

'No, but I fear your abstaining from any women while warring is driven by your infatuation for Salstasha.'

'I thought we were going to get married. Of course I wasn't going to...' Anka's voice drifted away.

'You knew very well the arrangement was shaky from the start.'

'Is that wrong?'

'No. But you are opening yourself for a lot hurt. This sword cuts deepest.'

'You sound like you're disappointed that I don't have a team of lads yet.'

'Your position would have been stronger with heirs. Bastards would've been a nuisance, sure. But instead of taking a wife you went to bash heads in Cerron.'

'I want the right woman Kenilla, and that's the end of it. I don't care what others think I should've done in the meanwhile. I wanted to be faithful to... why am I even explaining myself to you?'

Anka drained the last of the brew, the white of the milk on his upper lip, wiping it away. Looking at the bottom of the mug, he said, 'hmph, this was good, soothing. I guess me feeling sleepy is all part of the plan?'

'Yes King, strategically, it is so that I don't have to listen to you fawn over a broad that is very likely to be your undoing.'

Anka chortled. 'You are all excused. Have a good night's rest; we'll have our hands full as early as tomorrow. '

They all bade the King a good night, filing out then, Anka asking deBella to stay, stopping her before she could leave with the rest.

'Handmaiden, I was just thinking now: I wish for you to stay as close as possible to the Lady Salstasha.'

'You wish me to spy on her?'

'No, I want you to see to her needs. Befriend her so that she does not think my entire household are made out of bloodthirsty warmongers. If there is a chance that she can see us in a favourable light, maybe its best it comes from another woman. Besides, I suspect Kenilla will already be sniffing out as much information as possible, including anything her.'

'He can be a weasel that one,' said deBella.

Anka snorted. 'Don't let him hear that, his indignation would put you in his sights for months to come.'

'Oh I am much too smart to become caught up in a war of words with him. I will do what I can Highness.'

Thank you, good night deBella.'

'Good night my King.'

Anka dimmed the lights in the dining hall. Standing in the darkness, he saw the windows on the castle west wing still alit. A lone window high up that he knew belonged to Salstasha glowed yellow from whatever lantern she kept there. He stood watching for a moment more; she _is finally here_ , he thought, for the moment ignoring all other tensions accompanying her arrival.

Chapter 3

### The Council Awakens

With a court date looming Anka tasked himself with establishing his presence in the castle again and increasing his own security if it all could be called the same thing. He wanted this done before they were bogged down in political struggles. So Anka went off to meet the new recruits for the household guard. Unlike the Wolves the household guard belonged to the throne always, but not the family that governed here. Should Evrelyn ever be ousted or replaced, the current men would have to swear fealty to a new King and his House. That however could only happen should Anka die, _in theory_.

So a court meeting held many moons ago came to an agreement that the household guard had an obligation to rotate its members every few years, the reasoning being that new blood would ensure the entity did not become something like the Wolves, loyal unto one man over any other who might be crowned. Anka didn't like it, getting rid of experience, as politicians seemed to have little appreciation of battle-readiness, and loyalty besides. When it became necessary to increase the numbers of the guard, Anka jumped at the opportunity to expand the armoury and keep the current guard, with the new recruits rolling in.

They were all promising, the King having brief chats with each of them and congratulating them to their new post. Merohan was of course among them as the King requested, and the young man accepted his appointment with a blush even though he knew the King well.

Not all of them were as reserved, a man called Rollance in particular taking the liberty now that he had an audience with the King. Rollance was tall but lanky, with curly hair that fell to his shoulders and a well kept beard and moustache.

'My King, could I ask for your healing powers?' asked Rollance, 'for my _sword_ \- _its bent_ ,' he said in hushed tones.

Anka lifted an eyebrow.

'Not that one Sire,' he said pulling the real thing from his side, the inclination of the blade making it impossible to put it in its sheath.

'How on earth did you manage that?' asked the King.

'Tried to wedge a block of stone out of a wall, cousin's house, rumoured to have treasure behind the back wall, stashed there by our grandpappy back in Harvort's days of grand taxation. Took me and him half a day. Alas, there was nothing. Not that my family has ever cheated the kingdom out of taxes your Majesty!'

Anka laughed. 'Of course they haven't, otherwise you would have found that treasure. Son, better take the sword down to the castle blacksmith. The Seluin light heals flesh and bones, not steel,' said Anka, slapping the man on the back as he sent Rollance on his way.

'A pity the Seluin light does nothing for idiocy. I swear, these recruits Gibbon earmark are getting dumber and dumber,' said Kenilla out of the corner of his mouth.

'Give them a break.'

'No, I have a theory and all. He will refuse to recruit anyone smarter than himself, in fear of being usurped, which of course leaves your Majesty with these tax avoiders and sword benders.'

'They are fine men. Besides, it was I that included Rollance, not Gibbon.'

'You did?' asked Kenilla in surprise. 'Might I ask why?'

'I went over the records before Gibbon was given the final sign off: Rollance can ride a horse, has a long background in blades, from dirk to bastard sword, can handle sabres in terms of grace and doesn't look like he would have trouble swinging a two handed claymore. Good with a bow too. He has the stamina of a pronghorn. And he -'

'All lies of course,' said Kenilla, interrupting the King.

'Yes, but did you see _why_ the man lied so blatantly?' asked the King.

'I can think of many reasons my King, but tell me yours.'

'He notes a child on the way, but is unmarried. I looked into it and it turns out he is about to father a child with Elaine of Moidil. She of course is all but disowned from her family because of it; this part of the world does not look kindly on pregnancies out of wedlock.'

'We are an island,' agreed Kenilla.

'The point is, after doing mainly nothing with his life, the man is clearly doing what is necessary to look after the child and the mother.'

Kenilla scoffed. 'What a reward for a man who couldn't wait a few months.'

'What a reward for the _child,'_ Anka corrected him, 'the child is going to have a father that is part of the household guard, instead of being the bastard that has not a father or mother of any means.'

'I will have to bow to your superior wisdom in this instance, your Highness knows and reads the warriors better than I.'

'What a nice change. I haven't often heard you concede to my strong points.'

'Just as long as you leave the reading of politicians to me, that's _my speciality,_ and one we'll certainly be using.'

'Don't remind me, I swear, if I could send you in alone tomorrow, I would.'

Several dozen dignitaries had flooded to Attoras, men and women of all stripes representing the full scope of the lords and ladies of Attoras, which to Anka's mind was a group that got less productive the larger it got. Today they were a pretty large group. He did not know half of them and when he finally walked into a wall of them on his way to court, he greeted them in the only way fitting: 'Truly, you should all not have come just on my behalf, that a King can be so lucky that on the mere rumour of his return his peers of the court drop everything just to welcome him back.'

This of course was the furthest thing from the truth; since Kenilla's admission that someone had made the motion of his supposed death, it was clear people had been roused by the prospect of a redistribution of powers. Many of them had arrived just yesterday, and more would arrive too late, only after the court had concluded. But it didn't matter when they came; Anka was not going to allocate a single thing that did not need an urgent Lord of a holding.

Entering by the King's passage and alone then for just a second, Anka mulled on a wish that he could have returned to Attoras as he remembered it; the halls forlorn and lonely, its fate forwarded by working or fighting men, not politicians. He came out by the door that exited by the throne, a great number of people already seated and looking down on him from the gallery.

Anka said nothing further and went to his throne, Kenilla at his side. 'Easy my King, we do not wish to alienate these folks just yet,' he said.

'Do I need anyone's approval?'

'No my Lord, but there are many potential allies within these ranks. You have to see some of these people as coming to your defence, not your demise.'

They waited a while more for the rest of the people to file in, until Dieral made it clear the meeting was in session, and anyone else were now late-comers.

Anka should have known he was in for a trying day when he saw the Lady Salstasha keeping company with House Hamenra, and worse, entering the court very much in their corner. She was looking lovely and distracting him even though her compatriots might pose a very real threat to his throne. He shook his head slightly.

_They have no case against me he thought,_ _this is all insolence._

But his gaze certainly drifted back to the lady much too often. Her face was framed today with her dark fringes gathered like a wreath that joined behind her head, the rest of her hair flowing there from. The only good about her being so lovely was that Anka alone was not the only one whose attention was being drawn from the matter at hand.

Master Dieral oversaw proceedings, him walking about the round mural floor, addressing the gallery that was opposite the throne of the King. He was dressed in a ceremonial gown befit his station, which was very appropriate to his huge frame, as it gave him some freedom of movement. He also had a bronze rod of the court in his right hand, with which he struck the floor to calm the court or call a matter to conclusion. Whatever the rest of the Kingdom had to say about Dieral, which usually ran along the lines of him being a "bald, greedy and gluttonous bastard", Anka was grateful that someone like him proved to be a buffer between him and a rabid group of fools who could be accused of much worse.

Dieral sounded off: 'Before we set an agenda, we must first determine the outcome of the council of kings, as instituted in the King's absence. As the King has returned, the council of kings is subject to be dismissed, and the King has the say on whether the motion stands - we'll refer to His Majesty now for a decision.'

'I'm the King!' barked Anka. 'The council of kings is called to dissolve. There will be no debate on who rules this country, neither the previously allotted holdings, bar new submissions made to myself going forward, which I will judge on their merits.'

'Very well, we'll proceed to open the court then to petitions unrelated to the council of kings,' said Dieral and struck the rod once to the floor.

And so started the day with a flood of pleas, many of these now amended from the bold claims laid on a dead King's lands, to desperate appeals to a King they had not expected to return. It of course soon turned into squabbles, with a lot of the people fighting over the same resource or holding if that was what they were after.

Most of these were trivial and in greed, and Anka rejected the better part of the matters laid before him. He frustrated the court, them having expected a much different session. Some even voiced their dismay without shame.

'We have been told my King that you have perished,' asked Torssen, the lumbering baron who had brought the wrecked ship pieces to Attoras, 'I feel swindled!'

This caused a chorus of agreement, shamelessly by those who obviously felt like their prospects would have been much better in the King's absence.

Ignoring Torssen bold statement the King swung to Dieral.

'Can we all agree that I'm not dead?' asked Anka dryly to Master Dieral, loud enough so that everyone could hear the question. Dieral nodded and without consulting the court slammed the rod to the floor to make the King's point valid.

What absurdity, thought Anka.

The corner in which the Hamenra cousins sat remained quiet for the greater part of the proceedings, which troubled the King; it looked like they were waiting for the rest of the court to wear him down before they made their case. As the day wore on, Luwin eventually stood up on behalf of the Hamenra ensemble.

Anka steeled himself. Luwin's lack of spine did not mean he wasn't a dangerous man in matters of law.

'Our first matter before the court is submissions that the Lady Salstasha becomes the head of House Vauliette, and be allotted the estates of Amareb, hence take the title of Duchess of the same,' said Luwin.

Anka turned to Kenilla for swift consultation. Amareb was a small but sought after estate close to the heart of the Rostrad. 'If you say yes to one, you will have to say yes to the others, and I still don't know what they are planning,' whispered Kenilla, referring to the pleas that would certainly follow this one.

'What choice do I have? I want her to stay here for awhile. And I cannot send her back homeless even if she were an enemy.'

'I feel they will play us here King,' said Kenilla.

'We'll have to ride the consequences,' said the King to Kenilla's dismay, looking back up at the court.

'The motion is passed, the court says yes to an old ally.'

Anka looked over to Salstasha, who met his eyes, but her expression was unreadable. If the estate meant anything to her she didn't show it.

Luwin continued. 'We thank our King. Our next submission, which will be offered simultaneously as the lands are adjoining and would be best served having masters amicable toward each other, are Estates Tollder for one, Lord Stephen, and Estates Cremo, for Lord Henry.'

Anka should have expected as much; the Estates Tollder and Cremo were virtually the King's own lands, inextricable from the lands that helped fed the city of Attoras, and while they had no official title holder, it was the King's men that kept them. Anka would be very reluctant to let such land go.

Kenilla also leaned in to whisper in the King's ear. 'Something is off Highness, Chaton did not come here just to see his cousins get the most enviable holdings of all, which are far from his influence and would make them more beholden to you than him. This is not their final play. Make them an offer, but with a string that they won't be able to accept, _press them_ , I want to see where they are going with this before we hand them anything.'

Anka could not agree more.

'I will consider the motion, provided that not a single soul is moved from his or her position for two years, same would apply to their homesteads and any accompanying responsibilities. The two estates will also comply on a ten year agreement on lads who enter manhood without a craft, to submit a total of a hundred men a year to an Attoras garrison, where they will serve as soldiers of Attoras for a three year period.'

'That would put Lords Henry and Stephen in an untenable bind, as they will of course have similar obligations to his Lord Chaton,' replied Luwin.

'Those are my conditions, as their claim on the estates so close to Attoras is ambitious, therefore their duties need to reflect a benefit to the city of Attoras as is always the case.'

'Your favour then is selective to but one of our constituents, might we ask what motivates your judgement herein your Highness?' asked Luwin.

'Stephen and Henry already have holdings of their own, where Salstasha has lost hers. I prefer overseeing seeing these lands myself, lordless as they might be. If they cannot accept my conditions, the motion is denied.'

Luwin registered a faint look of frustration. 'Then we wish to revisit the council of kings, as most here will feel aggrieved at the sparse favour they received today.'

'That matter is settled, Luwin,' said the King.

Luwin looked to Chaton and the quiet man nodded once.

'It is at this time then, albeit with reluctance, that we wish to submit a plea for Rostrad and all its associated holdings to cede from the Kingdom of Attoras and establish its independence, as to best further the interests of the people of Rostrad...'

That brought a roar of clamour that was heard throughout the castle.

'Are you daft!' shouted Anka, jumping up, his voice carrying over the noise, and ready to pummel the man just for the suggestion.

Master Dieral slammed the rod to the floor a couple of times for the hall to quiet down.

'That is called treason, Master Luwin,' said Kenilla in a more even tone than his King's. 'Where is Chaton's tongue by the way that you speak for him?'

'I speak on behalf of his Lordship, his cousins, the Lady Salstasha, a largely unanimous retinue of lords in favour of Rostrad's independence, and also a portion of the people of Attoras,' said Luwin. 'To Master Kenilla, I answer that our action is not treason if the King has been unable to live up to his treaty, forsook his duties locally, and evidently does not want to entertain a council of kings nor apply fair allocation of holdings to his people.'

'What treaties are brought into question?' shot Kenilla.

'The treaties under which the unity of Attoras was originally signed, that the King will look after the economic and physical security of the realm, and hence stem our subjugation under his throne.'

'I have satisfied both of those while away in Cerron,' said Anka.

'The court then wishes to hear of your expedition, as to be satisfied with your claim. The realm is keen to hear how our men do abroad?'

There was a general murmur of anticipation, as though in agreement, and Anka realized the court would want to hear this. He could not sidestep this.'

'Ten years after the dragon worshippers left that place in a mess, rogue kingdoms started emerging and it forced us to go back where we promised never to do so again. We landed at the Cultivars coast, there making our base camp, and pushed up through the heartland plateau, often striking from high-ground with siege engines, flushing out the scum in the woods, and drawing enemies to us. We had two decisive battles at Pettleness and Dashal. The enemy were crushed in both instances. After Dashal we could hand back the task of governance to the local alliance, consisting mainly of historical bloodlines that have ruled before, and valuable allies besides.'

'What forces did you take with you?' asked Luwin.

Anka thought carefully. 'Garrisons 1, 2 and 6, 5 as reserve, 3 and 4 were to remain should something befall the realm.'

'Did the Wolves go with you?'

'No.'

'Where are your Wolves, King?' asked Luwin.

Anka shot an angry look at Salstasha, and she faltered a little under his gaze.

'They are in hiding, as they always are. They are not a boisterous organization as is the Knights of the west,' answered Anka.

'That is not what we heard. We have heard that you have lost the Wolves as well. You had to go to war without them. They have always symbolized the strength of your father's rule. Summon them here if you still command them! Let us see if your rule has any strength still.'

'That is not within my means.'

'You have then lost the people and the military! Is it that the Wolves have not blessed your rule as they did your father, or more telling that they have not joined your side on your campaign, a war they could not endorse with good conscious?'

Anka's answer suddenly faltered, his chest flaring up, and he coughed where he sat, painfully and excitedly, and it would not stop. He hunched over to his left armrest. Blasted hole in the roof. It brings in the chill!

'You have no idea where they are, do you?' Luwin pressed on regardless of the King's state. 'You have-'

'Luwin that's enough!' Salstasha's voice undercut him, Anka still coughing.

'Admit it King, admit that the Wolves who are supposed to protect the realm is now lost to the people-'

'ENOUGH!' said Salstasha jumping up, 'cannot you see he is in pain?' she cried at Luwin.

Anka was almost crumbled then in his seat, and Kenilla brought him a goblet of water. Anka was grateful for Salstasha's intervention as he drained the water.

'Should we halt King?' asked Kenilla.

'No,' said Anka, regaining his composure. 'I won't let this man's insults hang in the air.'

Anka straightened and with a raspy voice answered Luwin tiredly: 'The Wolves Luwin, do not stay at my beck and call. They are... a force so powerful that they cannot be part of the everyday fabric of Attoras. They cannot be allowed to become tyrants because of their status over a common man. That's why they stay away. In that same sense, they will not follow my command or very whim so that I become a tyrant - they will come when it is needed.'

'When last have you paid homage to the Crimson city?' asked Luwin, changing his course of attack, feeling the King's answer on the Wolves had turned the tide.

'I have been at war,' said Anka simply.

'The Crimson City expects good rulers to congregate at the feet of the Benevolence for a blessed reign every so often,' said Luwin.

'The Crimson City has not given me a day's trouble about it. They certainly understand that some Kings have more important things to do than keeping pleasantries and feign it as doing honour to His Benevolence.'

'And tributes to the Crimson City? This is after all a matter that needs to be seen to diligently even in your absence.'

'Our coffers are fully geared to serving and building Attoras at this stage. I looked at the finances on my return, there is not a worthwhile amount to spare.'

'So you cannot keep the treasury of Attoras to a satisfied standard?'

'Attoras's value is in its stones and in its men.'

'That is a great solace my King, except when dealing with the real matters of the kingdom to which you have no clue to because you bandy about frozen lands in bloodlust under the name of justice, although condemning the rest of the world with keeping pleasantries with the Crimson City. Rostrad suffers because of this, both diplomatically and the protection that it provides. Instead of offering them tribute directly, Rostrad owes its share to the King, where we are not guaranteed it reaches the Crimson City.'

'I protect you! I secured tributes from the would-be kingdom in the north and opened an entire a trade route for the world through the straights. I had not thought however I would be judged for it!'

'Speak plainly Luwin, you are not calling these little meetings because we are not showing Allandiel enough love,' said Kenilla.

'The throne Highness, those many years, was partly promised to our Lady Salstasha here.'

'Conditioned upon her marrying me. I thought that implication is the most obvious one of all, seeing that I'm the King. Are you an imbecile?'

The court gasped, many in the back snickering. Kenilla was waving subtly at the King from the side, urging him to calm down.

'The point was, Rostrad was going to have a representative right here in the seat of power more aligned with Rostrad's ambitions to be administered fairly, and certainly keep up these pleasantries as you call them. They are important. The fair Lady has made it known however that she would rather marry within a House of Rostrad as to consolidate the strength of our city.'

Anka took the news badly, but he composed himself. They relied on him to lose focus upon hearing Salstasha's interests lying elsewhere.

'That still won't lift me from the throne. Nor change my position on any matter you've brought so far.'

'And yet for someone in my Lord's position, your Majesty might still make the pilgrimage.'

Anka waited for him to elaborate, but sort of knowing where this was going.

'You've made it perfectly clear that you prefer travelling the world than staying here. Why not take up the noblest cause and set south for Nem Nemuris? If you see yourself as a King who best serves his people by exploits abroad, isn't this the best course to take?'

'I have no heirs. Travelling south would be an honourable thing to do, but I cannot allow my blood to be wiped from existence. The light of Seluin would die with me if I go now.'

'It was your Highness that failed to marry and sire children, potentially leaving no succession plan as you ravaged through the north.'

'I had sincerely thought I might be wed to the Lady Salstasha.'

'She has lost interest in the notion a long time ago. You might've known this if you didn't spend so much time away from home.'

'My patience with you is growing thin Luwin!' said the King.

'Have you not sired a bastard or two on your campaign then?'

Anka flew out of the throne, heading for the gallery stairs, his own guards standing out of his way. Kenilla was on his heels and grabbed him from behind. It was not enough, and luckily both Anka's own guard and House Hamenra's supporters rushed in, clashing somewhere in the middle of the court. It turned out to be a harmless affair, mostly pushing and a few insults flying back and forth, the King held back and another fifty men between him and Luwin.

'That concludes today's meeting!' cried Dieral hurriedly and hammered his rod to the floor unceasingly, until everyone calmed down and started filing out before the situation could boil over completely.

The Hamenra family were first to leave, and with good reason, the rest following on their heels so that the King still did not have a clear path to them. He had however long since calmed down.

'Held back by my own men,' complained the King, swinging to Kenilla.

'You can thank me when your senses return to you.'

'I was only going to beat some of this sense you speak of into Luwin.'

'I'm afraid you might crush his hollow head, tis why he makes so much noise,' said Kenilla.

'Your Highness certainly brought his tirade to a close,' said Master Dieral from behind.

'That was the plan.'

'While tarnishing the court?' asked Kenilla.

'He was already tarnishing me.'

'But without much effect. Hamenra cannot cede from the kingdom no matter how much support they gather.'

Anka grunted. 'All the same, I couldn't stand one more word out of that fool.'

Just outside the court Anka ran into Salstasha, the people milling excitedly there, chattering, she being the only one of Hamenra's group that would stand stoically after his charge at Luwin. It appears she was waiting specifically for him, a sort of scorn on her face.

'I guess the courts are at an impasse,' offered Anka.

'I should have known it would be,' said Salstasha stiffly.

'Did you think this would be resolved swiftly?' asked Anka.

'I don't think anything with your family is resolved swiftly,' she said tersely.

Anka did not respond to the bait. 'Given that you would be staying for the time being, you can keep your guestroom in the castle, my home is yours.'

'How gracious,' said Salstasha flatly.

'As for the rest of you,' said Anka, rearing his voice. The mill of people turned to him. 'It would be discourteous to banish you lot from my castle, but, your fanfare and fools that you've brought here are not welcome, they will stay in town.'

'What about our guard?' asked one.

'I did mention the fools did I not?'

'You should have given those titles to Henry and Stephen,' said Salstasha, ignoring Anka's delight at the dismay he caused the other dignitaries just now.

'Would that have stopped Luwin's attack on me?'

Salstasha looked uncertain, obviously not seeking to utter something untruthful.

'Why then?'

'Because I want to go home, sooner rather than later,' with that she turned and left, not for the first time leaving Anka feeling dejected.

'That went well,' said Kenilla with his usual ring of sarcasm in abundance.

'I hate these gatherings.'

'Did Luwin's question about you siring bastards really upset you so much more than when I asked it?'

'In front of Salstasha it did. And I wanted a reason to pummel him. He thinks because of a mere cough I have not the stature to shut his mouth.'

'Of course Highness. But these court battles take guile.'

Anka grunted. 'They are very bold, attacking me like they did.'

'The Lady Salstasha however is not without care for you. That's something isn't it?'

Anka shook his head. 'She believes I'm a tyrant. But I am grateful she interceded during my spell. I was truly in pain.'

'Yes, that too.'

Anka thought hard. 'You think she just warned me?'

'Being with Hamenra, she is not going to make any outright statements to her supposed enemy. But I think she betrayed something just now; why the cousins were pushing for property they know you wouldn't give.'

'I could've thrown them out.'

'Yet they would come back with good cause then, not having secured titles for Henry and Stephen.'

'I don't think they really care that much about the titles. They asked for something they knew I wouldn't give them for good reason. They wanted to slander me... they are after something else I'm sure.'

'And giving them the titles is not an option either. They'll wield too much influence close to home.'

'They were going after you like they still think a council of kings is in the coming, and that they still need to sway votes in their favour should that day come.'

'I fear they know something we don't,' said Anka.

'Precisely that my King, we should brace ourselves. They will come with something else to us soon.'
Chapter 4

### The Wanderer Returns

Bhask's nomadic ways came to an end and his road finally had a destination. He had heard stories of the King's return and had chased such rumours until he was back in the King's country. It was only in the small town of Piero that he was satisfied that Ankareus the first of his name was ready to sit on the throne of Attoras again - his journey had been justified. Not that he cared for the distance, as Bhask rarely remained still and did not remain in one place for long unless it was at the King's pleasure.

The town entrance gave him a humbling welcome, a flash of rain not having the decency to wait until he got indoors, throwing down a torrent of water. Some rotten wooden posts bolted into an arch-thoroughfare greeted him, signifying the town entrance with dim lanterns swaying in the wind that blasted icy droplets of water into Bhask's neck. He got there however not before crossing a patch of watery sludge in front of it, equal parts mud and horse manure by the smell of it. He crossed it with indifference, knowing he would need to clean his boots anyway after the long trek.

The watchmen at the gate didn't give him a second look, which he strangely found disconcerting. _Maybe for the best,_ he thought, relieved as he got out of the rain. _I have grown too accustomed at being chased and hunted._

Not far behind Bhask, an elderly merchant appeared from a different route, pushing a heavy cart, also hurrying toward the entrance to get out of the rain. But crossing the mud the left rear wheel got stuck and sunken in, the cart stopping suddenly, a moan and curse going up from the man in frustration.

Bhask looked over his shoulder as the elderly man threw what little weight he had at the cart. He did not even budge it. It was much too heavy. With surprise Bhask realized the watchmen weren't going to assist either. He turned back. 'Aren't you going to help the man?' he asked critically at the two of them.

The left one grunted. 'He can come in and find shelter, no criminal is going move that thing and neither could we. In the morning he can bring a horse and pull it out.'

Bhask sighed impatiently. 'You do not know if the man has perishables,' he said, walking out into the rain again. He held up his hand in greeting to the old timer, and motioned that he was going to try and lift the back side of the cart, so that they could try and push it on its other three wheels. Pushing it outright would be fruitless, Bhask's footing likely slipping in the sludge should he try it. The peddler did not seem to quite believe his intentions, until Bhask indeed hunkered down and got his fingers in underneath the cart, his legs bent, his back straight, and suddenly the peddler stood ready.

'Here we go!' said Bhask. Not that anyone could hear anything above the rain and the wind. With a heave Bhask lifted the deadweight of the cart, the contraption creaking so much that he feared tearing it apart for his unusual handling of it, the rickety timbers not meant to bear any load unevenly. With an effort, he lifted it two or three inches from the ground, the wheel still submerged to a degree.

'Push now!' said Bhask with gritted teeth, and the merchant threw whatever weight and strength he had at the back of the cart. Bhask too laid his body forwards, and with the wheel a little higher up, it got traction on more solid ground.

'Keep going!' said Bhask, and pushed it all the way through with the momentum they had, not daring to let it come to a standstill until they were clear of the mud. They got in underneath the arch, out of breath and drenched.

The two watchmen stared at Bhask with awe, but he paid them no mind. In fact he was a little disgruntled that he had to draw attention onto himself.

'Thank you sir! Thank you!' said the merchant, now that they could talk civilly.

'Get yourself indoors and dry. The damp will rob you of your warmth!'

Bhask checked that the man was alright by himself to navigate the cart, and was soon satisfied that the roads inside of town drained well enough to avoid becoming a sludge like outside the gate.

Not saying anything further to the guards, Bhask entered Piero, trying to walk in the shadow of the building with overhangs and eaves, which there weren't a lot of, the deluge and the wind hitting him still with droplets.

He did not a have any relatives in this part of the world, or acquaintances that could provide him with lodging, so he hit up the local inn and tavern. The place was called the Bounding Hare, not unfamiliar to Bhask, an oft crowded L-shaped open plan that surrounded the bar in the corner of the ground floor, the bedrooms being upstairs. He trudged inside, hopefully unnoticed, removing his cloak and boots, and running his hand through his dark hair. He sought a place to hang his cloak along the wall, which he found towards the fireplace.

'What can I get this wet dog?' came a voice directed at Bhask.

For a moment there Bhask thought the man was making play on his origins, and with alarm he was ready to defend himself if necessary. As he swung around however, he realized the man wore an apron; he was the barkeep and nothing more. Bhask thought it best then to put his paranoia aside.

'Darkest ale you have Barkeep. That should temper the chill,' said Bhask, only now realizing how the rain had seeped the warmth from him. He had been away from the frigid tendencies of the north for awhile and was much more conditioned to scorching deserts of late.

'You're welcome to stand at the fireplace, just don't touch the pot, we have a stew brewing there for Old man Laros,' said the barkeep as he came with the ale.

Bhask lifted his mug appreciatively at the barkeep. 'Laros still governs?'

'All these years still. Between you and me, I could never decide if I'd like to see the back of him or not. A tyrant in his own way, and contributes just enough for me to fear that his successor might drive Piero into the ground, and have us miss the old rogue. You didn't hear that from me however, he gives me good business as is tonight.'

'I would not retell your words, for I might forget whether they are mine or yours, and find myself in trouble perhaps because of it.'

The barkeep smiled. 'Good man, let me know if you need anything else.'

Bhask drained his ale slowly, and he listened to the many conversations passing between the tables.

He could notice the change in a place within an instant, travelling as he did, he was always observant to such. Physically Piero had not changed one bit. Old man Laros still controlled most of the town through his farmsteads, the broken windmill in the south-side of town was still broken, and members of the Highwaymen still called this place a favourite watering hole, mainly because the town guard looked the other way.

But the air was different; the people more tense than he remembered. At first Bhask thought it was the tyranny of the Highwaymen, as their leadership often went through cycles of steady-minded rulers inevitably replaced by a tyrant - not just a malignancy to society at large, but a tyrant detriment to the Highwaymen organization itself.

The men next to Bhask cleared away and a more boisterous lot moved in next to him, at least two of them being Highwaymen. Closer to him sat the man named Dekna, who could have been any combination of a braggart, a swindler and just maybe a high-ranking member of the Highwaymen as he claimed.

And Bhask listened:

'Business here has come to nothing, and this was the last route in the area we could use too! I'll have to move further east just to earn a crumb. There is nothing to ship here anymore. Nothing noteworthy that is to say,' moaned Dekna.

And so Bhask came to learn of Old man Laros' betrayal to the King. He would year after year claim that his harvest was barely big enough to float his own costs, but then use the Highwaymen to smuggle the flax he owed the King to the east. Bhask thought that the extra profit he made not reflecting in the town's well-being was insult to injury; there were men and women here who struggled while he lived lavishly.

Bhask had put all of this together with what he had seen on the road, spying Highwaymen riding from town with wagons of concealed goods. It made sense now that Dekna spoke of it. It was the tail end of this story however that most intrigued him, and it was the tail end of this story that had their tongues' wagging about a matter that should normally remain quiet.

As he sat next to Dekna he overheard enough to get an idea of what was terrorizing the area, 'what happened?' the other men asked of Dekna.

'Fanatical bastards, some of them masked with those dragon helms. They come in huge numbers. I don't know how, but somehow they're coming through the forest without our knowledge. They burnt Laros's flax farm to the south-west.'

Bhask thought that explained much of the uneasiness; Laros obviously took a knock and the Highwaymen were losing out on the smuggling business.

Bhask had heard enough though. _In the morning I will go address Laros in person, I will only stir trouble if I do so now._ Bhask wondered if he should turn in for the night and get some shuteye. _One more ale,_ he thought and motioned at the barkeep.

The rain emptied out, its intensity on the roof suddenly ceasing and then subsiding by the minute. The patrons started taking their leave, more willing to go outside, those who didn't need to stay at the inn's rooms at least.

Yet it seemed they were not the only ones who waited for the rain to go, three men entering as many were leaving. The newcomers were heavily cloaked, staying very close to each other even as they moved, two men blocking the view of the third. Bhask thought he was the only one noticing them, again maybe because of his paranoia. They did not remove their cloaks, but headed straight toward the fireplace, which was still sensible given the conditions outside. They hunkered down very close to the stew pot as though in search of warmth. _Don't mess with the barkeep's stew, he will kill you,_ thought Bhask idly.

Maybe it was because this place already hosted enough unscrupulous men, but Bhask decided not to bother himself with their affairs and turned back to the men chattering away to his right. But just like that, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the three cloaked men leaving the inn again. _That's much too soon, they aren't even dry yet._ His gut telling him to be worried, Bhask's gaze drifted back to the fireplace, and he narrowed his eyes: It was definitively not the barkeep's pot that hung there anymore, this one smaller and different in shape, made from ceramic it seemed. _What in the world?_ Bhask had not watched it for two seconds, and then suddenly it started shooting sparks from the lid.

Something the men had spoken about invaded Bhask's thoughts with urgency; _men with dragon armour terrorizing the land_. He should've seen the danger in them earlier, but with no time to chastise himself, he jumped up, his voice commanding: 'everyone move away from the hearth, head back to the entrance!' and as he said this, he pushed away as many of the men around him as he could, away from the hearth, which were not a lot of men in the grand scheme of things.

The explosion came with a dull thud and then a blast that blossomed open the entire chimney, and ripped through the remainder of the tavern. Bhask was swept off his feet along with others, debris flying everywhere, the furniture, stairs and bar shattered and blown apart.

Things were black for a second, until Bhask could get the wherewithal to lift the debris from him, his ears ringing. The town's alarm bells were also ringing. He stood up gingerly, him being one of the few who had actually survived the blast. There was wailing, but he wasn't sure where it was coming from as he stumbled drunkenly, his world spinning. The entire side of the building was ripped open, so that Bhask could see the town entrance from where he stood. There were many unmoving bodies around him.

Even in his stupor he then realized a critical mistake from the town guard. The men from the town wall and gate came rushing in to help. 'No! Stay in your positions,' he shouted. 'Man the gate!'

No one listened.

There was only one reason to create an explosion like this, other than senseless murder. Bhask's fears were realized then, as the men who stood guard came in to help, leaving the gate unmanned and so the only defensible area in town was lost. Knowing what was coming next Bhask looked around for a weapon, and before he could find one, the dragon-armoured men came streaming through the arch unopposed, and they came for the slaughter. The enemy was well-equipped, their chestplates shaped like overlapping scales and their steel helms embellished with webbed wings that ran from the ear to the chin, all in honour of the dragons they worshipped.

Cursing Bhask rummaged through the men who were killed in the explosion. There was not even one good sword among them.

Finding first a blown apart lantern beam, Bhask ripped it from the debris, clobbering a man bearing down on him. He had to try and block off as much of the attackers as possible, moving into the conflict, but fearing the beam would splinter soon by the impact. It was an awkward weapon to begin with.

The town put up but a faint resistance, Bhask taking down whatever foe he could, the dragon-armoured men fanning out in all directions, so that he dealt with stragglers only. But he was surprised that they did not inundate the town like he feared and he swung back to the entrance, seeing a problem in the making.

The majority of the invaders were blocking the entrance of the town, blocking off all escape, with only some of them marauding through a town that had little defence. Bashing more men out of his path, Bhask worked his way toward the town prefect, who alone was fighting off his attackers calmly, his skill with a blade above reproach, but he too would be overwhelmed before long. Bhask helped him by smashing a man to his left and then shouted, 'They are blocking the entrance because they are awaiting reinforcements! We need to break them and reclaim the entrance if we want any hope of staying off a second wave!'

'What do we do?' asked the prefect.

'Can you rally the men of the town? Cowards, drunkards and scoundrels alike, anyone who can still stand, bring them here!'

The prefect didn't need asking twice, and roped in two of his subordinates to the task.

Bhask got more men than he expected, among the townspeople a couple of burly men, and more importantly a few Highwaymen, who were experienced fighters usually. They started forming a group directly facing the block of dragon worshippers at the entrance.

Bhask walked among them, inspecting their weapons, letting the men with heavier swords, hammers and makeshift shields stand toward the front of their charge. 'Who of you can offer up your swords? I will need two.'

Understandably the men were reluctant. 'Come now, I will lead the charge and will need to cut into their ranks. Any swords in my hands are far more deadly than in yours,' said Bhask boldly and with authority.

Two of the Highway men offered up their broadswords, one of them being the dark haired Dekna, his face and clothes covered in soot, but otherwise alive and well. 'You saved my life big man, and I can see you are a warrior without equal. Take these!' Bhask in turn let them trade their knives with some of the villagers who had crude but longer blades; he didn't want skilful Highwaymen going into battle only with knives. 'They are armoured, we are mostly not,' said Bhask, 'When you start seeing a tunnel in their ranks, rush in, balloon open and push them toward the town walls, we will force them to turn and cut most of them down from behind.'

The men did not believe that this could possibly happen.

'These are dragon worshippers, they are merciless fighters,' offered one man, whose eyes were wide with fear. The group were ready to break apart at any moment, and that would mean the death of them all.

'These men are pretenders, mercenaries dressed in dragon worshippers' armour. The dragons and their armies are long dead. I will show you, I will put fear in them. We have to reclaim the entrance, or we can just as well surrender to death,' stressed Bhask.

He looked at the two men carrying heavy wooden shields behind him. 'Stay close to me, don't let the column collapse.' Bhask left it at that - and then charged! He covered the distance with incredible pace, outstripping the men following on his heels, their battle cry going up. He clattered into an unmoving block of enemies, and with his momentum dented their ranks, then cut down those entangled with him expertly, like fighting open an array of brambles and briars, and succeeding. He was then pushed forwards by his men who caught up with him, carried forward, taking many blunt blows and barely avoiding the sharp ones. Finally clearing into some space right into the centre of their ranks, Bhask flew into them and the Savage Art entered his great limbs, his swords flashing and complimenting each other to a simple common cause even when they seem to work independently. The dragon worshippers were well-armoured, but the momentum of Bhask's strokes never ceased, each one coming with as much force as the last and maybe he alone was able to cut a path like that, and the men of the town showed some courage as they followed Bhask into the fray, into the very tunnel he had promised them. They pushed out, collapsing the worshippers' ranks from within, stomping them right into the ground. A hopeful cheer went up, more so in that the men in a small forgotten town had never seen a fighting phenomenon like Bhask.

He himself did not get swept up in their celebration. Looking beyond the gate, he saw the reinforcements coming in fast even before they could help their comrades who had taken injuries.

'Here comes the second wave!' And Bhask saw he needn't prepare the men for it, Dekna and his Highwaymen standing there with him and also the most steadfast of the village.

'You are brave for a Highwayman. Selfless even,' said Bhask, not without gratitude to the man, hoping to point out to him he was putting his life at risk for the town.

The smuggler smiled widely. 'Love a good scrap, and I want to see what you can _really_ do.'

Bhask returned the smile. 'Let me show you.' And this time with the invaders flying into the path of Bhask's blades, he demonstrated a brutal display of swordsmanship. If the worshippers had offered little resistance to him standing in a good position, they had absolutely no hope as they crossed the muddy sludge to contend with Bhask, the holes he was cutting in their charge allowing Dekna and the others to roll over them in a whirlwind of blades. As Bhask promised, the rear ranks of the worshippers did not like the outcome, and realized what was to become of them if they pursued this conquest. They broke and ran, hastened on by cheers of the victorious townsmen. Bhask looked over his shoulder, smiling contemplatively at the ragged band of common men, mud covered and blood spattered, steam rising from their skins in the air still cold from freshly passed rain.

In the aftermath Old man Laros showed up, showing his face once the commotion had been quelled.

'What on earth is going on here?' he demanded from the town prefect. 'I want answers, and if you still hold your position by midnight I'd be damned!'

Bhask stepped forward and addressed Laros then.

'This is your fault Laros. Your fields were burnt, but you did not raise alarm to the King or any of his men, for the fear that they uncover your scheme should they come here. This town's ruin is on your head.'

'What nonsense are you speaking?'

Bhask looked at Laros steely. 'As I understand it, the King has invested heavily into your family's holdings. The agreement is that a portion of your harvest, above a certain benchmark goes to the King's stock. You will honour your bond to your King.'

'And where is the King's protection?'

'You dissolved them for your own purposes, lest they report back on you.'

'And who are you to speak for the King?' asked Laros, now panicking.

Bhask rolled up his sleeve, showing on the inside of a huge muscular arm the four numbers burnt into his skin. 'I am the howl of the mountain. And soon, my brothers will come out again in numbers. The days of discord and disobedience is past. Those who do not abide by the King's grace will be brought to book. Do you understand that?'

Laros stood dumbstruck.

'I will need you to ship what you owe to the King within the month. If two carts of flax fail to reach Attoras, I will know, and then I will return.'

Laros mumbled agreement and couldn't leave soon enough, returning to the safety of his mansion.

'You have my thanks stranger, and also all of the town I suspect,' said the prefect.

'You must be on the lookout for the next few days, get a few volunteers if you have to. The worshippers might be back.'

'You are leaving?'

Bhask nodded.

'Are these truly mercenaries?' asked the prefect. 'What did they want then?'

Bhask wished he could say yes, but the look of some of these worshippers had thrown him. Also the prefect had a point. _What did they want?_ That pot they placed in the tavern was most disconcerting, Bhask not having ruled out that it was dragon's blood they had put in there, a substance always ready to go aflame at the mere mention of heat.

With that in mind Bhask walked through the corpses of the dead, curiously inspecting the bodies underneath the armour. He was so disappointed finding what he was looking for, stripping the breastplate from a man with savage strength.

'There!' said Bhask in disgust, pointing at the marks on the dead man's body.

'These men are burnt!' said Dekna.

Bhask nodded. 'Many of these men are mercenaries, but some of them are truly dragon worshippers. They want to send a message to the King!'

'The dragons burn their own servants?' asked the prefect.

'Yes. That is the bond between them. If you are stung by dragon flames your mind is open to these creatures. If your spirit is weak they take over your senses and your will.'

'What does it matter if some of them are mercenaries and others are true followers?' asked Dekna.

Bhask dreaded his own answer. 'It means the dragons are looking to be resurgent.'

He could not get back to Attoras fast enough. He was certain in Attoras he would find a home, not because he was inclined to stay, but whatever evil was attacking towns like Piero would ultimately look to the mountain and recapture a lost dragon kingdom.

Chapter 5

### She Scours the Castle

Salstasha had bided her time. When she first arrived, she did not make the play that she had been nurturing since first deciding to come to Attoras. Whatever happened in the court, (however important) came second to her mission, of which she had told none of her accompanying council members. Therefore, she first settled in and made a study of the coming and goings of the people, and in the same stride, find out where the object of her interest was kept. Given the nature of it, she quietly assumed that it would be kept within the treasury itself, well guarded, even though it was not a jewel or precious metal of any kind.

She made a few interesting observations about the people here, studying them as closely as she did. For one, the people here _did_ love their King, especially those of the castle staff. It was accompanied by a healthy respect and fear for the man; he was warlord after all if one wasn't inclined to call him King. The castle was also slightly more free flowing to the public than she thought possible, with House Evrelyn's disciples attending so many of the sick and wounded in the name of the King and with the powers of his family. This in part fascinated her - the Infirmary and its workings - and begrudgingly she admitted it would be a shame if the King's halls of healing went to ground because he no longer presided over the throne.

The King's handmaiden, deBella, evidently took special care to make her stay comfortable, appearing whenever she was lost or in need of something, which in such a big castle happened quite often. Salstasha had no doubt that it was as strategic as it was well-intended given everyone's tensions at court. She welcomed the help however, as she would use deBella to get a sense of the castle's layout, and maybe even get into places she otherwise couldn't. The first such place was the library, deBella arranging for her to be granted access, which were a good place to start. Salstasha at first only picked out a few novels to read right there in the sunny area of the library, but casting her eyes across the many titles in the shelves just in case the item she was looking for were there. _It might be here_ , she thought hopefully, although she feared it would be a hope against hope.

If she was going to make an honest effort, she needed some solitude. She found deBella more than good company, but her slightly overbearing presence was obviously going to be a problem.

'You must have better things to do than watch over me the whole day,' she said to the handmaiden.

'Traditionally, I am first obligated to see to the needs of the Lady of the castle, which you are the closest of being. The rest of my duties come second.'

Salstasha smiled. 'I'm alright on my own. And if it's any worry, though my father's fall was heard across the kingdom, we are neither troublemakers nor thieves.'

She saw then she impressed on deBella the need to come to her defence; and it worked.

'Your father's house was not weak dear, I knew the Vauliette family well. Whatever happened in Rostrad, I will be as bold as to say that your family fell out of grace only to be supplanted by a more conniving one, not a stronger one. I know you are grateful to Hamenra for their support, but no one is blind to the fact that they use you exactly because they know the King would not turn you away. Add to that, this family has done their utmost to make out the Lord of the realm as a fiend.'

Salstasha looked hard at the handmaiden. 'Do not try and sell the man to me.'

'You might not care for him, but let's not pretend you came here and did not find the King to be a different man to what the Rostrad court had painted him to be.'

Salstasha nodded. 'I do not mean him any harm. I have tried my best to shield him from the attacks of Hamenra.'

'I know that girl. I would not bother with you had I thought your heart to be cold. I guess what I want to say - and do with this what you will - is that you consider carefully who will look after your interests when you weigh the King and his opponents against one another. As for me, you are right. Let me go and check on someone who needs more scrutiny than yourself, which on most days is the greater part of the castle.'

'Thank you for your company handmaiden,' said Salstasha with a nod.

Feeling somewhat guilty for her dismissal of deBella and what would be some deception on her part, Salstasha paged mindlessly through the book she was pretending to read. But some things could not be helped. It was a matter as far-reaching as the entire world order and she would have to do whatever it took. It would have to happen in secrecy. Satisfied that the handmaiden was well and truly gone from the library, she started searching the shelves.

But over the course of the next two days she had little to no luck in the library. For one, she couldn't tip over every bookshelf and scour the place wantonly, and for another, she wasn't entirely sure the item would be held here in the first place. _I won't do justice to this search before I can't eliminate where the book will not be._ As resourceful as deBella had been, Salstasha needed to get close to someone much more relevant to the matter, in particular, the Scholar Naceus, who at least was the most interesting of the lot. _He might even have the document in his own personal study._ She found the man walking up and down a castle corridor, his hand up to his temple, his gaze floorwards, and mumbling inaudibly to himself. Trying to get his attention, he remained oblivious to the world around him until he almost walked into her.

'Ah!'

'Are you quite alright?' she asked breathlessly.

'Oh my yes! Apologies my Lady! Nothing grievous, although I am having the worst time trying to explain the principle of buoyancy to my class. I teach the young ones you see. I think I'm explaining it wrong, and yet I can't help but feel some fool has contaminated their thoughts with archaic work of shipbuilding that contends that the material alone is the deciding factor in floatation.'

Salstasha took a moment to absorb the Scholar's tirade, just a little bit surprised that he would share so freely with a stranger.

'Is that a bad thing as long as they build strong ships?' asked Salstasha, roped into the Scholar's problem just like that.

'Unfortunately it is. The future of shipbuilding is in steel or some kind of metal or alloy I believe. Wood has served us perfectly well of course, but it limits the size, strength and durability of future projects. The students however believe that nothing made out of iron or any variation of it can float, and then to prove it they drop anything metallic in the water! As though one can compare the shape of a coin to the water-displacing properties of a hull! Imagine it!'

'Maybe a demonstration of your own is in order?' asked Salstasha.

'I can hardly take them 500 miles to the nearest ocean, never mind finding any shipwright that would actually create a hull from metal.'

Salstasha shrugged. 'Have them build model ships and let them race each other down the river canal, while carrying heavy loads on choppy water with long hulls. They'll soon see which principle holds water. You won't necessarily win the race, but you might have the only ship that survives by the end of it.'

Naceus looked up in delight. 'That's it. It's so simple! Oh dear how I wish you were a member of this castle, the sensible ones here are dreadfully thin spread. They cloak themselves with ignorance!'

'I've noticed it on some,' said Salstasha dryly.

'Not the King of course. I tutored him myself as a young man. He would be more than able to match your- ah, forgive me, I'm trying to make a case for something that is really none of my business my Lady.'

'That is more than alright Scholar. I'm equally glad having found a fellow academic.'

'But of course, your family is well known in that endeavour!' as though Naceus only remembered now.

After speaking to him she thought the Scholar to be a profoundly honest man, maybe even naively so.

Lucky for her, she had no trouble befriending him, as he commented repeatedly on her family's background. 'From a fine line of Scholars your House have come.'

Salstasha smiled at the man. 'On the subject dear Scholar, could you direct me...' she took pause; she could not say directly what she wanted. Salstasha hesitated a little a bit and then asked a question she feared to ask. 'Do you know the man called Jeot Agathir?'

' _Know of him? I wish I could forget he ever existed!_ '

Salstasha was not surprised by his reaction.

'Is it true he visited the castle not too long before his death?'

Naceus nodded, his face somewhat pained. 'Yes my Lady, and for awhile I tried to converse with him as I would with any intellectual... but he had a dark mind, and liked to delve into knowledges that were dangerous and arcane. We did not part in a good way. That he was hunted down and killed in the end, did not surprise me, may he rest in peace.'

Salstasha nodded. 'He was a guest of my father and when my father was still strong, he was fascinated by Agathir's promises of future developments. Only, after spending so much time in our vaults and libraries, the man made off with precious books of ours, among them a book of my family histories, which we prized beyond all else.'

'Ah! That would be a pity. I didn't think he would resort to petty theft, despite his dark leanings.'

'None of his literary possessions were found on him, and so on hearing that Attoras was one of the last places Agathir was seen - well, I was wondering if he might have hidden some of the work here, hoping to return should he escape persecution. Has he perhaps left anything in your care, or even stashed something here that you are aware of?'

'Not a thing, and I haven't seen anything in the library yet to suggest he had smuggled books in there either.'

'Which brings me to my next question, if he came here with a precious piece of work, perhaps inlaid with precious metals on the cover, would it end up in the treasury or otherwise?'

Naceus shook his head. 'No dear, each and every work of literature taken by or received by the King is stored in the library, gilded or not. It's as secure as anything. I have of course many of the King's books in my own stead, but nothing that we do not know the origin of! I would certainly have noticed if such a fine book made it into my own study!'

'Would it be alright if I fine comb the library for it? I might make a mess in the process, but I promise to clean up of course,' said Salstasha.

Naceus laughed. 'I believe the King said you are more than welcome there. I hope by some chance someone missed the book and if you find it, come to me so that we may arrange that you are not taken down by the guards as a common thief! They once mistook me for a vagrant, so I can attest to their zealousness at times.'

'That sounds very agreeable, and you don't have to worry, the library personnel are already familiar with me,' she said with a smile.

Heartened by what she heard from the Scholar, she was convinced it would be worth her while to fine comb the library for what she was looking for. Given the nature of the work, she had sincerely thought Attoras would have placed it in some kind of vault and lock it up. But perhaps they did not understand its content. Not many people would.

So she returned to the library, and started working systematically through the thousands of titles standing there.

Her query had very little to do with family histories. The heart of Agathir's work and the reason for his infamous reputation, was his recovery of the Tajeni incantations of ancient magic, which he alone could translate. That was until Salstasha came along. With most of his work in her possession, this was the last and most significant document she sought after.

The hours crept by without success and she grew furious, not certain if this anger was directed at herself or the world. _How can the book not be here?_ She rummaged one final time though the foreign languages sections and then any ancient scripts, the books at her side piling high.

_Scholar Naceus looks like someone who would have noticed a foreign piece of work snuck in here. He said as much._ Salstasha knew the chances were that Agathir had destroyed his original records of the incantations in order to protect himself; _a vain attempt at avoiding persecution_. It would be so like him not to leave his works in plain sight, but rather hidden or rewritten in code.

So she started flipping through the books, random books, looking for any hint of Agathir's presence here. She found it lurking in the front of some of the books. The year of the books were modified, a prefix added to the year date be exact:

S.E. 2417

Second Era is what the letters stood for. There were a few things to consider. First of all, the Second Era moniker has only been in use very recently, meaning no author that had written a book fifteen-hundred years ago would have used this timestamp. It would seem in all likelihood, the prefix had been added _afterwards._

Second, not many scholars adhered to this use of dates besides Agathir and a small group of like-minded individuals that contended that the world as people knew it were an offspring of another. More than anything, Salstasha was convinced it was Agathir who had added the two letters S.E. no matter how he had tried to match the original author's writing style. By virtue of his handwriting, she was sure; she knew exactly what his script looked like.

She picked and went through a couple of more books to find similar additions. Agathir had marked selected books throughout the library. Salstasha's relief lasted all but five seconds. Paging through these books, she found nothing else. No hidden messages, no loose pages, nothing hidden in the spine of the books. Just nothing.

Looking at the year date again there was nothing significant about them either. _They seemed quite random. This cannot be all you left me Agathir_!

Not for the first time she wondered if it would be worth it letting sleeping dogs lie. The power in these incantations were incredible, whether for good or bad. _It is my charge to preserve the work,_ she thought. _One day, our fate may be decided by it._

Deep in thought, Salstasha was certain that she would hear anyone approach, the library being the only room she had seen so far that had wooden floorboards. She might've been too pre-occupied scouring the records, but somehow Anka came walking around the corner of a giant bookcase, blocking her view of where the staircase touched the floor.

'You won't find what you are looking for,' said Anka, as he looked at the books piled around her.

Salstasha sat up straight, stunned. _How could he know?_

She said nothing and tried to close and cover some of the books vainly.

Anka blew through his nose in amusement. ' _Everyone_ wants to know more about the Wolves.'

His words brought a great relieve over her, so much so that she smiled with an audible exhale. Ironically, she was more interested in the Wolves than most, but that obviously was not the reason she was here today.

'Not like me. The others don't care about the Wolves because you no longer command them,' said Salstasha, going with the escape route Anka was unwittingly providing her.

'They are fools then. The only ones not delving into the histories of the Wolves are those who are so prideful that they do not bother.'

'Did deBella tell you to find me here?' asked Salstasha.

The King's mouth fell slightly open, caught red-handed, Salstasha realizing he would make a terrible liar, neither did he try to deny what Salstasha was suggesting: that deBella had said to him where he might run into the Lady of his fancy.

'I can... see that you're quite absorbed in the books either way, I won't disturb your peace then,' he said with a bow.

His clumsy retreat made Salstasha smile and as he turned away she changed her mind.

'Come back Anka!' she said.

To her further amusement he treaded forward carefully like a scolded dog.

'Sit down.'

He took a chair, which creaked under a frame that by all accounts had terrorized the denizens of the north.

If nothing else he was powerfully built. Maybe he moved so carefully exactly because of that. When he had flown out of his throne to attack Luwin, Salstasha had truly feared that he might kill the politician in one or two blows.

' _Do_ you read?' she asked.

He nodded, but not convincingly.

'Do you read anything that does not involve war charts?'

'I read what's relevant,' he defended, which was as good as a yes to Salstasha's question.

'That said, I'm not fey toward scholarly pursuits, only they take time I have not had in the last couple of years.'

'Tell me Lord Anka, _truly_ , why did your Wolves not go with you to war in Cerron, like they did with your father?'

'They have become aloof I admit. Seeing that we've discussed this in the court, I guess there would be no further shame in saying that they have broke contact with us. Not that they were a talkative lot to begin with. But they have not strayed from their original mandate; they don't stay around and become a power onto themselves. They come when needed. When the need is great, they _will_ come.'

'Would you mind telling me more about them? I've heard so many accounts that there are little consensus on what they truly are. From sorcerers, to demons, to barbaric fighters using no magic at all.'

Anka laughed a bit. 'None of that, although I can understand some of the speculation...They are a brotherhood, bound in the magic of my House, swerving as our protection, as long as we carry the light justly. They are not outright magical, you will never see them cast a spell, but there flows a subtle magic within their ranks. What makes them remarkable is their fighting prowess, which they execute both directly and stealthily, the latter being the reason why they are often mistaken for being sorcerers.'

'So what is the Savage Art?'

'It's a term used loosely for all their best qualities, but mainly it refers to their fighting style. They fight with two swords, one in each hand,' said Anka, holding out his arms to illustrate for the duchess, feeling a little silly doing so, but pressed on.

'They wear as little armour as possible, their greatest weapon a tremendous speed tempered by strength of arm. They are masters of movement, pushing the boundaries of what a human body can do by vigorous training. Strength is one thing, but alacrity, flexibility and honed reflexes is where they outshine any counterpart. In battle, they seem to float where others are bogged down by the discrepancy. Defence is to kill your opponent before he can even get his sword moving and if it comes to it, encumbered by many foes, the Wolf dances his way through, using a technique of the Savage Art called the blend of blades, an artistry of swordsmanship that divides the intent of enemies like a rock in the river.'

'Do you know the Savage Art?'

'No, it is the domain of the Wolves and no one else. Me and my forebears wield great swords like Erenciel, two-handed.'

'What happens if such a force goes rogue?' asked Salstasha.

'The world does not understand faithfulness,' said Anka softly. 'In the Wolves, there is the strongest pact of brotherhood I have ever known. No King or Lord commands a loyalty like theirs. They are strong spiritually, and therefore physically fearsome. They do not fight by the confines of this world alone. What people don't understand is that implies that when they betray who they are, they will lose their edge. Their danger however is so great that people fear them indiscriminately, not realizing their skill and their faith goes hand in hand.'

Salstasha smiled a little, 'but they trade on that fear all the same, to their advantage?'

Anka chuckled, 'yes, while the fear is there, they trade on it. Getting into your foe's head is half the battle. That the realm is safe has often come down to that fear.'

'I see, not altogether a bad thing then...'

Anka was keen not to let their conversion dwindle to nothing, so he turned to the first thing his mind could grasp on.

'While I'm here, my Lady wouldn't be able to help me with a book on plant life and how to care for them? I fear you may already know the books here better than I.'

She picked up a title she knew was quite descriptive and checking the front of it to make sure it did not have the S.E. prefix, she gave it to Anka.

'Are you turning to gardening now that you're home?' asked Salstasha in amusement.

Anka chortled. 'Only as a favour, as you've seen in court I might not have the patience to wait on something to grow.'

'You may surprise yourself, most people can trace their roots back to men who raised a crop here in north, and it might be in your blood after all.'

'Indeed so my Lady. Let me help you put away the books...'

As much as Salstasha would've liked the help, she was not done here, and needed the King to leave. Salstasha had noticed the way Anka was looking at her throughout and unfortunately had to use what he had on his heart against him.

'Anka, me and you, it's not going to happen.'

The King took pause and sat back.

'Are you so certain of this? Setting aside anything others have said might be good for the kingdom? Including our fathers?'

She shook her head. 'I do not think we are alike. I do not care what others say is supposedly right for the kingdom, or right for me for that matter.'

Anka barked a laugh, humourlessly this time.

'Then we are more alike than you admit, just ask Kenilla, I never listen to good advice,' said Anka, standing up and ready to leave - but then turned back once more, 'the books my Lady, should you repack them, come first in content and then alphabetical order. Some fool had arranged them awry.'

The King left then.

Salstasha was sad for a moment. She remembered the first time he had requested her to come to Attoras, some years ago. She had considered it, but something else had come up, _this mission_ , and it took priority. Back then she had been curious as to whether there was anything more to this thing between her and Anka than just their fathers' arrangement. _I should've at least sent him an excuse why I didn't come,_ she thought guiltily.

Not comfortable with attributing the King too much sympathy, she reminded herself both of her work and her distrust toward him as King.

He has shown himself to be a warmonger who prefers running around the wilderness and laying waste to everything.

She turned her attention back to the books: Agathir had marked selective books he wanted her attention drawn to, but there was no rhyme or pattern to them – _unless, maybe there is._

What the King thought was someone's errant way of packing books was maybe something more. Or at least that was what Salstasha was hoping for.

Salstasha looked curiously at a rack of books she had not yet delved into. The books were arranged according to the content of a particular subject, then the timeline of when it was written, and only then alphabetical order. A smile formed slowly on Salstasha's face. Agathir had always been obsessed with _time_. He always said he didn't have enough of it, and he certainly made it clear by marking the dates in the books.

Thinking about structure and what she was after, she formulated what she thought Agathir's thought patterns would be. Each section of a certain subject or content would represent one incantation. By arranging the books according to time first, she ordered the books in the correct way, and whatever letter the book's title started with would be the next letter in the incantation – the books marked with S.E. that is.

It was a reach she knew, but Agathir was desperate, and he would have needed to a way to preserve his work in some obscure way. Salstasha tackled the first section, which were the flora section. She made sure they were arranged from oldest to most recently written and then wrote down each title which had an S.E. prefix, the first letter of the title that is. As she strung the letters together, strange words started emerging, familiar words - to her and Agathir alone.

She sighed in relieve and smiled.

It would be a laborious process, and take much of her time. Nor would she be able to overthrow the library in one sitting, unless she drew attention. She would have to come here when she could, and little by little, reconstruct Agathir's incantations. It was the only way. But she was happy. What she had come for was within her grasp, and after worrying for such a long time that her life's work would be in vain, this was an uplifting moment.

Naceus came up to the King's study, a small side-building to his bedroom in the east wing, where Anka and Kenilla plotted the next time they would have to sit through a court session.

'I was about to head into town Majesty, when I saw the smoke coming from your chimney, standing on the dining room balcony to smoke my pipe.'

'You are always welcome Naceus.'

'A certain young Anka would do just this, light up the chimney and leave his lamp on, so that everyone might think he is studying. I was not as welcome checking on you then,' said Naceus with a dry chuckle.

'I did learn all you set out for me... eventually,' said Anka wryly.

Jabbing his pipe at Anka, 'what I wanted you to learn King is that there is always _more_ to learn.'

'I'm a restless man Scholar. I have only so much time for studying.'

The Scholar smiled, as though he made peace with his King's disposition. 'I've let my mind wander, and walk in the shoes of these folk from Rostrad as Master Kenilla asked of me.'

'Isn't that what I asked of you?'

'Of course King, but Master Kenilla was more direct in what he needed - someone to anticipate where this onslaught of Luwin might be directed.'

'And I guess you wouldn't be smoking an unlit pipe if there is not something to worry about?'

Naceus stowed away the pipe, as though he only then realized the folly of sucking at a piece without even a spark.

'I... suspect Luwin might have slandered you in court as to garner more votes should a council of King's commence.'

'But that is not happening,' said Anka.

'You should know there is one problem you might need to think on. You weren't crowned here King Anka. You were off to the battlefield when your father passed and all and sundry accepted you as the new Lord without any official inauguration. Your kingship might have merits, but it was built on foundations not as strong as you think,' said Naceus.

Anka waved the notion away.

'O this might be more trouble than what you might think my lord,' said Kenilla.

'I am King by my very existence.'

'But the throne was validly declared vacant while you were dead. Which opens the right for the court to convene and decide on a new ruler. This they can do so because you were not crowned.'

'By the heavens I thought we've covered the fact that I'm alive!'

'In the law the only thing that matters was that nobody here knew with certainty whether you were alive or not. The conclave was opened appropriately.'

'So why haven't they enacted their little expulsion of me?'

'They need you admit to that you weren't crowned. They can't claim you haven't rushed a ceremony somewhere in the years since your father has passed. All you really needed would have been a few witnesses.'

'They are bound to ask,' said Kenilla

'Wonderful, then I will just say that I was crowned.'

'But you were not Lord.'

'Correct. But I will lie. It would be a good lie. No ceremony will make me a more appropriate King than I already am.'

'Should you answer untruthfully or not answer at all, they will insist on getting a Bishop of the Crimson City to hold an orb truth to you. In fact, I would say they would have invited over a Bishop already. That is maybe one reason why they stall, and want to stay here until they can ask a question on your sovereignty to which you cannot lie.'

That last bit Anka realized was trouble. 'So what do we do?'

'The council of kings cannot be valid if there is evidence that you were alive at the time that they decided to initiate it. If we can prove that, a confession of your crowning wouldn't be relevant to begin with.'

'I was far north Naceus. Nobody saw me with a damned eye for a year or more.'

'But, if my Lord had sent communiqué, a letter with your seal and signature...'

'What time did they launch this farce?' interrupted Anka, the words streaming out of his mouth.

'It was the third month.'

'Jeren...' said the King, his voice trailing. 'I sent him with a letter requesting soldiers on standby around that time, when our victory was still uncertain. We need to find him. If he was waylaid, it would have been on this continent.'

'My Lord wishes to search for his body?' asked Kenilla sceptically.

'Yes. And I know just the man. Contact Metrus the Druid. Let him fly over the route Jeren would have travelled as a favour to the crown. He will find something. If the records are still on his person then we are in the clear.'

'That's a relieve King. If it is shown in court it will mean the conclave was not called in reasonable belief that you were perished.'

Anka nodded.

'My Lord, just a fair warning. I think I have some insight into the workings of these men. They look supremely desperate to lift you from the throne. Be wary, while we have covered one base from their attack, they will have many more approaches.'

'I expect you are right Naceus.'

Anka turned to Kenilla. 'You are normally astute, but what made you think of this particular ploy Hamenra would launch at me?'

'The Lady Salstasha. She has been saying more than it appears, at the cost of Hamenra's ambitions it seems.'

Anka narrowed his eyes at Kenilla, thinking of what else Salstasha had done, remembering her blurting information about the fact that he was not crowned...

'Did she warn us or did she make a mistake?'

'No, she is much too smart to make a mistake like that,' said Kenilla.

'What if she is feeding false information to us?'

'My sources tell me she is not all that cosy with Chaton as is told by his entourage.'

'You spied on her?'

'Do not feign outrage your Majesty, you are up against a group of wolves, and not the good kind mind you. She and Hamenra are odds over certain peculiarities of their agreement and that is why she slipped you that delicious sliver of a warning that mostly likely saved your crown.'

'So she did it to show Hamenra that she is not to be trifled with?'

'Most likely, but she must also have shown some sympathy toward you, as the peculiarities of their agreement or disagreement if you want to see it that way also involved your fate.'

'My fate?'

'A glorious exile they had in plan for you, as to rid you completely from Attoras and any of its furnishings indefinitely.'

Anka laughed. 'And how would they accomplish that?'

'A plea, backed by the Crimson City, for you to go South and answer the Dream. You have made your own defence the fact that you defend the realms. What better way to live out that ideal than to go to Nem Nemuris?'

'Salstasha was not convinced, told Hamenra it would rob the people unkindly if your infirmary was to stop working and that they should at least wait until you have a wife and heir to carry on the blood of Evrelyn before you journey south.'

'It would be a mistake to count on her as an ally however. I suspect there is something else entirely that she is after.'

'Such as?'

'The letters she's been sending, we've found where it's going to.'

'You have?' asked Anka, feeling now somewhat shame for their espionage.

'The guild of Aurdunauk, a magician's guild, a chapter of theirs in town, albeit small. A curious association for the Lady to have.'

'How did you know she was sending the letters to them?'

'Food stamps your Highness. We flooded the town with them, most notably on the smallish envelopes of the castle supply. So when the Lady in her early morning expedition found a basket of specific stamps that would be removed the moment she picked one, her recipient would get a foodstamp no one else would.'

'And the members of Aurdunauk are so hard up they would actually go to Tascal and trade it in for a loaf of bread?' said Anka laughingly.

'Indeed, seeing who carried the stamp, he reported to me with some amusement as well.'

'That's fine work Kenilla.' Anka turned contemplative. 'Why would she try and hide her communications with them? They are a bit unorthodox, but there is no crime in associating with them.'

Naceus lit up. 'Your Highness, I hesitate to say this but I think I know why. The Aurdunauk, have had a passing interest in the Remnant Pages, as written by Jeot Agathir as you might remember.'

'Naceus I don't have time for your Remnant Pages.'

'They are important! The fair Lady herself seems interested in them.'

'So does every Scholar. I realize exactly how dangerous they are Naceus, but we have enough on our plate without worrying what people occupy themselves with in their spare time.'

'I think the Lady Salstasha is after them, and more, they might be hid in our library!'

Anka frowned hard. 'Might be?'

'I'm speculating of course, but one of the last places Agathir visited before he died was Attoras. I think, in some shape or form, he tried to preserve his work here, and is why the Lady Salstasha is spending so much time in the library.'

Anka grabbed Naceus by the collar. 'If she makes a move on the pages, you will come to me and let me know about it!'

'My King I think...'

'No, even if she has the purest intentions, she is misguided by those she is allied with. This is your mission Scholar. Have someone on the lookout at the library, day and night. And no one leaves the library with any material!'

'Yes Sire!'

Anka's face dropped and he sighed. 'Is she then deceitful toward me?'

'I would suggest two things Highness. First, that we don't assume to know her situation. As you suggest, she might be involved with the wrong people, possibly even indebted by her father's _misconducts_ , whatever they were. Second, I would like you to reconsider getting any closer to her than you have to,' said Kenilla.

'It doesn't matter. I will marry one day out of need and breed with a woman for an heir. But I don't belong here. I... I should be at war. Or rather, I'm thinking, the Dream of Embers _is_ calling me. There are others that will be worthy rulers.'

'You want Lady Salstasha that badly?' asked Kenilla though it wasn't already obvious.

King Anka said nothing. _King_ he thought.

'What kind of King cannot command the love of a woman?'

'That would be most Kings, Highness,' said Kenilla dryly. 'You want something most men of power will not have anyway Anka. Love does not come from a show of force, conquering what you want...'

'I know that.'

Anka had the distinct impression Kenilla was trying to comfort his King in his own way. At least he knew the man was - and never would be - a suck up.

'You've had a good look into her life, as uncomfortable as it makes me feel... is... there anything she really likes?'

'You want to shower her in gifts and favours so that she might suddenly like you?'

'No, that won't work, I know. We'll need Rostrad secured as allies. I'll do something nice for her, because I _want_ to, and then send her on her way. I get the impression she would like to be done here, as soon as her commitments to Hamenra are seen to.'

Kenilla sighed. 'She loves to _dance_.'

Anka perked up, and then slumped just as fast again realizing he wasn't much good at that. 'I am not much of dancer.'

'Don't worry my King. We'll get the chambermaids for you to practise with. You won't float across the floor, but you'll at least be able to pretend to know what you're doing.'

'I've seen men pretending to know what they are doing on the battlefield,' grumbled Anka. 'They don't last long.'

'Are we going to arrange a ball then or not? We'll have to invite everyone, the bigger the show the better in this case, if you want to give the Lady something to truly enjoy.'

Anka scratched his head. 'Do it. Master Dieral will be delighted seeing the ballroom in use again.'

'Excellent, high time we bring back some culture to Attoras,' said Kenilla, clearly happy with the outcome.

Naceus stepped forward again.

'My Lord, just one last matter, trifling as it might be. I ran into the Lady and she quite astutely assisted me on a little problem I've had with teaching my class. The Lady suggested that I commence a little project with my students, in order to demonstrate to them the principles of buoyancy. If possible I would like each of the students to have proper guidance, preferably by the carpentry or shipwright guildmasters, to build model boats to race down the town canal in a test of best design.'

'That can be arranged,' said the King, taking interest.

'For myself however, I need someone who can build me a metal boat.'

'A metal boat?'

'Yes Lord, in order to demonstrate buoyancy has little to do with the material as long as the weight is matched by the displacement. I was wondering if I could ask the castle blacksmithy to assist?'

'I would not say no, but what would the blacksmiths know of shipbuilding? Their skills have never been integrated to naval engineering.'

'Not a problem King. If they are agreeable toward the project, I will instruct them myself, with the input of a knowledgeable shipwright.'

'Very well...ah, one last thing Naceus, would you do me a favour and pair one of the students up with Sibo, the son of Vamer? He is a prospecting engineer and has worked on the real thing before. I think while he tries to find his feet as an engineer inland, he might be best served demonstrating his skills in an area he is already familiar with.'

'Wonderful Highness, thank you, I will gather a few volunteers to help my students, including this Sibo.'

Naceus bade them a good night and left, as he still needed to return to his little homestead in town.

'You will let me know if you have success with Metrus, in case we need to think of another plan?' asked the King of Kenilla.

'Of course King. We'll think of another plan anyway. Sitting on our laurels won't do any good while the Hamenras are here.'

Anka grunted. 'I guess I should be relieved they haven't resorted to assassination.'

'Oh they might've, but there has been a ghost walking the halls of the castle, the guards have been chasing its shadow.'

'Ghost?'

'Yes Lord. That's the rumour. More I cannot say, I would hate to be wrong.'

A smile crept up the King's face all the same.
Chapter 6

### The Herald

Anka returned to the garden after some time, having read the booklet Salstasha had offered him and in which he found cause for optimism. The Kuradee was a tough old seed, and even tougher plant, dealing with drought and cold conditions with equal resilience according to the text.

But after giving it a few weeks he didn't find the result he was hoping for, looking in surprise at the very spot he had planted it. According to the book, both the first root and stem flew out quite fast. There was no evidence of that here.

He went on his haunches and dug carefully with his finger, hearing so many wiser voices telling him that this was the last thing a gardener with any kind of patience would do, but he was biased knowing that there laid a curse on the seed. To be sure, he confirmed the stone had not even sprouted a root yet and was pretty certain it wouldn't do so at all without intervention. The spell he had cast on the seed was still in effect, and would be until the corruption was gone from it.

Sighing, he knew he wasn't going to come up with a solution right then and covered the seed again in case it spontaneously rid itself from its own evil.

He would have to give the matter some thought later on. More pressing on his thoughts lately had been the very reason he cared about the plant at all; _Salstasha._ That the plant was so unsuccessful Anka couldn't help but take it as a bad sign.

In his deepest though he was not so convinced of what this seed or any of his council predicated about the two of them, leastwise because every encounter, fiery or no, had a small part reminiscent of when they had spent time together as young adults - a carefree togetherness that had been cut too short, before any of their passion could be realized. How many times now did he wish the clock hand could be turned back, knowing that was the last time anything made any real sense? Finally he felt that he needed to tell her that, or at least something along those lines. It was difficult given the current atmosphere.

They often glanced at one another, from across the hall, never a good time to engage with each other. She was definitely not approachable when she spent so many hours in the library, Anka already appreciating that her mission there was very private. Hamenra had obviously had their own little legal attack planned against him and so Salstasha was bound to avoid the King under their command. Ironically this gave Anka hope, and it showed him they did not trust her much. She would point out their misdemeanours if she disagreed with their ways, Anka was sure.

At nights Anka would still look at her window as she read into the late hours by the light of her lantern. She was right there, so close, and yet he could not approach.

And so with Anka having a hard time getting another audience with Salstasha, he resorted to underhanded tactics; he banned her from leaving the castle and then let know the whole castle he would be spending the day at the southern bailey gate, which exited into a small forested area.

He did not wait very long before the duchess, who had already thought of him a tyrant, came looking for him with an air of indignation and ready to confront him on her perceived entrapment.

That she came with guards on her heels trying to stop her, meant the King wasn't going to be disappointed.

'I know most of Attoras have been raised in fear of you King Anka, but I will not be held prisoner by you!' she said without as much as a greeting.

Anka waved the guardsman away, the one who had followed Salstasha, letting him know it was alright and that he could return to his post.

'This is my castle and I make the rules. But that is beside the point...You are very much free to go about as you please, as soon as I have said my say.'

Salstasha looked puzzled. 'So I am free to leave...? What to do you have to say then?'

'I've been looking for the chance to apologize.'

'For what?' asked Salstasha, frowning and a little caught off guard, disarmed even.

'I was needed in the north, because my Wolves could not go in my stead. But that is not the reason I went. The reason... I left everything here, was because of my invite to you to join me at the castle. I know you have your reasons, but when you didn't came, I felt like a King without a kingdom. I am not good at handling delicate matters, not good at being charming, not good at disappointment. So I turned to the one thing I'm exceptional at: whether it is by blade or my healing hands, I was made for _war_. I left because I didn't want to be here and... well, you know what I mean.'

Salstasha took a deep breath, and from the look of her she was going to reprimand Anka for broaching the topic again.

Anka was saved then, by an unusual but expected guest, and just in time too.

Before anymore could be said, they heard a ruffle of leaves by the trees, a shy figure encroaching slowly into sight.

'Ah, a little late my friend,' said Anka, and Salstasha looked on in surprise and awe as an adult pronghorn slowly emerged from the cover of the brush. From the way it treaded closer to Anka, Salstasha was certain it had been conditioned not to fear human contact, although cautious still in its movements. It was a magnificent animal, its coat, horns and bearing meant to engender wonderment and kinship with the animal, its big dark eyes enough to soften most hearts.

Anka walked slowly to it, carrying with him a satchel full of finely-milled grains - a treat for the buck. Bringing out a hand full of grains, Anka held open his palm, the buck's trust easily recalled by its hunger, and dug its muzzle into the grains piled in the King's hand. Looking over his shoulder, Anka saw Salstasha looking on with a serene smile.

'Come here,' said Anka, gesturing toward the duchess, 'tread slowly...' he advised Salstasha.

With careful feet she moved forward over the grass, lifting her gown ever so slightly. With its muzzle in Anka's hands, it nudged its head upwards just once as it took cognizance of Salstasha's approach. She stopped until it relaxed again and ate further. She walked on. She saw the powerful leg muscles tense up even as it ate, ready to bound away and flee in a moment's notice should it perceive any threat. She walked slower and slower, making sure she came from Anka's side so as not to impress any kind of ambush upon the animal.

Standing right there, she reached out and stroked its ear. 'It's magnificent,' she said in exhilaration.

'Truly one of the mountain's children, and one of the few that can outrun the wolves of the wild, even when ambushed,' said Anka.

'How did this one become so tame?'

Joshua the healer has a habit of feeding the birds throughout the year. Many years ago, he came to this mound, planning to hang a new bird feeder when this young pronghorn came stumbling forward, very hungry after a harsh winter and wounded on the right hind leg, having barely escaped a wolf attack. Though we are not supposed to heal animals of the Grove, Joshua decided to make an exception.'

'Why can't you heal animals of the Grove?'

Because the light of Seluin and the power of the Grove are separate powers, although amicable to each other. Each is like a sovereignty, and when the pronghorn was healed, the Rules of Realm dictate that it becomes a creature of the realm and no longer subject to the blessing of the Grove.

'So does that mean every man, woman and child healed by you owe you fealty?'

'Not at all, although they will carry the Seluin light with them in a ways, and if something truly significant where to fall on my realm, a part of them will surely feel it. The first Wolves for instance were great warriors healed by my ancestry, and thus an unbreakable bond of loyalty was forged.'

'This castle then is the realm of Seluin?'

'Yes. The stones were laid by the Masons, and drink upon the magic whenever we wield a ritual as powerful as Stallich. Within the influence of the realm, creatures of darkness will struggle to find purchase here, and pain them greatly if they do come here.'

'And all of this makes you indispensable.'

Anka shrugged. 'It makes it practical. The people here understand what my family gives to them \- will they respect another Sovereign as much? I doubt it.'

'But there were other lineages, without magic, in charge before your ancestors, because they were good administrators.'

'That was until the Wolves were formed. Losing the service of the Wolves is a trade-off no sane citizen of Attoras would risk.'

'And so you are the rightful ruler indefinitely by virtue of the force of arms?' asked Salstasha.

Anka frowned. 'You cast it in a bad light. Because of the Wolves, Attoras is safe. Their very reputation repels invaders. Maybe one day you will see what I mean.'

Salstasha looked like she doubted it.

Anka took another handful of grains from the bag and handed it to Salstasha. 'Here, hold it out.'

Salstasha smiled outright as the buck wormed his mouth into the food, the very soft nose tickling her hands.

Anka looked fondly at her, her locks cover the left side of her face.

'What I was trying to say earlier...'

Salstasha looked up, brushing the hair in behind her ear.

'I have yet to apologize for not being here when hard times fell on your house. Had I but the forethought, I would at the very least have left someone in my stead with the directive to intervene, to lessen the damage if that was the right thing to do.'

Salstasha's face remained passive for a moment and then she shook her head. 'I am not entirely in my rights to blame you Anka, but know that it hurt, and know that my family lost so much that I feel diminished from its legacy and cast out. It pains me to see it so, and yet you must understand that simply marrying into a greater House is not going to restore the essence of Vauliette's honour.'

'I think I understand. All the same I want to say sorry, I should have been here. You were right about one thing, when your father was in trouble, I was not here, and I was not here for anyone else that might've needed my help.'

'Thank you. Did you intentionally lure me here with a ruse of banning me?'

'I did and it worked.'

'And it was not the first time that you did so,' she said, referring to the day she had found him on the castle wall, wielding the light.

'Asking you nicely in the past has not worked.'

Salstasha blew through her nose in amusement. 'When your letter came, and the follow up request, my family was already embroiled in what brought it to its downfall.'

'And ironically, because of that, I was not around to help. Again, I'm sorry.'

Salstasha nodded, this time with a smile.

A sudden wind swept through the area, the buck lifting its head and almost set on the run. Anka looked up to the north and worry came over his face. 'A storm approaches, it will be here by nightfall. It is Oludunar's Southerly Stride.'

'Olu who?' asked Salstasha with a frown.

An old god of frost and ice, it throws the waves of heavenly ice on the earth. I know its look by now; you can even see the waves approaching southwards, like the stride of a giant. As winter progresses, the stride becomes increasing faster and heavier when it comes.'

'I take it it's only a metaphor? The part of it being a god?'

'Of course, but trust me, the storm is bad enough to make you a believer during the worst of it. We should turn inside.' Slapping the buck on the rear, Anka urged it: 'off with you! You know what is coming!'

At Anka's harsh warning the Pronghorn turned and fled. 'He'll be fine,' he reassured Salstasha. 'But we must turn inside. It's going to be a wretchedly cold night.'

It was not moments later that Salstasha looked to the outside from inside the castle, the world swallowed by the winter storm, the snowy wind so fierce it seemed to besiege the castle and its walls. The King had not lied.

As the snow melted the next morning, the greatest cold was in evidence. Because of it Anka's cough was at its worst. As though that was not enough, the inevitable court meeting was called, for which Anka had no strength.

Kenilla came to fetch the King 'You will have to come,' he urged a reluctant Anka. Thinking that his attending was going to play a vain part in a matter that was already in Anka's favour, the King made it clear he was not going to be present. With the letter Metrus had recovered from Jeren's body a few days ago, the council of kings had been invoked inappropriately and would remain closed.

But Kenilla persisted and it was clear his usual humour and sarcasm was missing, which was present even in dark times.

'It's something quite different Highness, we've been blindsided by something else. An emissary of the dragons has made his way here, a Herald of their forces. He wishes to address the court.'

'What!?'

'We'll have to hear him out King, if not for the information he carries, the rest of the court will demand to know what message he bears. They are already whispering that we will have to negotiate with him should he represent any kind of force reminiscent of those they had in the past. The emissary himself has invoked diplomatic protection in order to deliver his message. We are in a bind.'

To Anka's dismay someone had let the word spread like wild fire and almost the entire court was filled as dignitaries rushed in to get a sighting of this emissary. Curiosity was one thing, but given who the emissary represented, any informed soul would want a firsthand account of the message this man bore; some men would run in fear at the first mention of dragons, others would use the threat as political gain - both were problem for Anka. Salstasha was also present, but today she seemed reserved. Anka resolved not getting distracted by her for once.

Taking his seat, Anka waited for the doors to open, the court going deathly quiet in anticipation as a man emerged, his staff clicking on the floor with every step. The man approached with a black tabard, which's significance was lost on most of the court, but not on Anka. He felt himself grow cold at recognizing the clothes.

This man was Tarah... the same sorcerer Anka had seen so many years ago with his father, in Cerron. He had not aged a day and still had the flutes and bones tied into his locks that were never washed from the looks of it. He bore a tall staff with a carving of a perched dragon at its peak.

Under his eyes were shadows as though wearing a woman's paint, although Anka had heard many cultures did not saw it as a matter of gender.

'My King, My King,' said the man in a breathless smile, in a theatrical preamble to what Anka could only assume would be very bad news or a waste of time.

'I am not your King,' said Anka.

Tarah met Anka's gaze. 'No, not my rightful King. I was born of this land, in yonder Fyrleton, by the riverside, living with my mother and father in a fishersman's hut, until the scourge took them.'

'That happened more than two hundred years ago you fool! Fyrleton exists no more.'

'Correct. Yet I am as ageless as the dragons. The flames of the dragon gods touched me when I was young still. In me they found a more than willing servant, for I felt their power and hungered for it. And I hungered to give it to others, so that a common man can experience the powers Kings have sought to keep for themselves.'

'You are a sorcerer, and maybe a little more coherent than the other worshippers, but a puppet nonetheless.' Anka barely finished his sentence before coughing in excitement, his chest was seemingly on fire.

Tarah smiled. 'The dragons are coming. Thousands and thousands have come under their mighty banner, and Syro'gash the great has united all of the old dragon clans. They lit their forges with dragon fire, and by it crafted weapons and armours for an army many times the size of your own garrison. They march even now I am sure. '

Again Anka coughed, the news getting worse and so too his chest in tandem. Tarah pressed on as the King struggled to clear his lungs.

'I remember seeing you as a lad in the dread cold lands of Cerron. Do you remember that day dear King? Though now I see at the peak of your strength you are already struck down by such illness? While I and others will live on by the dragon's might. Speaking of which, do you remember what happened that day?'

Anka got some reprieve from the irritation in his lungs. 'I remember,' he answered weakly.

'I met with your father, and we agreed on a truce in Cerron. He thought he'd won! He thought we were there to claim that land of nothingness for ourselves. And though we used it and scavenged it, there was only one prize that we had in mind; _the Stone of Privilege_. Your father could not see its use, so he was glad to part with it. A stone to give the dragons the power of speech and all of mankind's devices open to the power of a dragon, by which the Great Syro'gash has united all of dragonkind under his mighty voice. Your father failed that day. Your line has failed.'

The court looked at Anka with utmost surprise. He could not help but admit to himself that his father, his own flesh and blood, had made a terrible bargain. A terrible mistake.'

'Syro'gash was torn apart in an ambush. He barely escaped. A crippled lizard, nothing more,' countered the King. 'Do not come to this court with lies and false claims!'

'We brought the stone to Syro'gash, the great one who would not die. As you rightly pointed out I am a sorcerer, and I taught him the incantations that I know. The spells I would normally use is hundredfold more powerful when used by a Grand Dragon however. He healed himself, put himself back together, enhanced himself. He unleashed the dragons that were sealed in the frozen wastes in Cerron by spell, and because he alone now can talk and use magic, the dragons rallied around one King like never before.

'Because of the stone, Syro'gash stands uncontested among the dragons. Because of the stone, Syro'gash has a force at his back like no other.

Anka sought to diffuse the herald's attempt at sowing discord, but he could not talk without going into fits of coughing and he was quickly losing ground to this simpleton speaking of a dragon invasion.

'So I say to you O just King, wiser than his father. Give back that which was taken, unless you suffer the fury of the masters of fire. Let your people depart here under the mercy of the dragons to make home somewhere else, so that the dragons may retake their rightful place as rulers of the mountain. Any who leave here under the amnesty of a white flag will not be touched. Those who wish to be baptised by fire, can even come to worship the dragon masters. Defiance however, will be met with the full might of a dragon invasion. '

The court lost it, the people all suddenly baying for agreement to the emissary's terms. This was exactly what Anka did not want; one man's panic igniting another's.

Yet he could not speak up with his chest, struggling even as Master Dieral vainly slammed his rod to the floor to return order to the gallery. He had enough then.

Anka reached into the front of his tunic, his hand alight with the magicks of Seluin.

'Lord!' cried Kenilla in protest.

The gesture alone had the court silenced at least and the King on his throne became a mystical beacon, shining brighter by the moment. The healing light pierced his chest like the coming of campfire flames on those dire cold nights in Cerron. It was took everything away. His own men looked at him in disbelieve, so worried as though their King would fall down dead with his self-inflicted curse.

The King was then renewed, and drew himself up, as though the King of just moments ago wracked with sickness was but a false memory. A glow returned to him, and the hidden stature of a warrior-being looked down on the herald and the rest of the court. They were in silence and in awe.

Anka stood up from his throne and walked down the tree steps. His voice was clear and no threat of irritated lungs remained. He spoke slowly:

'Long ago, men came here trudging through the cold, with no harvest because in a time of madness your masters knew nothing but destruction. They sat here upon riches and beauty that they did not admire, and then would leave the mountain for months if not years in nomadic fashion after having picked clean every little bone and thing that grows. The Druids and their Groves were under constant threat. The fields were always burnt. So our men without a harvest looked up into the mountain steely and saw what the dragons could not. Did you know that dragons cannot fly to its highest point? That you have to climb it? The men wanted the strength of the mountain and the light kept within its snows. This mountain you turncoat bastard gives strength to those who deserve it, and lo! The world's fury suddenly had a name to it, _the Wolves_ , and men to carry that name. Ancestors of this land banished your masters, and still the Wolves wait in the mountain. They hunger fool! And if the day closes with a cloud of flames then they will come from places unseen and with the Savage Art send those lizards back to whatever hole they crawled from! If they come here I will make of Attoras a graveyard littered with dragon bones. Your terms are not accepted; go tell that to your master!'

A riotous cheer went up in the gallery and Tarah was stifled. He took pause before he spoke.

'You have made a grave mistake King Anka. These dragons have outlived humans a hundred times over. Once upon a time you marauded these lands and they had to make way under duress. They are scattered no more. They will burn everything of Attoras to nothing.'

'Get out of my sight worshipper. And thank your lucky stars I don't kill the messenger!'

With a look of contempt Tarah turned and left the court, Anka still inclined to arrest him and throw him in a cell forevermore.

The worshipper had however scratched open a much more pressing matter, one that would become a festering wound.

Anka himself left by the backdoor before the court could become embroiled in a furore.

'My Lord I seriously have to question the wisdom of healing yourself as you did,' said Kenilla as he struggled to keep up with the King.

'It is done! Let us focus on things we can affect still! I want an order sent out that nobody leaves the castle or town until I say so!'

'Do we really believe dragons are in the skies?' asked Kenilla.

'Go!' said the King, and Kenilla disappeared without further comment.

He barked orders as he went along, sending for his most trusted councillors to discuss what they had just witnessed; in no one's mind did the dragon's pose a real threat, and here they were, sending an ambassador boldly claiming otherwise.

Anka assembled them all in the first little storeroom he could, away from prying ears, and their discussions were heated, most of it trying to get over the disbelief, a table with a rolled out map standing between them.

There were several interruptions, as some of Anka's confidants arrived a little late - until one such interruption was Salstasha herself, swinging open the door boldly as though she had been invited.

'My Lady this is a private meeting,' said Anka, this being the one time he did not want her close by.

'I am happy to be a nuisance to you and your men taking in consideration that you've decided to block my leave-taking. I guess this time it really isn't a ruse?'

'No one is allowed out on the north road. It is too dangerous. It is a decision I've taken as a King looking at the well being of my constituents.'

'I should have figured the petty mountain King would be afraid of dragons,' she said harshly.

The room quieted and fixed on the two of them

Anka stepped toward her. 'Have you ever seen a dragon my Lady?'

She said nothing.

'I have...words and poems and pictures do it no justice. Just like evil there are so many variations of them that it is pointless to describe one kind of dragon, because chances are that the one you've seen is but the lesser cousin of a much greater monster, even when it inspired a terror in you that no other creature would. No creature travels further and faster across the face of Angaria. They are intelligent, untameable, unreasonable and filled with a malice that does not offer mercy.'

'You _are_ unreasonable. And your interference is political. I have duties in Rostrad, especially now.'

'I will not close the gates for you for any other reason, but I am closing the gates for this. In this castle you are my responsibility, and I am keeping you safe even if you cannot see it.'

Salstasha shifted uncomfortably, her attention turning to another matter, her bearing changing so that what had come before almost looked like a pretence. 'You should not have healed yourself, it is dangerous and might be your undoing. I know enough to realize that your magic is not supposed to turn on its own source. '

'I had no choice,' said the King.

'Just so that you could stand tall in the council? What if you die because of it?'

Anka shook his head. 'It was as good a time as any and you must realize what I realized then; the dragons are coming, and if I do not stand healthily as the leader of this castle, we will all die.'

Salstasha looked worried.

'Is something else amiss my Lady?'

Her distress seemed to be growing. ' I... I have to go,' she said, and left.

Anka sighed.

'My my, if your recklessness is achieving nothing else King, it is certainly gaining you some sympathy,' said Kenilla.

'I'm afraid that look of hers spells another surprise waiting for us.'

Their debate continued then, until Naceus came in.

'You are late Scholar!' said the King.

'Ah, yes my King, but I'm afraid I was delayed by another instruction you gave me.'

'Which is?'

'Well a few men entered the castle which we suspected might be part of the Aurdunauk, so I kept an eye on them - when the Lady Salstasha left the chambers here and met up with them, I grew very uneasy...'

'What are you saying?' asked the King.

'I think Salstasha is going to make a play on the library, right now, _tonight_.'

Anka cursed.

'We'll have to finish this another time. Naceus and Kenilla come with me, she must not leave with the Remnant Pages.'

Salstasha and her escort came marching at the doors. They were more than Anka expected, twelve magi at her heels, some carrying lanterns. They had headed them off just in time. In the darkness, the halls unlit, the group tensed up as the light they carried lit up the King and his men.

'This is as far as you'll go my Lady,' said Anka in the dark corridor. 'The library doors are barred.'

Salstasha had a dark look about her as they came to a halt. 'I would insist getting out of the way King.'

'Oh, and why is that? What are you after?'

'You apparently know, otherwise you wouldn't stand here.'

'The only question is then, why are you chasing this?'

Salstasha sighed. 'Because of the mistake your father made.'

Anka was a little taken back.

'What has my father to do with the Remnant pages?'

The pages hold secrets to reuniting old Tajeni incantations. The power in them are extraordinary, and usable by anything magical, and which has the power of speech. These incantations are one thing in the hands of a human, but the magical power that flows within the dragons could use it to devastating effect, if, they can _talk_.'

'By the heavens,' started Naceus in alarm. 'If the leader of the dragons now has the gift of speech, he must never know about the incantations!'

'Yes, exactly,' said Salstasha.

'My father gave the dragon worshippers the Stone of Privilege,' murmured Anka defeatedly. That act so many years ago was growing all the more ominous.

He spent a moment looking at his own feet, before looking up and asking Salstasha, 'will you speak to me alone?'

She nodded, and the two of them entered the library. Anka lit up a lantern or two to drive away the stark darkness.

'What are you doing with these magi Salstasha? And bringing them unbidden into the castle no less?'

'They are to help me assemble the incantations back to their original forms, into the correct order and context. They need to be structurally perfect to be effective, and it would take much more man-hours than I can waste, especially given the happenings of today.'

'Why put them together at all. Aren't they too dangerous to be restored?'

'If not us, someone else will. That sorcerer that was in the court today is more than centuries old King. Do you think he is not capable of reading Tajeni, or deciphering codes, and know the histories that most living men don't? Do you think he will not have spies in this castle, that can work themselves into the library?'

Anka conceded her point, but only partly. 'Then better still to wipe the things from existence.'

Salstasha swallowed hard. 'If that were but an option. My charge handed to me has made it clear that these knowledges must be preserved, as dangerous as they are.'

'To what end will they help?'

'I am not sure. I can speculate greatly, but there many uses of such strong magic in times of crisis.'

'In my world that is not good enough. I understand now fully what the dangers are of a magic-wielding dragon. I do not see the benefit of keeping the incantations alive. You will need to justify this.'

'There lies a secret in the Isles of Myriad. The likes of you and me will never get to go there, and probably never know its true nature, yet it's said the incantations can awake the artefact that lies there.'

'All the portents, and every seer of note has said that from that crucible will come the only force that will save our world when the very worst is upon us. You know what I speak of, a catastrophe, a Ragnarok event. I have read the same thing over and over, in many different texts. I believe that and take it as faith, even when so many have decided upon the evilness that Agathir represents and every part of his life's work.'

'How did you become embroiled in this to begin with? Why is this your burden?' asked Anka.

Suddenly Salstasha had the faintest sheen of moist in her eyes. 'I... was the scribe Jeot Agathir used. I helped him document his many findings, and he entrusted me with his work should something happen to him.'

'What?'

'He visited my father often, promising him future developments. But it was _I_ that was fascinated by his work. It was never my father's fall from grace King Anka. It was _mine_. Agathir had dark dealings, believe you me, but for his work on the incantations he was greatly misunderstood, and seen as a heretic. When it came to light that my House were involved with him, my father took all the blame, even when I made it clear I could not turn away from the path I had chosen. He was suddenly the charlatan in Rostrad who conspired with a dangerous magician. Hamenra saw fit to come up in defence of my house and keep the news mostly under wraps, as long as my father agreed to step down as monarch of Rostrad. Me being part of their retinue was another part of the arrangement. When I heard they would come to Attoras, I was keen to agree...'

'So you came here not to support Hamenra, but to pursue the pages?' asked Anka, finding some relieve at this revelation.

Salstasha nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. 'This is all much more important than you can know Anka, and that is why I could not be entirely truthful with you, whatever you think of me, please don't see me as deceitful; I had only overcome my reservations knowing that if the pages are not protected and kept away from evil, we would see a menace on this earth that I am not sure can be stopped.'

Anka nodded. 'The pages are not only your responsibility alone. I will do my utmost to protect it.'

'Truly?' asked Salstasha, looking more hopeful now.

Anka nodded and then added ominously. 'I'm afraid much is going to change in Attoras in the next few days, but regardless of the outcome, I will not let fall any part of it into unfit hands. I will also let them continue to exist under one condition; that you and you alone know the full content of them, and that they are assembled in such a way that reflects this condition - let no one who helps you oversee the work get involved in such a way that they can know the full extent of it.'

'Agreed, the magi will each work on a section. Also, I will have Scholar Naceus as my heir, and no else.'

'Heir?'

'Should something happen to me, the pages need a caretaker, like Agathir appointed me during his living days. Naceus is the only one I can trust with it.'

'Nothing will happen to you,' said Anka, his resolution surprising Salstasha.

She smiled at him 'You cannot know that.'

'I guess...' he said, looking thoughtful.

Three days later the court was called together again, and this time Anka felt the weight behind the threat of House Hamenra.

'The words of the dragon ambassador still rings in this hall,' started Luwin. Though my King has sought to silence the worshipper's presence, it cannot be unheard.'

'Make your point swiftly Luwin, as you point out I have much more serious matters-'

'You being King have not added to the administration of Rostrad at all.'

'I was fighting a war,' said Anka through clenched teeth, 'those bandit lords without my interference would have won a wasteland, and then realize it would be much more profitable sailing south and hitting Rostrad. And of course you spending no thought for military save a feeble town militia would have watched the place burn down around you. That your coastline is safe is due to me you insolent bastard!'

Kenilla put his hand up to his forehead as Anka's words sparked outrage across the court.

'But then you must reconsider Rostrad's cessation from the Kingdom, if it accomplishes its safety from the dragon invasion.'

Suddenly, Luwin's previously outrageous demands made sense.

Anka grunted. 'We cannot break up a kingdom,' he said without heart.

'That is all up to you Lord. If the crown was relinquished to us - to Rostrad, the greater part of the Kingdom, would be spared. Attoras, this city, will fall.'

The words left a stunned silence over the court. 'Would the King step aside to allow the unity of the kingdom? Your fathers have failed the safety of the realm. That was the great promise of Evrelyn. The Wolves also no are longer with you. Despite your boasts to the emissary of the dragons; you do not have the capability to defend this place. You can fulfil the Dream of Embers, if redemption is something you seek to pursue. Forfeit your seat King to quell the dragon anger. For the good of everything, stand aside,' said Luwin.

And then, Anka faltered under his conscious.

'In the wake of all this, I will hear your words, and consider opening the council of Kings.'

'My King If I could-' started Kenilla, but Anka cut him off, holding up his hand. 'For my father's faults ...'Anka looked up at the oculus - 'he was the greatest man I knew, but giving away the Stone of Privilege was a mistake, as we all make, but it might carry a heavy price. For this, I will consider anything that might spare a war.'

The court hummed with discussion.

'Quiet!' roared Anka, 'what I will not tolerate, is any notion of the dragons reshaping the north. This land belongs to the Benevolence, as does the entire earth. I will not lie down and let the dragon hords claim themselves masters over humanity, and assert themselves as false gods in the north. In this, I will resist them until I die, as King or not, in any way that is best suited, by force or even as you suggest, travelling to Nem Nemuris and fulfilling the Dream of Embers.'

Anka's sudden surrender was met with silence and disbelief. 'What I will ask of each member of the court, is to treat our knowledge of what has happened here with extreme care. Should a panic arise, people might flee Attoras just to get slaughtered on the roads .Therefore, he that raises a panic, I will put to death with my own sword. That is a promise.'

The silence now was palpable.

'That is all, let us call it a day,' added the King, and everyone filed out, carrying a murmur with them that the King hoped would not become town gossip.

'Of the all things my King, this?'

'Be quiet Kenilla!'

'This is not how you handle difficult...'

'I was there that day, that day my father handed over the stone. Hathai pleaded with him to reconsider. We could not know it back then, but we had given the dragons a second chance. I do not have to be King to defend this place, but if my wearing the crown is the difference between war and peace, the choice is obvious. '

'I hope it's all as simple that my King, but I know it won't be. '

Salstasha waylaid the two of them before they could say anything more, again her cross and concerned look all at once disarming Anka more than just her usual scorn.

'There,' the King said. 'You have what you asked for. A fair chance for anyone at the throne.'

'This is not what I wanted. This is turmoil. And I should have warned you.'

'You did. When you left our meeting I knew Hamenra was going to attack me with all of this. Hell, I would have expected it regardless whether you were involved to begin with.'

'I was not a part of this.'

'I know,' said Anka.

Salstasha seemed almost disappointed that the King did not take more ire at her.

'I've asked Dieral to arrange an autumn ball, a revival of an old tradition.'

'I have heard.'

'I had hoped that you would come.'

She looked away.

'I will use the opportunity to relinquish the throne and open the council of kings. It will give the entire nobility a chance to prepare their case to take the throne.'

Salstasha looked concerned.

'My advisors are right about one thing; nobody can guarantee that the dragons won't attack Attoras anyway. So I will stay in whatever capacity to ready a defence here should it be necessary. Once we are satisfied that the dragon's anger has been quelled, maybe I will take the journey to Nem Nemuris.'

'I don't want you to make any rash decisions. Hold this ball if you need to, and make your announcement if you still feel so on that day - but do not commit to anything more than that!'

Anka frowned. 'Why?'

'There is something I must tell you, it might be nothing, but I cannot be sure that the good of Attoras will be served if I don't. There is a man in town, Henesker, who works for Chaton and his cousins. What his relationship is with them I don't know, I swear, but I.. I don't think they have been entirely truthful with me. I think the man is up to no good, and knows things.'

'It won't stop the dragon horde, whatever this man knows.'

'No, but... It might give you insight as to whether Chaton can realistically mean something for the Kingdom. I don't want the throne to go to someone who might use the dragon's coming as a lever to his own ambitions, which is what I fear is the case.'

Anka frowned and got a faraway look.

'Metrus tried to warn me about the dragons,' said the King in realization. 'Only I did not know someone was going to use it against me in a political attack such as this. If only the blasted Druid could warn me about the Stone of Privilege.'

'I swear Anka, I knew nothing about the dragons before their ambassador showed up.'

'I... believe you. If for no other reason than your reaction the other night.'

Something else struck Anka, something else he and Metrus had discussed that day. 'Why is the patron symbol of Rostrad a Kuradee flower?'

Salstasha was a little caught off guard, the question trivial.

'My family cultivated such in the past, some of our scholarly tendencies started as interest in plant life. We donated the plants to the Grove in order to help with the corruption in the forests.'

'And that's why the Druid's loyalty lies with Rostrad, because of the flower your family gave them?'

Salstasha nodded.

'And if Metrus could know about dragons, but not say anything, and you know nothing, then somebody from Hamenra knows all about the dragons - and didn't say a thing even though all the realm might be destroyed because of it.'

'I am under Hamenra, and hence Metrus could not betray his loyalty,' said Salstasha, a look of dread on her face. 'Chaton knew about the dragons.'

'Curses. We will have to prove them having known. I will investigate this Henesker.'

'But then for the moment you must rescind on your resolution to open the council of kings! You cannot risk losing Attoras if they are crooked!' urged Salstasha.

'No. I will let this thing hang in the air if it slows the march of the dragon armies, and if I must stand down the throne at the end...'

'I don't think that you should!' interrupted Salstasha.

'I won't make it easy either Salstasha. I will keep my finger on the pulse of the kingdom. When the council commences I will make a case for myself to the best of my abilities. But... if standing down subverts the dragon force, small chance that it is, than that is what I will do, and in any event, I will protect this place.'

Salstasha looked at him gravely.
Chapter 7

### Ghosts in the Hall

Shadows plagued the King's dreams. He thought maybe it were a result of the magic he used so recklessly on himself earlier the week, waking every other hour that night. Coming to, relieve swept over him each time, but when he closed his eyes again, _they were there;_ malevolent creatures formless in nature, of the dream variety that had no true visual representation, but were rather a direct translation of fear, Anka flinching as he sought to escape something that could not be escaped. Present in his dreams, in the later ones, were a very real corporal form of something else; a great white wolf, stalking his mind, and it seemed by the glow of his coat alone did it banish the incorporeal creatures. When he woke again, Anka felt the urge to go somewhere, anywhere, to escape the dream he knew would retake the moment he laid his head down. Maybe he would just get some fresh air on the dining room balcony.

So in the middle of the night he walked the forlorn halls, the east wing corridor's torch flickering in the draught that always seemed to penetrate the castle here. He was halfway through when a sudden breeze extinguished the torches on the wall completely.

'Wonderful,' muttered the King, going for the waterskin he kept always at his side. He never got the chance to light the waters, the faintest screech of steel alerting him, not as much as a footstep to be heard otherwise.

In the faint moonlight piercing the many windows, Anka could make out just enough of a shadow to react, turning to his left shoulder to avoid a blade coming for his midsection, grabbing the assailant's arm and smashing his elbow through his face.

Wrapping his arm around the assailant's in overhand fashion, Anka manipulated the man and flung his head against the wall, hoping the man's injuries would keep him down. If it were any indication, he did not move again.

More shadows were ahead and the King saw escape only by attack.

In the dark Anka flew into the closest man, but whomever the King had run into had strength of giant proportions, pushing him down, and for a second he wrestled vainly against the man. It was a terrifying experience, Anka never before so hopelessly overpowered.

'Down King!' the man shouted.

Anka trusted the voice for some reason and ducked, not that he had a choice really as the man was overpowering him anyways. Just as they did, a trio of crossbow bolts smashed into the wall just above them. They had been in the path of the projectiles just a second before and Anka knew the sound of crossbows by heart; he didn't need to see them.

The man that had brought Anka down to safety now turned onto the three attackers, who abandoned their crossbows and charged.

Anka was able to light up the hall, to see the back of the great warrior who wrestled the King down and squared up against cloaked men. They had weapons where the King's defender had none, but he tore into them with nothing more than his fists and limbs.

His strength was tremendous; breaking several bones before the first man even hit the ground. The second man was stunned and seemed to pass in and out of consciousness with but a single blow. The third put up a bit of fight, managing to cut the warrior twice, shallow cuts, and then for his effort he was tossed right through the corridor window, landing on a lower level roof with a crunch.

The second man came up again, finally overcoming his daze, his dagger flying at Anka's benefactor, who threw up an arm to protect himself. He got a nasty gash along the forearm, but having avoided the worst of the attack got his hands on the interloper, his hands furling around his head. The warrior was almost patient then as his grip tightened and true terror came over the attacker's face... The King winced as the man's neck was snapped, the corpse looking the other way completely as Bhask let fall the body.

Anka walked up slowly to the warrior.

'Are you alright my King?'

'Much better than him,' said Anka as his light passed over the last attacker, and then he intensified the light, to get a better look at the man before him. In the light, Anka looked onto Bhask the Wolf.

'By the stars, Bhask! I have not seen you in years! What a moment to return!'

'Aye King. For that, I apologize, as it is all my fault.'

'Let's go down to the parlour were we can talk with clear minds, I do not like our current audience,' he said, kicking the body of an attacker over in disgust.

They headed down, and not having seen him in so long Anka walked in bewonderment as the silent but great figure escorted him down.

Among the Wolves, Bhask stature was more like that of a bear. He was six and half feet tall, with muscled limbs and sun bronzed skin. His black hair was swept backward from a high forehead, and his face finely chiselled, with both strong features and refined nature. Anka knew him to be quiet and reserved, unboisterous in both word and deed, until swept up in battle. He would rather sit in the shadows than let everyone know he was the alpha of any pack. In him were traits of deadliness that guided his prodigious strength, his sword arm worth a few stories, their rendition always brutal.

Anka poured them each a goblet of wine. 'You could not have come at a better time. I will not even ask you how you got into the castle.'

'I have been in the castle for a few days by now, undetected and watchful, noticing a few interlopers that would try their hand at murder. My Lord should not have let the dragon worshippers stay in your hospitality, even though they are diplomats.'

'I didn't, I chased them home like the dogs they are.'

'Then someone let them in. I can get in fine enough, but your men are not so lax that an assassin can scale into the castle and not have the skills of Wolves.'

Anka nodded.

'Now to find out who that may be,' said Bhask.

'It can wait,' said Anka draining the wine. 'I have a fine idea who it is, but we will need to hunt proof. That is a delicate matter, so we can wait for sunrise to return some sense to us...' Anka sighed. 'By all that is good Bhask, I haven't seen a Wolf in so long. Every day in Cerron I was hoping you would appear from the mists. And when we were done, I was hoping to return to a castle that had you standing on the walls. But you did not. I was beginning to think you had vanished.'

Bhask's gaze went floorwards.

'Where are the others?' asked Anka with foreboding.

A great look of defeat came over the Wolf. 'It was all my fault my King. I committed a terrible crime,' he said, his eyes glazed over, his face fallen into a despair. 'Because of it, I do not know where my brethren are.'

Anka listened as Bhask explained:

He had been sent south on a mission near Dordeleen, his hometown. He had taken the opportunity to visit, and there found that his love had taken to another man, who was the son of a very rich merchant. His name was Stevlin.

That was a great disappointment to the Wolf, but all the same decided to stay for the night of the town feast. It proved to be a critical mistake.

Apparently, the man called Stevlin forced himself on the woman Bhask loved, called Priaxis. He raped her and murdered her after the deed.

Bhask had stumbled onto the scene and seeing her dead and clothes torn in a tell-tale fashion, moved in to meet Stevlin with justice, and crushed the life from the man. But for being the son of a merchant, Bhask's actions were seen as murderous and not as being in defence of the girl.

Hunted then by every other authority, Bhask were alone then, and out of his mind with the misery of losing his beloved. Then ill-fortune struck once more. He came across a wanderer, called the Pilgrim, a man of false salvation; though Bhask didn't know it at the time.

He was an enchantment on everything around him, and Bhask was swept up in his mad rambling - only at the time it had made perfect sense, and more often than not the Pilgrim elaborated on how visiting death and destruction were a benevolent act. The Pilgrim however had many followers and seeing the scope of their misdeeds, Bhask came to his senses. For his disobedience, the Pilgrim cursed Bhask with his power and the Wolf had a stain on his soul ever since then.

Bhask lost contact with the Wolves because of it, for the effect of the Pilgrim was great on his mind, and the link he shared with his brothers was severed.

'Before I came here, I snuck into the mountain toward the keep. But they were gone. And no one had heard of them since. I admit, I do not know what happened to my brothers and I fear the worst.'

'We also checked the keep, there is no one there,' said Anka grimly.

'I am very afraid Sire, that because of my affiliation with the Pilgrim, that he might have hunted them once he had cursed me and sent me on my way.'

'Would he have been a match for the Wolves?'

'I'm afraid so. There is a reason he shares a name with the first Pilgrim, he is not just a sorcerer, his power is celestial, but his heart is as black as night.'

Anka felt out of sorts. He had hoped the Wolves' return to be imminent and he had hoped to have all of them. _One will not be enough, even if it is Bhask._

'If I am the reason for my brothers' demise, then I will insist on my death, King.'

'We can first determine what the truth is. There is no need to be overly hasty. I very much believe they are still alive, the Wolves. They must be!'

'I almost want to admonish you my King for being so trusting of me,' said Bhask.

'You just saved my life Bhask. What's more, earlier today the herald told me of the dragons rising again to reclaim their mountain. We have much bigger troubles than your history.'

Bhask's eyebrows raised in alarm. 'When I came here King, the town of Piero was attacked by a regiment of dragon worshippers. Lucky that I was there, as the men of the town and I was able to halt the attack. The fact is however, the worshippers are indeed on the move, and if they were able waste so many men on a town of no significance, I dread how many men they would have in spare to attack Attoras.'

'Yes, it's all been very troubling. Add to all of this is stories of a dragon-king that can now speak because of my father's mistake of handing over the Stone of Privilege all those years ago. It seems you are not the only one with a grave mistake hanging over your head.'

'So what do we do King?'

'Your very first task Bhask, is to stay vigilant of any other traitors that might be in the castle. I will stay my blade on you, but whoever so let the dragon worshippers pass into my halls, will face execution. But that can all wait until dawn. Get some rest Bhask, and in the morning come see me. I will have Joshua with me so that we can study this curse upon you. Maybe we can lift it from you still, and maybe discover the fate of the Wolves.'

In the morning the entire castle were on a gallop about the three dragon worshippers found dead in the east to west corridor, men and women running about trying to tell a story greater than the next even when the bodies had been cleaned up.

Anka had resolved to see Bhask in the infirmary alongside Joshua and Kenilla, to get out from underneath all the well-wishers, both those sincere and not, after it had become evident the King himself had been ambushed in his own home. Gibbon was on a rampage trying to determine which of the guard were at fault for this breach, even when Anka told him to take it easy.

Salstasha herself had wrestled through a crowd of men and guards to see him, obstinate to get an audience with the King. Before disappearing into the infirmary, he turned back to briefly give her a chance to speak.

'You are not hurt?' she asked.

'Luckily not my Lady.'

'Do you think these men were let into the castle by someone?' she asked in a low whisper.

'I don't know yet, but my suspicions are aflame more than ever. I will have my men look into it.'

'Have you reconsidered opening the council of Kings?' asked Salstasha.

'I have, but I will let it stand as I promised. I will press for every advantage and every delay I can deal to the dragon force. If that means we go through with this charade so be it. As I said, I don't need to be the King to defend Attoras. What we need to ensure however, is that no politician seizes power whose agenda it is to disarm Attoras entirely. That is what I fear.'

Salstasha nodded a few times as she listened. 'I'm glad you are okay.'

It had heartened Anka, but he put that encounter out his mind as Bhask sat himself down on a chair in one of the patient rooms of the infirmary.

Anka dipped both his hands in the waters and brought them up alit, baring them in Bhask's direction as waves of healing light flowed over the Wolf. He seemed to disappear in the ebb of the light when the luminance were greatest.

Anka ceased, the room looking quite ordinary as the magic faded.

'Well?' asked the King.

'Many tired muscles and bruises are now gone Majesty. But I would be lying if I said I was rid of the curse. Though the light of Seluin might have taken the worst from me, I still feel it clinging to my spirit. When I am still like this, I still feel the need to walk the length of the earth. That has always been a symptom of this curse.'

The King turned to Joshua. 'You better try your hand at this one Joshua.'

Joshua shook his head. 'My King is manifolds more powerful than I.'

'More powerful maybe, but your spellcraft is better than mine. Could you determine the nature of this curse? '

'That we can do. A word of caution my King, with curses as powerful as these, a malevolent strike might be directed at me should I probe it. If it looks like some kind of spirit that imbibes me, you must resolve to strike me down.'

'You will be fine, just do not probe too deep,' reassured the King.

'Just a warning all the same Highness. We don't know what we're dealing with,' said Joshua as wetted his hands in the bowl.

Joshua practised a similar ritual as the King just now, Bhask again bathed in eerie light, taking shapes however different from the sheet of light moments before; strings and flakes of magic seemingly searching the Wolf on his skin and clothes.

In this time, Joshua seemed to gain a fuzzy look in the eyes, as though he was longer seeing the room around him, but something else instead as the diagnostic spell communicated with him.

As the King promised, nothing untoward happened and before long Joshua ended the spell and closed his eyes, and opening them again as he returned to full awareness.

'A serious curse it is, as feared. For the time being it sits inseparable from the Wolf's soul,' started Joshua. 'It will make you restless, and it will make you sick from time to time. The curse... feeds itself from the men Bhask had slain, their souls bound to stain on his. This Pilgrim you speak about, knew that a man like Bhask more often than not needs to take a life, and engineered the curse so. Given enough time however I believe the curse will fade. As long as he refrains from killing I must add. Should more souls stain his own however, the curse will intensify, until he belongs under your service no longer and not to that of his own mind for that matter.'

Bhask laughed defeatedly. 'So all the men who have fallen to my blades since have been fuelling the curse? A warrior is all I am, now must lay that aside...'

'I need Bhask as a fighter,' said Anka. 'Attoras needs him. We have to think of a way to lessen this curse!'

They were all quiet for a while, their silence disappointing to Anka. No one had a clue.

Anka was silent for awhile, Bhask's situation somehow reminding him of something else. 'Then go walk the mountain. Go high up, and let's see if this curse can survive it.'

'My King?'

'I need you Bhask, to take a flower seed and go up the mountain to the old midway chamber. There is a place where you can plant the seed in soil, rich with minerals, sheltered and with enough moisture coming down the cavern walls for it to survive.'

'Of all the missions my King, planting a flower is as strange they get, and maybe as much as I deserve.'

'It will do you good Bhask. Whatever lays on you I could not get rid of with my magic. But not all things can be cured the fast way. Some battles are spiritual, and yet, are fought through the most menial of tasks. The seed I will give you carries with it a curse as well, at least one of you might be healed by the mountain's trek. It has often abolished earthly evils before.'

'Very well, I will go. But please King, double your security in my absence.'

Anka laughed, 'that can be arranged, if not already the way Gibbon has been running around.'

'There is one more thing that you should know King, in case it is a problem that surfaces in my absence.'

Anka gestured for him to continue.

'The Knights of Allandiel are after me. The lad I killed, his father had a lot of sway, and more importantly, there are those among the Knight's that fancy themselves executioners; they hope for the day that they can lay low a Wolf. I'm afraid that they might track me here, even though I have been extremely cautious in my movements. Should it happen that they descend on Attoras, I will flee, or, if it's a more amicable solution, you may surrender me to their mercy and claim that you have distanced yourself from all that I have done.'

Anka grunted in amusement, 'as if I would allow them to exercise any jurisdiction in my lands, although I wouldn't mind a couple of Knights on my side for what lays ahead... '

A thought struck Anka. 'How many did you say were tailing you?'

'The last time I saw them, before I gave them the slip... At least thirty... I have built somewhat of a reputation among them.'

'Kenilla, could you do your very best and let it come to the Knights' attention that the traitorous Wolf has arrived in Attoras and is held in our custody, for their attention of course?' asked Anka.

Bhask did not hide his puzzled look, neither did Kenilla or Joshua.

'In the old stories the Knights and their griffins were true dragon slayers - not just police of the western world. We'll put the name to the test. I doubt they will come to a lost cause if we summon them for help. But if they land here on the premise that they are hunting a Wolf, and I can bend their ears for just a bit...' said Anka hopefully.

'You are going to negotiate with them after misleading them?' asked Kenilla with a frown.

'Face to face, I think I can do it. It's worth a try. We need someone to cover the skies when the dragons come.'

'I don't mind being used as bait,' said Bhask.

'Very well, unorthodox and all that, but it seems to be at the order of the day after all,' said Kenilla.

Salstasha heard of Naceus' industriousness in the castle trying to fashion a metal ship. He had like she suggested, arranged a town event that would see so many model ships going down the town canal in a race of craftsmanship. There was such an unexpected excitement about it that Salstasha herself were a little regretful that she had not an entry of her own, although she would need a craftsman to assist in any case. So she decided to hitch her support to Naceus and encourage his metal boat.

She first ran into him again in the castle lower floors, on the old north to south by-pass, in which stood the many paintings and tapestries of the Lords and their Houses that had served here in the past, the longest carpet connecting the north and south doors like a great red river. The high-vaulted room was discouraged to most castle staff, and was outright banned for some.

Naceus was seen hunched at the wall, inspecting the stones that laid between the two tapestries of Houses Carden and Estarel.

'Do you know why this hall is forbid my Lady?'

'Because of the precious art?' asked Salstasha.

'That too! But mainly, the Masons that built the castle were crafty and mysterious and this passage was supposed to be a central point to some of the more secret passages and rooms of the castle.'

'You mean like the mural room that runs from the entrance hall into the depths of the mountain caves?' asked Salstasha.

Naceus snapped upright, 'how do you know about that?'

Salstasha laughed at his amusement. 'I'm well read Scholar, and that has made me familiar with the outline of the castle. A little exploration goes a long way as well.'

'Then maybe you can help find the room I'm looking for,' said Naceus.

'Aren't you supposed to be working on your boat?'

'I am, and I am already so nervous about not finishing a worthy model to survive the canal. But I am also in charge of making sure the event goes smoothly, and as such Master Dieral and myself have been discussing how best to make a spectacle of the event. You see, Dieral contends that it would all be a little dour if the boats are simply released with no wind or impetus at the start. He has a theory also that the excitement and the rush of a quick-start will lead people to spend more on the day, which good for the local economy. I have agreed that this is sensible, for the spectacle of the event if not for the exchange of monies.'

'So what is in this room that is going to help you accomplish that?' asked Salstasha.

'Right underneath this long hall is built what is essentially a giant sluice, which catches much of the river streams that come down the mountain. This room I am looking for is supposed to have the means to control which sluices are open, which if manipulated right, will divert just the right amount of water into the town canal, which will create a favourable tide for the boats. That should give them the quick-start that we need. But I can't find the room; there must a secret lever of some kind that opens a way to it.'

'These walls look very solid to me, I don't think any of them opens up,' said Salstasha.

'It must be here! I've read the diary of the now deceased Master Persones, who detailed that within this room were these controls. And if _he_ couldn't be trusted, just two months ago one of the cleaners accidentally stumbled in and activated one of the pressure stones that directs the water to the entrance hall.'

'Entrance hall?'

'Yes. What a confounded configuration to have! I still don't know why the Masons put that lever there, as though they thought it would one day be wise to turn the entrance into a waterpark and flood the King's carpets!' said Naceus, shaking his head at the insensibility of it all. 'Unfortunately Master Dieral had let the man go for his blunder; I would so like to ask him where he found the room.'

Salstasha looked around. 'What did Master Persones's diary said about the types of levers in this room?'

'We'll see soon enough if we can find the opening to the room,' said Naceus as he continued tapping the walls for a recess or hollow spot, pushing on the stones of the walls in vain.

'Humour me,' said Salstasha.

Without looking up Naceus answered. 'Well, apparently there are ten pressure stones, or levers, that must be pulled down, operating the unseen sluices. As they are configured now, they dump most of the water directly into the lowlands to the south marches. The other two options I know of will either push the water into the town canal or the aforementioned entrance hall.'

'What if there is no secret room? You said there were ten levers?' asked Salstasha.

Naceus suddenly had a thought and looked up, scanning the high walls, where some paintings were hoisted high up the walls. Spaced between the paintings and tapestries, were niches in the walls, ten of them in total, where the candles were held, a strange vertical groove visible behind the candle and the back wall. The niches had a pronounced lintel, to the extent that they now looked suspicious, the double rim's upper lip being the immovable weight-bearing beam, and the lower one looking as though it could be pulled down, its invisible rod running down the groove as it did.

'If the lad was on a ladder while cleaning, and lost his balance, maybe he would have reached out to one of those lintels, pulling unknowingly on the lever. That's it! My Lady! I now know what Scholar Radlin meant when he wrote of his best thoughts suddenly taking flight in the presence of a beautiful woman like no other. Only, I wonder if in his case too it was the Lady's thoughts and not his own.'

Salstasha laughed. 'I only steer you in the right direction.'

'You must not abandon me after today! Doubtless I will soon need your wisdom again.'

'I will be around,' Salstasha assured him.

'Now we must just experiment with the different levers so that we can do it reliably on the day of the race, and of course, without flooding the King's carpets. Other than that, my day is made. And here I was looking for a room that I already found. Imagine it!' said Naceus much to Salstasha's amusement.

Since then she had heard awfully little from Naceus, remembering her promise that she would be available to give her input. No news was supposedly good news, but there were more than one rumour running around, in which the perpetrators delighted in the Scholars' reported failure of a ship. She decided to check up on him.

Wondering if she was about to intrude, she shyly entered the castle blacksmithy, the place stiflingly hot, Naceus standing there wiping the sweat from his brow while the blacksmith hammered out the plates to the Scholar's specifications. The shipwright hand Naceus had approached to help with the technical design was a youth with untamed dark hair, sitting on a table while swinging his legs back and forth, both he and Naceus bombarding the poor blacksmith with unwelcome suggestions.

'Does it look like a ship yet?' asked Salstasha somewhat in amusement, seeing that blacksmith wore an disgruntled mask that was more than just concentration; so many pieces of plates seemingly discarded at his side.

They all looked up at her. 'No,' they said in unison, with no humour in their voices.

Naceus simply could not get what he was looking for. He seemed distressed that none of the building blocks of the shape came the way he imagined it.

'Does the boat have a name yet?' asked Salstasha, hoping to distract the Scholar momentarily.

'We were thinking of His Majesty's Iron Ship, or HMIS, since we represent the King in this race, but we'll refrain from naming it so until we can ensure the ship doesn't end at the bottom of the canal.'

Naceus paced a bit. 'A single piece hull! That is what we need but can't get!'

'Are you going to be able to make one?' pressed Salstasha.

'No!'

'Then don't worry about it. What would it take to make the plates work?' asked Salstasha

'Trial and error, of which we have not the metal, time or patience to go about that route.'

'What is the problem with these?' said Salstasha, picking up a sheet of metal.

'Given the small size of the vessel we need to craft it from as thin a steel as we can. Riveting it together however - tight enough to keep water out - warps the material due to stress; it's too fragile for the bolting so it's going to take water anyway. We've been trying different kinds of overlapping shapes, but it is all ends up the same.'

'Have you tried simply waterproofing it?' asked Salstasha.

'We have not....'

'That's what I've been saying all along,' said Duggle.

'The whole point of the exercise is to prove that I can use steel to build a ship that will float, and not supplement it with other materials!' said Naceus.

'I thought you were hung up on buoyancy.'

'Yes! But I don't want them to get any excuse to dismiss my theory because I used foreign materials. I mean imagine it; my boat a metal beast filled with wax or hemp! It will stick out like a sore thumb and people will question it to an unbearable measure. They will laugh!'

'Why not just use tar as waterproofing? You can line the inside of the hull with it and then paint the entire ship black? No one will see a thing and it would not matter if they did seeing that the tar is going to be cargo for all intents and purposes,' suggested Salstasha.

Naceus gave the idea some thought, his mouth again ajar, closing it, and then turned toward Duggle. 'Could you get us a pitcher of tar?'

With a sigh Duggle jumped from the table and headed out, mumbling something about the Scholar not listening to his advice.

'Thank you my Lady. Your suggestion came just in time.'

'You have a good advisor in Duggle.'

'Yes, he has already taught me much on the art of it all. I am grateful to him... I hope this all means we will see the fair Lady at the race?'

'I very much look forward to it,' said Salstasha with smile.
Chapter 8

### The Binding of Attoras

Those in the know, the inner circle of the castle, grappled with the potential turmoil of the King's resolution to hold a council of kings, a troubling matter for anyone who had any kind of vested interest in the administration of the kingdom. Mere whispers of this conflict made it to town, and as such the town's people didn't think much of it just yet, concerned more with the event planned down the river canal.

The day of the boat race had come.

While that was on however, the King had more pressing matters to attend to.

Whatever crime Bhask may have committed Anka did not make plain to the people. He did however flaunt the return of a Wolf, although his opponents would say one swallow does not make a summer. They would certainly say that.

Bhask had ascended the mountain, and for the two days he was away Anka was worried he had sent the man to his death. He returned silently in the night again, coming to the King in the morning just when he had started thinking that he would need to go about his business without Bhask.

'You could plant the seed?'

'Without trouble my King,' said Bhask with a smile

'And how are you feeling?'

'I'm not sure, but the mountain has put some strength back into my spirit if nothing else.'

'Let's find out,' said Anka, summoning for Joshua.

'He is better to my eyes,' said Joshua, upon a thorough inspection of Bhask. 'So much so, if he stays on the right path, the taint may go away completely.'

'That's good news healer,' said Bhask gratefully.

'Just keep your hands clean, any bloodshed on your part might undo the gains.'

That was all time they had however. 'Excellent, and you are just in time for meeting with the guild masters,' said the King.

'Might I suggest Bhask not go, considering my recommendations just now?' asked Joshua.

'Relax healer, we are only going to talk. I really only need Bhask for his physical presence.'

Joshua raised his eyebrows but said nothing further, as though he expected either himself or his fellow disciples to be called for before the end of the day. Watching the King and the Wolf leave, he decided not commit to anything today. At the very least the ales would be free flowing during the boat race, so a few scuffles today would not be expected from the King alone.

'Should we not meet the guildmasters here in the castle, where we are safe and we have a presence of power to negotiate from?' asked Bhask as they made their way down.

'I do not wish them to think we are intimidating them,' said Anka.

'But we are? Or otherwise you would not take me along?'

Anka grunted. 'Yes, but I want to meet them on neutral ground. You are there to make sure they don't take any chances.'

'Should Kenilla not come with us?' asked Bhask.

'He is overseeing the final arrangements of the boat race. His tongue is sharper than most, but the guilds will be wary of him as well.'

Further down they met with others, as Gibbon, Rollance and Merohan joined with them, the King's chosen of the guard.

Rollance was slightly late, heaving as he came running. 'Apologies my King. My wife to be has had some alarm with the child!'

'Is she alright?'

'Yes Sire, thank you, there is no cause for concern except her own paranoia.'

'Good, let's be off,' said the King spritely.

Today was an important day, the festive air rousing the King, but more central to his focus and eagerness was dealing with the guilds, and whatever influence they could add to his campaign should a council of kings happen. With them on his side, he could win fairly easy. And yet today would not be easy, because he was essentially going to break down the very grip they had on the town while telling them to support him.

'Tell me about this broad of yours?' asked the King of Rollance.

'She is wonderful your Majesty. She is...like uh... freshly baked basket of bread!'

'Basket of bread?' repeated the King.

'Yes Sire, imagine it, waking everyday to the scent and aroma and indulgence of freshly baked bread. I'm sure your Majesty will appreciate it more than anyone having stayed so long on the very top of the world, in dire cold for months with not a single bakery in sight! Hard stale bread as a ration everyday!'

'Aye, what you say makes sense. But do me a favour and don't mention this comparison to your Lady. She might not understand it as the two of us would.'

'Right you are Sire,' said Rollance, nodding vigorously along as though it now made sense with the King having brought it up.

Beyond the gates they waited for the rest of the entourage, which included some of the men who had campaigned with Anka in Cerron, who had ambitions of starting their own businesses to compete against the reigning guilds of the town.

'That's everyone then,' said Anka, as he counted Gimor, Lemis and Eberd. With his hood up Anka and his men moved through town as it waited for the boat race, so many men and women migrating temporary stands to the canal areas to sell food, beverage and whatever trinket was at the order of the day.

With all of Anka's men being soldiers, they drummed around their King, so that hood or no, he was not going to be mistaken as a commoner. In the meanwhile they were going to the quieter area of town, away from the canal, to Hallin's Inn.

The inn was a bit danker than the King remembered, the place clearly ageing a bit. He first addressed the owner on this matter; the place did not belong to the King per say, but his words here were law.

'Aye King, we normally do not house royal meetings.'

'Still, this might be the first stop for any casual traveller, and needs to be respectable as such. Put up some lightning will you, I'd like to see the guildmasters' faces.'

The barkeep did as the King bid and then returned to his post as the King waited. 'What drink would be the best for the occasion my Lord?'

'I'd rather we'd stay free of drink, but given the venue and the opportunity to impress amicability on the guildmasters, I would have your best whiskeys.'

Hallin walked to a cabinet that had to be locked open and brought about a crystal clear bottle carrying a dark gold liquid.

'Small batch whiskey, single malt, fine stuff, I saved it for you my King.'

Anka raised an eyebrow. 'This bottle is half empty then?'

'Or half full depending on how my Lord Looks at it. I saved as much of it as I could - took a nip on the really hard days.'

Anka tested it, 'this will do, pouring for his guard freely and then filled the glasses of the coming guildmasters. 'You have another of these?'

Hallin shook his head, but ducking in underneath the counter to come up with a bottle he needed dust off just to see the label. 'Tempress Nolice. Heard it's worth a try. Blended however, from different stocks of whiskey. Put into a barrel and forgotten for a decade or two makes it exceptional. Used to have no acclaim really, until a rather flirty baron from East Siva became known for drinking it. His exploits made the thing a bottle to covet. Got this one as a gift, but by all accounts its price is almost worth its taste, and its price is a king's ransom.'

Anka chortled. 'Well at least we'll have something to trade if the guildmasters decide to kidnap me... I will make good to you for this one, thank you barkeep.'

Anka and his men waited impatiently for the guilds to arrive, sitting quietly, only the innkeeper moving about, and the noise of the town event trickling faintly through a lone window near the kitchen door.

When the masters of the guilds walked through the door Anka tensed. Not only were they imposing themselves, but each of them brought more than just their right-hand men, coming along with enforcers it seemed, or thugs by any other name really. They shuffled endlessly into the tavern, so much so that there wouldn't be seating for all of them at the table. 'I should have brought more men,' he muttered by himself. Anka recognized most of the leaders of the guild, men whose power was felt on the far reaches of the kingdom, even when their faces were not known widely.

With the pub quiet, the meeting seemed incredibly formal as the men lined up to the great table. Anka realized he could just as well have hosted the men in the castle, where he appeared more powerful. The laid back air he had been looking for was entirely absent.

'My Lord,' Endriq greeted, on behalf of all of them as they bowed as one. Endriq was the eldest of the men, his black hair and beard a mane with small threads of silver.

There were eight masters that sat across from Anka, and they spoke on behalf of the other guildmasters who were not in attendance. Given their terse arrival, Anka was sure the guildmasters already interpreted his summons today as a bad omen.

The King was expected to open discussions and so started, 'thank you all for agreeing to meet like this, given my absence I regret that we had not such sessions earlier. A forum like this might prove very necessary to give some direction to our industries, and map out a way to grow our markets.'

'Forgive me King for speaking candidly, but unless I'm gravely mistaken our meeting today has little to do with adding to our industries. Instead we wonder if we came today to discuss our own downfall?'

'It has very much to do with adding to _Attoras's_ industry. Only I want a return of favour to the throne, because my ears in the court are telling me that there is a concerted effort to move business away from here, but still keep in place _your_ fortunes.'

'I assume my King, that in your reign, we won't be jockeying for favour by virtue of boat races, seeing that I deal with ranches?' Dalist said snidely.

Anka didn't let his tone go unchallenged. 'Horsemaster eh? Funny that, I know a man who would love to take your place as the undisputed provider of fine steeds.'

On cue, Gimor smiled widely with his gap-toothed mouth, waving at the supposed horsemaster.

While the horsemaster turned red, the master of the blacksmithies asked calmly. 'What are you implying my Lord?'

'If the guilds relocate, I would be remiss not to propagate Attoras's new industry leaders and assist them in whatever way I can.'

'If I may speak boldly King, from what I hear, you might not even have a throne soon. Is this what this is about?' asked Endriq.

'Yes, if your money moves, the council will vote where the money goes, I cannot have that.'

'Your Highness coming here with these pretenders then holds little threat, and even less sympathy from us,' said Rachas, the master of fleece. 'If your Highness then intends to replace us, we will most assuredly move in such a way that your time on the throne runs out.'

'Watch it you piece of lard,' said Gimor.

Anka held his hand up before the two could take the altercation further. The King replied:

'That's a chance you are not willing to take, on the account that my final days, if that is what this is, would be spent unseating the stranglehold you have inflicted here.'

The guildmasters looked incredulous.

'That would be a harsh reply to the businesses that have served Attoras for so long my Lord,' said Endriq diplomatically.

'And your supposed financial emigration would be a harsh reply to my reign, seeing that I helped build you up.'

'But then your Highness cannot possibly mean to incentivise us to stay, but in the same breath promise these men beside you a place in our industry.'

'That's exactly what I intend. I have made a bit of a study of it since returning, and it seems to me that your guilds, most of them, have moved away from being a value producing entity to one that is merely custodians of who gets to do business and who not, those not receiving of your favour of course not having the finances or connections to get a chance even if they could have a superior product.'

Anka struck a nerve, many rebuttals coming from across the table.

Endriq looked to be the most composed of the lot. 'We are confused King. I know every other old wives' tale has painted us in a bad light. Our value to the northern economy however is without measure, you cannot mean to be against that.'

'Yes, I dare not bring a working industry to a halt, but you will no longer choke off any competitor before they can take root, at the expense of our development.'

'It is clear you have picked a few favourites to lift up into our sphere of business,' spat Rachas.

'No one is on my side. I am here on principle. The principle I hold dear is being violated, and if anyone, including my compatriots were in violation of that, they would face my ire, maybe even more so because they fought with me and know my mind. These men are sitting here with me so that I can show you what you face, what you are supposed to face. For progress, I want free trade in Attoras.'

'But you would accomplish this by undermining us?'

'No, when you fall on hard times, what you want is the opportunity to rise again by hardwork and smart ideas. That is what my men don't have because of your stranglehold on your respective industries. My sovereignty has often looked the other way, but you have undermined, bullied, bribed and even murdered men who stand in your way. I won't take any of that in account; I only ask that you remain a valuable part of Attoras, while we relook at how business is done in the Kingdom.'

Endriq suddenly sat back, the diplomacy fleeing from his face. 'Then I am with Rachas. We will not be undermined and then be asked for a favour, that is an insult. We will move our monies then from Attoras and the headquarters of our businesses. My King, there is nothing you can do!'

Anka smirked. 'Who do you think Cerron answers to? _My_ _military_ , whether I have a crown or not.'

'What does your Highness mean?'

'What you take away from Attoras, I must restore otherwise. The trade route to Harowan and Mordalus is now wide open as a result of my campaign, but it is still patrolled by Cerron's new government as to relieve some our naval units. They of course ask for tribute to finance this, and in turn I get my share of the tax, as they are beholden to me, _and not necessarily the King_. Who trades under my name or who I invest with, will be free of tariffs and gain competitive advantage. Those that do not, will pay the levy of the oceans. What tribute I receive, will go to businesses that practice in the spirit of the law.'

'My King...' started Edriq anxiously.

'In this my hand will be forced, because I do not see you repaying your debt as things stand now. You forget that it was this town that built you up! Our coffers that supported you throughout, even in the hardest days. That you prosper now was not only of your own doing or quality of work. Attoras has bent over backwards to keep your industry alive and you will not leave it as a husk after feeding from it. You will reinvest in this place! Or I will make it impossible for you to compete.'

'You might as well call yourself a latent loan shark,' said Rachas.

'And you have all but extorted both the citizens and me, the King! When I say I need change, I damn well expect it to happen!'

Rachas slammed his fist down on the table, having downed three or four whiskeys awfully fast. 'We will not stand for this,' he said, his spit flying the distance over the table. 'I'll be damned before I am held to such conditions!' he roared, rising up from his seat.

Tempers were already at a boil, and if Anka didn't see murder in Master Rachas' eyes, then Bhask did. Standing up, Bhask grasped the underside of the table and heaved, toppling the once giant oak toward the guildmasters. Most of them were batted away, the table crunching through chairs, but one man felt trapped with his left leg under the heavy table.

'Easy now! Easy!' said Anka, his hands up, trying to calm everyone down. This was a recipe for disaster.

He was barely heard above the cries of the trapped man, and Rollance circled around the table to help him.

But as he and one of the guildmasters' henchmen hunkered down to try and free the man, the henchmen took offence.

'You broke his leg!' the man shouted, and seeing that he was brought here as a thug, he felt justified in acting as such, throwing the first punch at Rollance.

Rollance's head snapped back, but kept his feet, and returned the henchman's punch with one of his own. It was then a brawl, sparked and set aflame so easily with all the tension acting as tinder. Like a swarm the guildmasters piled onto the King's man. Bhask, Merohan and the King flew into the fray, at first only to try and pull the mob apart. But then in the madness of it all someone punched the King right in the mouth - and all hell broke loose. Nothing could stop it from escalating, especially not as the King himself lost all reason and returned the cheap shot.

Not satisfied with how easily the man went down, Anka assaulted two more men who intended to do the same with him. Even so they were outnumbered. Somehow they were not overpowered, the King's men battling through the chaos with verve - or luck as was more appropriate in a place where people gambled. One thing was for certain, Bhask stood above chaos and chance, even if it favoured the others, so devastating in putting the men of guild down that in Anka's thoughts arose a fear of murder. Above everything else he heard the crack of his blows as he sundered a jaw or dislocated a shoulder. Though his face remained devoid of rage, Anka feared he could easily fracture a skull beyond hope of recovery of even the Seluin light.

Soon enough Bhask was so encumbered by enemies that he started grappling, and hoisted a man up, his head pending to earth.

'In heavens name don't kill anyone Bhask!' roared the King, just before the Wolf could drop a man on his head. Bhask took pause and rammed him into the wall instead.

Rollance also turned to grapple, and put a man through the table. This unfortunately set precedent and more than one chair was broken, the ornaments along the wall wrecked.

Kenilla came streaming in just in time with well-armed reinforcements, before they could bring down more of the tavern, and at the sight of steel and tabards the whole affair came to an abrupt and sober halt, everyone's hands going to the air in surrender.

'Having fun great King?' asked Kenilla.

Massaging his jaw Anka answered, 'without you babysitting? An absolute ball! Tell Hallin to get another bottle of Temperance, or the closest thing to it, I need to be present at the boat race and will need to deal with the pain. And, uh, reimburse the poor sod for the damages will you?'

'Magnificent fight Sire, if you don't mind me saying so,' said Hallin, standing around the corner of the entrance. It seemed he had the smarts to run out and call Kenilla when things had gotten out of hand.

'Gods, at least your subjects are as mad as you,' said Kenilla. 'So much for the negotiations. '

The afternoon race was met with anticipation. The town had never before had something like it, but everyone knew somebody who participated today in some capacity or another, so the attendees were all quite invested in the outcome. There was an announcer explaining the occasion, rousing people on the question of which model would fare best, unpiloted by nothing more than the wind and the river, and whatever design savvy the makers could come up with. They were to launch at the north of the canal and cheer the boats on all the way down south, the first one to hit the last bridge being the winner, right before the water diluted into the lower land bogs outside the city.

All the members of the court gathered first on a stand erected near the starting point, giving a good overview of the first segment of the canal.

The King kept his hood up as everyone amassed, but it was not enough for prying eyes such Salstasha's to notice the bruises on the King's face.

'What on earth happened to you King?' she whispered in alarm.

Anka said nothing, trying to look away and dismiss her investigation by pretending to look hard at the contestants as they readied their place in the waters, keeping their boats in check by lines that would detach as soon as they gave them a good tug.

'The King started the day with a boxing tourney,' said Kenilla in a drawl, 'a pre-show if you will for those who arrived early or took a detour to the pub. Admittedly, he himself was an entrant and is why the Lord's left eye is swollen a bit.'

Salstasha sighed and shook her head. 'He has more than a purple eye, his lip is split, swollen.'

'The Lady is concerned, should we get Joshua for my Lord's grave wounds?' taunted Kenilla.

'This is nothing. And just so that it is on record, I gave much more than I took.'

Again Salstasha shook her head. 'I'm going down to the commoners, in case I get embroiled in one of the King's bouts, spontaneous as they seem to be,'said Salstasha with a little taunt of her own.

'Good one high Lady,' Kenilla cried after her.

Anka looked up at his Steward, who shrugged and said 'my Lord deservers it.'

He didn't argue, instead his gaze followed Salstasha as she made it all the way through to a very nervous Scholar Naceus.

'Ready?' asked Salstasha of Naceus, now down at the bridge.

The Scholar swallowed hard and shook his head vehemently. 'No, there is a hundred things we could have done differently that I only thought of this morning!'

'You will be fine. You have tested it, no?'

'Many times,' said Naceus without solace. He looked up overhead. 'Nearly high noon. We'll start soon, and it's the start I dread. What if the initial surge ruins us?'

Salstasha shrugged. 'It either will or it won't. That's a chance everyone has to live with.'

Naceus realized only too late an element of this race he had completely overlooked, that given the unpredictability of a ship floating along on its own, that weapons would be of great value should the ships collide: most of the other designers had put rams on their ships, which could not only puncture a hull, but also tip an enemy ship.

'I should have made a rule about that,' said Naceus.

'What are you worried about? Nothing short of a shot from a longbow could pierce our hull,' said Duggle.

'I know...' said Naceus, having already realized that in trying to prove his point today he had inadvertently built an indestructible ship if weighed against the other models. 'Still, I don't like the unpredictability it introduces.'

The announcer suddenly cried for all the participants to ready for take-off, the crowd amassing along both sides of the low wall of the canal to get a proper look, some people jostling so that they can get better view of the boats. They waited for the boys to get out of the water, the ships now only bobbing on their tethers that were held by the persons on the bridge. Duggle held the line for Naceus's Iron Ship.

It got its fair share of attention; it was one of the largest ships and definitely the crudest, foregoing all the finer details, textures, embellishments \- and no sail to boot, Naceus having calculated that the risk of masts entangling was simply too great. It would glide by the tide alone and if it won, it would do so by attrition and not by speed.

The announcer signalled to a man on his right, who blew a horn that could be heard all the way into the castle. Somewhere up in the castle, a man forced down the lever that diverted the river stream to the town canal.

There came a blast of water through the sluices, right behind the boats, and even with the slightest introduction of water into the canal, the ships were off in a blast, some already tipping right then as they smashed into each other. The greater majority made it through without incident, some spinning in an eddy, but most speeding away in an exciting start. There were groans and cheers, the people caught up in it all, hanging over the walls and bridges to shout encouragement, the children of town running all along with the progress of the ships through town.

'We made it through!' shouted Naceus in relieve.

Even those that were swung around completely in the eddies seem to self-correct with the stream, a host of them trying to catch up after a bad start, so many cheers chasing them from above as though that could hasten them.

Naceus was happy to be somewhere in the middle.

There seem to be a couple of clear winners until the great bend in the canal, which not only sunk a few fragile ships, but coincided with the water aligning with the southerly wind, entering the canal without hindrance at this point. The wind was now in play and those built with triple masts and vast canvases set a whole new pace. They looked quite splendid, their colourful sails now billowing in full, those who best made use of the wind seemingly gliding on the surface of the water and outrunning those who didn't.

In the meanwhile Naceus's Iron Ship was lagging more and more, its weight a problem. Still, as onlookers they had trouble keeping up with the ships.

'I had not thought there would be so much running,' breathed Naceus heavily, as he Duggle ran alongside the canal, several times having to swerve around crowds or stalls blocking the way.

'Of course,' said Duggle. 'What did you expect? Hmm, lot of good specials today, could we stop by madam Telesa's so that you can catch your breath?' asked Duggle as they passed a few stalls.

'No!' said Naceus. 'Can you still see the ship from here?'

'Barely,' said Duggle, who was a good head or so taller.

They caught up to Salstasha again near the latter part of the race, her having walked directly to the other side of town, instead of following the boats' progress along the canal. 'I knew you'd make it this far,' said Salstasha confidently, looking quite pleased.

'I don't think we can still catch the others though,' said Duggle, looking at the front runners.

Naceus shook his head, 'some of those galleons are magnificently built, and even those who got blocked earlier on are now catching up to us.'

Even as Naceus said this a trireme model came bearing down on HMIS, and spelt disaster.

Suddenly two ships got entangled with one another and swung into the Iron Ship's way. The Iron Ship crunched through them, but its front hull climbed dangerously into the air, hinged on the wrecks beneath it. They were almost motionless as another ship came from behind to crash into them.

Naceus looked on in horror as his slowly spiralling ship was hit by a second incoming trireme, lifting it more, and then a burst of choppy water in the canal saw His Majesty's Iron Ship capsize completely, its hull in the air and the deck in the water.

'Oh no!' cried Naceus and Salstasha put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

He watched the Iron Ship's last moments, as it bubbled a little before sinking an inch or two into the water.

But then it stopped. And then suddenly drifted along dutifully by the next surge in the river.

'Why is it still floating?' asked the Duggle.

'The air in the hull! Thank goodness we didn't put any cargo in it!' cried Naceus.

'Huh?'

'This actually proves my point better than anything else! You see the inside of the ship has air that's going nowhere, and enough of it too, to keep the thing afloat! As it is, the air within the ship is pressing down on the water. If there was even a tiny escape of air, the water would rush into ship and the whole thing would sink. The deck is sealed except for the two open cargo hatches - who would have thought they would prove so vital!'

'How does this prove your point?'

'Buoyancy explains the floating of an object by how much water it displaces, but at its heart, the force it refers to is the counter pressure of any material coming into contact with the water, as long as the weight does not surpass it. The trapped air is doing exactly that, exerting pressure on the water surface - and it virtually weighs nothing.'

Duggle just shrugged. 'Well, the crew is all dead.'

Naceus waved an impatient hand, 'they all died for a worthy cause!'

The capsized ship also then decided to drift into the wrong branch of the canal, out of the running completely as it took an unlikely left turn.

'Oh my.'

'Now if the race was down that canal, we would be the winners,' said Duggle, folding his arms.

The Iron Ship soon disappeared out of sight entirely, and would end up where the waters ran outside of town and into the lowlands.

'You did it though,' said Salstasha. 'You built your floating ship of steel.'

'I did,' said Naceus noddingly, quickly making peace with the fate of his ship. 'Let's go and see off the winners,' they walked to the last bridge that marked the finish.

At the end it was a close finish between Sibo and one of the lads sponsored by the netweavers guild. After a brief entanglement, Sibo's ship broke clear, and gained a few inches' advantage, the other ship struggling to straighten just then, and with the loudest cheer yet from the crowd, Sibo's ship made the last bridge with a fitting burst of speed as a gust ran down the canal. There was generous applause as Sibo's ship won the day.

He received a prize from Master Dieral and they all looked happily on as he excepted his congratulations embarrassingly. Naceus himself was clapping hard, looking very satisfied. Each of the contenders were allowed to briefly walk up to the podium and wave at the crowd. Naceus did so proudly and afterwards went to stand with his castle companions, deBella, Gibbon and Joshua.

'What are you smiling at? Your ship capsized and went down the wrong canal!' said Gibbon loudly.

'I know, _but it didn't sink_ ,' said Naceus, now beaming as though he had won.

After the race Anka opted for a quiet dinner in the castle dining hall, deBella bringing him some soup seeing that his jaw still hurt. He regretted not getting the chance to hit the man harder, the one that had hit him first. He mulled what he was going to do about the guilds, seeing absolutely no easy way to patch up relations now. He hated to admit it, but he had made everything much worse.

A set of footsteps came marching down the corridor, the rap on the floor that they made belonging to Kenilla in all probability, the rhythm of his stride distinctive. Anka was not disappointed, but was not in the mood for company.

'The question I had for myself during the day,' started Kenilla as he barged in, 'was whether today will be remembered for the boat race or the day the King pummelled a dozen guildmasters?'

'There were only eight of them,' said Anka.

'Yes, but about twenty henchmen by sound of it... Might I ask exactly how your Lordship steered the event toward what Hallin kept describing, even after you left – as one of the most memorable brawls his establishment had yet seen?'

The King shrugged. 'Something wrong with Hallin's whiskey you suppose?' asked Anka, 'Rachas was awfully hot under the collar even after the first one.'

'All drink can have that effect, more so combined with the King stripping the empire from under their feet.'

'I was certainly not doing that, and it should not be interpreted like that at all. What a mess...'

'That is how they are describing it.'

'You talked to them?' asked Anka, surprised.

'I did. And I brought a present.' Kenilla stuck a signed charter in Anka's hands. Given that there were a few drops of blood on it, probably from a couple of nose bleeds, the signatures on it were all the more recognizable. The guilds had inexplicably agreed to back him.

'I don't know if this will secure a victory in the council of kings, but it will certainly help. Their only condition was that one half of the tribute you receive from Cerron must be open to be invested into selected private businesses, so governed by an independent committee. I took the liberty of authorising it.

Anka was elated and more than happy to make such monies available for the guilds.

'They were difficult beyond believe! They were trying to extort us and push us as far as they possible could! How on earth did you convince them otherwise?' asked Anka.

'What you said made a lot of sense King, whether they liked it or not. And the pressure you applied on their prospects made the move to Rostrad untenable.'

'But why didn't they just agree right there and then?'

'They didn't want to admit defeat. It helped that I convinced them that no other King would have lend his ear to them as you did, and a more pressing point; no other King would have suffered being attacked and not call treason against the crown.'

'That's true,' said Anka noddingly. 'I guess you can say that we hammered out a deal.' The two men laughed.

'Did Hallin really say the brawl was that good?'

'Indeed, in fact he let me know he was going to hold off on those renovations your Highness suggested to keep the blood stains on the walls: says it gives the place a certain feel, and will lure the hardiest of patrons.'

The King chuckled on, shaking his head.
Chapter 9

### Ball

The last glow of autumn was lost on Anka, he was too nervous, observing little other than the ball he thought Salstasha would want, which brought anxiety and reservations of his own folly of going through with this event. The date bore down him faster any war he had known, and shook him in a different way than any expedition that he had undertaken. He found his own anxiousness terribly illogical given that no one would be put in harm's way.

Kenilla was endlessly amused by the discomfort of the King, today, slinging insults at the King while they measured him for his clothes.

'Exactly how many layers of clothing does a man need to go to a dance such as this?' asked Anka grumpily, standing with his arms spread out to the side.

Not getting answer from the tailor, Anka said, 'Do we expect archers up in the gallery? If the aim is to stop an arrow, there are better ways than wearing three layers of fluff.' That a tailcoat and shirt alone was not enough was beyond him.

The tailor straightened up. 'You want to stand out King?'

'I-'

You want to catch the eye of the Lady Salstasha? Of course! But more than that, you need people to talk afterwards of how lordly you looked, and you need the Lady Salstasha to hear them talk about your lordliness. Above all, you need her to associate this event with whatever brief time she will spend with you. You need not just be presentable great King, but you need to be a man of impression. And she needs to be with a man of impression. She must feel that when the halls' eyes train on you two.'

Anka looked over at Kenilla.

'He talks sense my King. Just let him do his job.'

'Just make sure I look dignified. I've seen some of the fashions of those southerly princes. They end up looking like an assortment cockerpoodels, each but with a different trim of hair!'

Getting a fitting attire was only one obstacle he had to deal with, the other was much more in his hands and in his control, and still he struggled; he had to learn how to dance.

Kenilla was good on his word, getting the chambermaids to take turns with the King, as he instructed the King in the ballroom routines.

'I didn't think this through, I'm going to make a fool of myself,' said Anka, having stepped on many toes, danced himself into a corner (many times), and lost his partner on all but one move involving a breakaway.

'Do not worry my King. You have Kenilla at your side, I can teach a wardrobe to dance. You should not be much more difficult. '

'How do you know these things?' asked Anka with some venom.

'Unlike my uncouth King I am versed in both war and culture, and though I could spend my days in frozen wastelands, I chose not to. Ha!'

Kenilla was enjoying Anka's struggles way too much.

Anka grunted annoyingly. 'Maybe you should ask this uncouth King of yours to give you residence as I'm about to kick you out!'

Kenilla laughed. 'He has a sense of humour. That's a start...Now again!'

Anka and the chambermaid plodded along, Kenilla following them closely, counting ' _1,2,3 ,1,2,3_ ' again and again, and rasping the King on the back with a thin rod every time the King dropped his arms from what Kenilla kept calling a "frame."

'I'm certainly going to kill you,' said Anka, as Kenilla rasped him again before the sting of the last.

And again the rod came.

Anka pulled his and the chambermaid's arms high up into the air, straight up. 'There! Now my frame is as high as it can go!'

The chambermaid snickered as they came to a halt, and she commented that she thought the King was doing all right.

Kenilla ignored the King's antics and said, 'I am actually more worried about my King's knees.'

'What's wrong with them?'

'You are hopping. You have to realize King, you are not accelerating up a hillside, don't lift your knees as much.'

'How do we fix it?' asked Anka, as though he had no control on how his body operated. That was certainly the feeling at the time.

'We need some music, that way your Highness can feel the movement. And so Kenilla brought in a violinist during the next session.'

'If I don't lift my knees I keep kicking the Lady's feet out of the way,' complained Anka.

'You move the Lady with your waist Highness, not your arms or legs. The movement starts in your midsection. We'll get it right as you learn to dance more closely to the Lady, as though you are one entity. As for your leg movement \- lunge out of the hip, the pendulum of your foot moving low. A controlled fall really, and don't be afraid to stretch it... that makes the visuals better.'

So the advice kept on bombarding Anka:

'Breathe yourself taller Highness, and then start your movement as you breathe out, your weight settling right before you move, go heel-first. Change of direction is led with your right shoulder, rotating the torso, don't use your arms, they stay locked in place...'

It was all a barrage to the King's lack of prior experience, and frustrating for someone who could so excel in war, but feel so out of place doing something like this. This he mentioned several times.

'It is about control Highness, not unlike war, only you don't get to exercise your full might into one direction, and expunge everything full force. Think of moving with economy, like the fight is long, and bit more tactical in that your movement and the ladies movement is conjoined.

Anka didn't see the similarities all that well; the one felt natural when the other didn't, but the desire to learn was great so the King made great strides even when it didn't feel like it.

During all of this Anka kept one eye on the actual preparations of the event itself. In reality though his attentions were so spread that only scraps of information made it past his ears and into his mind: Sonjen had supplied the ale... dignitaries had arrived without hassle but with much whinging all the same ... Master Dieral got stuck in a hatch in the servants quarters - apparently they got him out with hot butter, although Anka suspected that the idea only surfaced _after_ they had already lifted him out with brute force.

Luckily Anka could count on his staff to set up a fine night.

'Has Lady Salstasha made any indication if the ball will be to her fancy?' asked Anka gruffly after a gruelling dance session.

'No, but she will like it,' Kenilla assured the King. 'There'll be music - the orchestra of Rostrad, more ale than anyone could possibly consume in one night. And of course, the most important thing, _lighting!'_

'Is that why my treasury is raided for chandeliers?'

'That is what it takes to prepare the place.'

'Between Dieral and myself we will have the place dressed up for the pages of history. We'll call it the harvest ball or something, it will justify the all yellows and red we are using.'

'Even though harvest in the north is more than two months away?'

'No needs to know that of course, unless your planning on inviting the farmers.'

Anka barked a laugh. 'I'd much rather invite them and dress them up than the air heads invited to this thing.' Thinking of being dressed up, Anka asked, 'and will Salstasha be looked after...?'

deBella is on a guileful mission to approach the Lady surreptitiously and offer her assistance in preparing for the ball in a by-the-by manner.'

'deBella, guileful?'

'Her best qualities wane in your presence.'

Anka chortled.

'Want to practise your dance routine one more time?'

'No, if I can't get it right by now...'

'It all helps very little if the supposed King of the Mountain stumbles over his own feet.'

'I'll be fine.'

'Very well, I believe you will be.'

'Truly?'

'I am a good teacher.'

'Couldn't just give a compliment eh?'

'No.'

The day of the ball approached with the line of the sun reaching a trajectory where it set between two peaks of the Dunnoom range in twilight, forecasting a period known as the long nights, the last of any fair weather being now, snowed up roads and white covered rooftops not far off. For the moment however, there was still a clement period, an array of orchids along the town avenues heavy with autumn blooms, their fragrance wafting in temperate air, as though a day of spring had wandered confoundedly and arrived unexpected to everyone's delight.

Finishing his own preparations, Anka periodically took a look outside his window, monitoring the movement in town.

If Attoras had been flooded with dignitaries before, it paled in comparison with now, every minor noble forgotten or negligible in the grander scheme of things making the effort to be part of a big line of horse drawn carriages that waited to enter the city. This time Anka felt happy about it all.

He saw many folks from lands outside of his domain and also steadfast lords which he knew quietly contributed to the welfare of Attoras. He was also pleased, feeling there was a resilience among the people to have the will to attend an event like this even when a dragon threat hung in the air. He brought this up, making the remark to Kenilla.

'Agreed. They get free wine and dine at the King's pleasure, and dance a little to add to it.'

From his vantage he smiled, the day coming to twilight, a long line of carriages coming into the city and all of them migrating toward the park in front of the ballroom doors, each of the carriages carrying a lamp at this hour, which made their approach all the more impressive.

Many of the common folk had jostled for places on the street and roofs, to get as close as possible to the action, gawking over the nobles. The truly lucky ones, got the places on the roofs close to the low wall and gate house that guarded the lower entrance of the ball room, which was accessible from town. From there, they could peak just over the wall, and witness the giant ensemble of nobles as they came to a halt, dismounting their carriages and revealed to be dressed in exorbitantly expensive fashions, coming out in so many colours of hats, dresses, frills, scarves, coats, jewellery and shoes.

Anka enjoyed their amusement, glad that they could be transfixed by the event. In the same breath, he would wish to tell them there was little difference between them and the people they looked at so reverently.

'Time to get moving my King,' said Kenilla.

'Yes,' said the King breathlessly, the anxiety building, swinging away from the window.

Anka studied Kenilla from head to toe. He was very finely dressed as usual, but nothing tonight that would get him any attention compared to the rest.

'How come you get to dress in low tones?'

'Because I'm not trying to stand out. I'm already married, we're still trying to get your there.'

'That is not what this is about.'

Kenilla lifted his eyebrow, but said nothing further on that. 'I'll be part of my Lord's security tonight. We can't exactly pack the hall with guards, so me blending in to a measure makes sense.'

The King nodded, his stomach a knot now so he couldn't even return comment.

They headed out.

Anka did not recognize most of the castle, and more so went for the ballroom. How quickly they had turned neglect into beauty! They had hoisted up crystal chandeliers, their effect on the candle flames spreading a glorious light of refined nature throughout the entire hall.

With the lights up, every polished inch of the floor was illuminated and features of the room he had remained ignorant of during his tenure intrigued him now, and made him proud; he was certain Salstasha would approve. There was a spot near the tables were one could see the moon through the glass panelled doors leading outside to the patio. Tonight especially, Mallova the white hung there like a jewel.

Anka descended by the castle stairwell into the ballroom, for now only populated by an animated Master Dieral as he directed his host of kitchen hands and serfs doing last minute preparations. On the dais, the orchestra of Rostrad were busy carefully setting up their instruments.

'Come! The people are waiting!' said Kenilla at Dieral, whose brow was shiny with either effort or anxiety, possibly both. The two men flanked the King as they walked to the entrance, breached the doors and greeted the formation of people who waited outside, milling in a group burgeoning to an almost unmanageable size as more carriages arrived.

At the sight of Anka, they all looked up at the King and hushed, their eyes lighting up.

'My doors, are open to you! To Attoras, I say, _welcome!'_ said Anka with a flourish of his coat, and bade the people to enter.

With immediate chatter and glee the people streamed in, taking their seats along the round white decked tables, scattered laughs reverberating pleasantly as their excitement mirrored the lively appearance of the ballroom.

'You have outdone yourself Master Dieral,' Anka quietly complimented the man.

'It is what I do Highness.'

As behoved him Anka stood at the entrance and warmly greeted the lords of the realm as they came in.

'I will take it from here your Highness,' said Dieral, ready to replace the King.

Anka was grateful. It was not only tiring, but he wanted to divert his attentions to other matters.

The cheer and amazement was palpable as people took their seats, milling excitedly, some intercepting those carrying platters with wine and ale before they could even reach the tables; the journey to the capital was thirsty work after all.

Making a few more salutations, Anka surreptitiously moved toward the head table at the far end of the hall, where he and his delegates would be seated. He could not do this without stumbling into Lord Torssen, who appeared to be already red-faced. 'My King! When I first saw you riding at my gates, shortly after your father-king passed, I said to myself, _now this_ is a man who can win any war and throw a masterclass of a party. As of tonight I can say again I have not been disappointed!'

Torssen unfortunately did not leave it at that compliment, and Anka had trouble dismissing the poor fool without getting blunt, which he King could not bring himself to do. Kenilla came just in time, luring the Lord away with the promise of horderves and the finest white wine that Sonjen could get his hands on.

'Telphiel you say? Lead on!'

Free of Torssen Anka took his seat, hoping the sanctity of the head table would ward off others who would bend his ear. He studied for awhile as the orchestra did their final strumming, and organizing themselves on the dais and benches. Feeling nervous and out of place, the din of many voices washed over Anka where he sat at the head table, making him feel as though he needed to retreat into silence.

A mellow tune was struck up by orchestra, as they played what was almost an inaudible background noise at the time, the tune of which he found comforting, as though the orchestra had full appreciation of the King's tension.

He waited nervously for Salstasha to arrive. He had never been to many of these functions, and he wished for more control than knew he was going to have. He scanned the faces, more people filling the hall but no sign of the Lady of Vauliette. He started fearing that this whole thing was a waste, his eyes darting toward the main entrance, the stairs and the patio doors, as though he expected her to swoop in there by chance. For some reason he dare not miss her arrival. He wondered if he looked like a fool sitting there a surveying the hall like a ruler paranoid for danger. _I probably do_. Luckily, Gibbon, Naceus and deBella soon seated with him and that at least felt more comfortable, without them distracting him too much.

'The light that this place boasts from on high, is quite remarkable, Naceus kept on saying, adjusting his glasses as he studied the chandeliers.

'Yes Naceus, you've mentioned,' said deBella tersely.

'But I wish to get me such a device, in smaller form, not one of those awful lanterns that cast a morbid shadow right underneath it.'

'Would you _sit down_ at least and study the light? You are blocking the King's line of vision!' said deBella, who understood the King's expectant gaze more than anyone.

'O sorry my King, how thoughtless of me! Are you studying the light too?'

deBella groaned and muttered about her reservations Naceus's smarts.

Anka could chuckle at this at least.

Then at last, with some of the other dignitaries that had entered through the castle, she came down the stairs like Anka had, Naceus not in the King's way at all. In fact it was he that warned the King to look up and behind him. 'My King,' he said, pointing with a wry smile. Anka turned in his chair, looking over his shoulder and up.

She was as beautiful as he knew she would be, and still he was not prepared for it, wonderment running over his skin and his heart beating like courage was meant to fail at the sight of it what it wanted.

She was in a gown of gold, or was it glimmering yellow? Her raven hair fell on bare shoulders, and a necklace of silver holding a small but very vivid sapphire that made her eyes stand out so. She had white gloves that came up to her elbows, laced with minute crystalline stones that sparkled as she moved. He endeavoured not to stare at her so.

'She is very beautiful,' whispered Naceus as she swept by, giving one look in the direction of the King's table as she studied the ballroom with a thoughtful smile. She moved further down the hall, joining the Lords and Ladies that would be her companions for the night.

Though she was going to sit a little far away from Anka, a strange relief swept through him and he felt he could enjoy himself for a bit. He passed over a goblet of wine, despite Marshall Gibbon's insistence that it would take the nerves away and loosen his limbs. Gibbon of course was following his own advice, even though Anka doubted he danced at all. _Between myself and my head of security, at least one of us should be sober,_ thought Anka in nervous amusement.

'What do you think King?' asked Naceus suddenly.

'What now?' asked Anka, not having paid attention on his and deBella's conversation.

'Well deBella argues that the ladies who have dressed different from their banner colours are not as trite as those who did, but I find it pretty fitting with some of the family tapestries hung here, and their colours reflected by the Ladies on the floor.'

'They are all very finely dressed, so I would not judge, least of all since everyone has made so much effort coming here and making of it a perfect evening.'

'A good answer my King,' said Naceus, though he and deBella continued their debate.

He allowed his gaze to drift back to Salstasha, even when he had promised himself that he would not gawk at her throughout the night.

Seeing her at the farside of the ballroom encircled by Lords who had not let her beauty gone unnoticed, Anka's chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with his self-banished illness. Of course he was not the only who was going to admire her. That she smiled though, and that most of the people gathered in merriment, meant for him at least that the night was a success. Now it was only a matter of making the best of his own ambition, of which the occasion of it came much too soon.

Five minutes later, and most of the people had staked out a table.

Kenilla caught everyone's attention then, addressing the people as he stood centre floor.

'Esteemed guests, a warm welcome, in all senses. We are happy to share with you what blessed little hospitable weather we come across here in bosom of the great mountain.'

A few cheers went up.

'We gather here and celebrate first and foremost; gratitude – for a fine harvest, strong walls, a gracious King, a fierce military, and a free people that fears only the Benevolence. Not often enough that we congregate to say these things, so enjoy your evening, dance, laugh and eat your fill! To start off, I have the pleasure of introducing you to the worst kept secret of the evening, which is of course the magnificent orchestra of Rostrad!'

A round of applause sounded for the musicians as they bowed as one in acknowledgement.

'It would only be befitting, if the King opens the dance floor I think, as he graciously opened his doors for us all, and insist that we drink his alehouses dry! My King, if you could join me at my side!' Anka stood up on shaky legs and joined Kenilla, painfully aware that most eyes were on him now.

'I would of course have to say that you may _not_ take me for your dance King,' the crowd laughed, 'so with your first choice being denied, I would think my Lord choose your partner carefully, for there are many ladies here that have spoken of their availability.

Again the audience laughed and with roll of his hand and a bow Kenilla retreated and left the King centre floor and with a choice that he had already made.

Anka was unsure whether he should make a show of searching for a partner of his choice. He imagined that is what Kenilla would have advised him to do. So he scanned the crowd with a thoughtful smile, but he wasn't sure that he was at all convincing, as his gaze came to a halt on Salstasha much sooner than he intended, her eyes entrapping him. They looked at each other, eventually she nodded slightly, and he walked towards her, his breath caught and well aware that the entire hall's eyes were on him. It was Salstasha however that unnerved him so.

Face to face with it was as though every light in the hall glistened in those blue eyes.

'My Lady,' he asked, holding out his hand, which she took.

'My dear King?' she asked, faking surprise. 'You would pick _me?_ '

Anka smiled nervously. 'You are very wicked my Lady.'

Leading her to the centre of floor, he was thinking on how he had forgotten everything that was taught to him. They stopped, facing one another, him bowing and she curtseying, and then taking her hand and holding her on the back, he added softly to his previously comment, ' _and_ you are very lovely.'

She looked up expectantly at him. So did everyone else. She threw her head back in an arch as though she could sense the coming of the music.

The orchestra started with a solitary violin, its first chair striking a crying note, followed by two smooth notes so perfectly counteracting the first, and with it Anka move forward, and like the solitary violin he felt like a lone voice, who were scrutinized by everyone. But Salstasha followed so gracefully that the King did not show any fault or nervousness. A moment later and then the lead violinist's dramatic pitch was joined by a cascade of other instruments, some chiming in, the percussions rolling in, horns, flutes and trumpets piping and blaring, the violins as precise as a team of rowers. The music guiding him, what Kenilla had him taught all came back to him and with Salstasha being an experienced dancer, she followed his lead as though responding to the faintest gesture as they circumvented the dance floor. And whatever variation he initiated seemed to go as perfect as the music that encouraged it:

Turning her under his arm, a swirling Viennese step, a fallaway and weave, a twinkle throw-out grapevine for which Anka was merely glad that he re-gathered Salstasha as well as he did.

'Relax King. You dance very well,' whispered Salstasha, as though she could feel his nervousness still.

And he did, without of course breaking his posture, and he smiled, and seeing her do the same then became a visage he would remember always.

The grace of her, the arch of her neck and her perfect posture. Her breasts nestled against his chest. The smell of her. The way the other people looked at them, mostly her of course and admiring her. It felt very right.

Anka was adrift in the moment, holding this woman so and gliding over the floor, a resolution building in him. Whatever sadness he carried with him, he would never forget the look of her that day. The music would stay with him because of her, also the threads of her dress and the wafts of winter blooms that billowed into open hall doors because of her. More than anything it was her. He was certain that a part of his spirit would stay forever here, and in this moment. They glided over a floor so polished that the light made it look like they were on a golden pane.

The music suddenly changed a bit and the other couples took it as a sign that the floor was now opened, and Anka and Salstasha were joined by others, which was a slight relieve for a King who did not want to be the centre of attention the entire time.

The song came to an end, Anka having the wherewithal (only just) to finish with a flourish. He bowed and Salstasha curtsied. Right then relieve and exhilaration coursed through him. He had somehow managed not to make a fool of himself. Better than that, he had enjoyed it.

Anka of course had to give up Salstasha to a few other partners, of which there were many who came and asked for a dance. Anka then too took the other ladies out on the floor, of which there were a group more willing than Anka could have imagined some unashamedly making a case for why they could the next Queen of Attoras in the brief time that they danced with the King.

While he resolved to mingle with all of his people, his gaze drifted back to her ever so often.

When they ended he waited patiently for another chance with her. And she never minded. She enjoyed it every bit as much he did, and that delighted him.

The King smiled widely as they passed deBella and Naceus on the dance floor, the Scholar barely taller than deBella.

Kenilla also took his wife on a very slow trot, her of course nearing the end of her pregnancy. The King did not miss the opportunity to take a jibe at his Steward's slow feet, as he and Salstasha swept passed them on their next dance.

With some warmth danced into their limbs, and more than enough of it permeating a crowded hall now being served food, Anka and Salstasha made their way to the patio, so spacious it could have doubled as another dance floor. The air outside was refreshing, if a little chilly. They moved all the way to the railings, so that the lower mountain foot lay before them and the moon hovering low and to the east.

'This is much better, and maybe a bit of a relief, I was fearing another one of those clumsy braggarts would come and fetch me.'

'Some of them seem to dance alright,' said Anka, coming to their defence and not knowing why, although suspecting that he did want to criticize them when he thought their movement might be better than his own.

Salstasha smiled. 'Your Lords that side with you in the councils, they are the worst. All the cultured men come from Rostrad,' she teased.

Anka laughed. 'I would let Kenilla give lessons to all of them, but that won't work, they're more bull-headed than even I.'

Salstasha's smile faltered a little.

'They think I manipulated you. You know, so that you simply give up and let Hamenra get a clear shot at the throne. I didn't manipulate you Anka, although admittedly I was torn before on your rule. I suddenly have reservations about those that might replace you. Do you still intend to make your announcement of the council of kings? I am not sure that you should...'

'I have talked much on the dragons, and even chased their herald away promising our unwavering resistance, but we do not have the force to contest the dragons. Attoras's army can live with any human enemy, but we are not equipped to fight dragons.'

'Anka...'

'When I was returning on the ship, I was thinking on what a beautiful woman you must've turned into. I was wrong to think any arrangement would translate into us simply being together and... I guess _happy_. I also thought I would return to a restored Attoras, free from conflict after I had already dealt with so much of it. I think I've had a misconception on a lot of things.'

Salstasha said nothing.

'I am glad you are here, but also, knowing what is coming -' Anka took pause, 'would you rather return home?'

She nodded, this time looking a bit defeated. 'I've been meaning to bring it up. Not that my stay here wasn't interesting, but I am homesick, and yet...'

She looked up at Anka.

She didn't say anything further, and just then Anka thought that could possibly be a reason for her to stay. This he saw in her eyes for just a moment. But it was maybe exactly this that made him decide against what he wanted. A picture of a dragon invasion in his mind's eye was all it took.

'I am going to put together a host of men to escort you safely back to Rostrad. I'd really like for you to stay longer still, but the one resolution that I will not let escape from me is your well-being.'

'That's very clever of you. Get rid of me, divide your enemies and claim your throne,' she said suddenly wiping her tears. She had not said this with any malice.

'I have been thinking. I didn't come back to the Attoras the way I wanted, and won't find here what I have imagined. The council of kings can go any way. If they pass me over as King, I'll go to war with the dragons, no matter how vain, and if I better serve everyone thus; I will make for the Dream of Embers.'

That brought a sudden look of fright to Salstasha's face.

'You should not give up on life Anka. War is one thing, but to answer the Dream...' she insisted.

He shook his head. 'A cause like the Dream can never be seen as giving up my Lady, not when the good it brings outweighs one life manifold.'

She looked at him worriedly.

'We are turning this evening into something grim,' said Anka, shaking his head at himself.

'Would you like to dance one more time?'

She looked over her shoulder at a dozen other men who she was not keen to keep pleasantries with. He saw this from her expression. And then she turned to him with a wry smile.

'With you, _yes_.'

Later in the evening Anka prepared to address the men and women for his announcement. While his reasons were pure, in his heart he could not help but think that this felt like giving up. Dieral got everyone's attention, the dinner plates cleared and the goblets filled again. With how well the evening had progressed, the people did not mind the interruption, everyone merry and lost in the moment, even those that knew of a possible dragon invasion. The House of Hamenra were most excited by this moment, and it pained Anka that he had to give them exactly what they wanted, their smug looks and the anticipation in their eyes unbearable.

'Esteemed guests. What a marvellous night we have had together. I hope that this old hall has enchanted you as it has me. As such I have an announcement of some importance to share with all of you. I can only echo what the steward of my house have said earlier -'

A gust of wind suddenly interrupted, blowing into the hall, ripping open doors, howling through the passages, tipping goblets and somehow swirling so near the ceiling that it managed to suffocate all but a few candles in the chandeliers, the hall caught up in darkness. The people gasped, some protesting the weather, others finding it amusing. Those who were amused however were not amused for long. For all the good weather a wintry chill abruptly entered, the great window panes to the patio frosting over. The hospitable weather was gone.

'That looks like trouble,' muttered Kenilla.

'There is magic at play!' announced the King, 'with me!' he said, all of his guard following on his heels as he head out to the patio to guard against a possible attack. Many of the Lords and Ladies were too curious to let this go and followed the King and his guard out on the patio.

As they gathered, a bank of mist rolled right off the mountain side, then coming onto the terrace and patio of the ballroom, moving toward them slowly, the texture of the mists as woollen as summer clouds.

'Is this another mood of the mountain?' asked Salstasha, standing at Anka's side.

'Not one I have yet seen,' said the King, a preposterous feeling of excitement and fear coming across him, the hair on his arms raised, and although he had truly never seen such a thing, a feeling of familiarity came to him.

Shadows appeared in the mist, as the mist came to a halt, still rolling, but suspended in place as though it fed from itself. Anka pushed Salstasha back, watching the shadows keenly.

'My King,' said Bhask, his voice devoid of excitement or fear. 'This is the spirit of the mountain, bring about the light to release those within.'

Captivated by this mystery Anka cast the Seluin light without thinking on it any further.

The light seemed absorbed by the mists and sure enough the shadows came forward ploughing through as if breaching free.

They walked forward in a line at least fifty men strong, the King's guard outnumbered. Before he could call the alarm however the shadows become more clear, their heads in particular all uniform: showing helms with two upright ears emerging from the mist and the darkness.

_Severan'gatis,_ thought Anka in reverence and nostalgia. And so the warriors of the Black Mountain broke clear of the mists, wearing it as a mystic shrouds for moments more, silver masks covering their faces, only lightly armoured, swords at their waists.

The people of Attoras had no cause for fear and yet many of them fell to their knees in awe, voices going up, the line of stoic Wolves standing motionless, but their presence electric and mystic.

Only one of the masked men stepped forward. From his body Anka could tell he was not a young man, but a veteran. He drew the sword at his waist, and as he did, the rest of the men followed suit, and then as one kneeled before the King.

'The Wolves are here! The Wolves!' This cry carried into the halls and was echoed all the way into town.

Anka himself was dumbstruck.

The leader got up and the others stood motionless as he and King approached each other.

The Wolf removed his helm. 'My King,' he said.

'Hathai?' asked Anka tentatively, recognizing the slightly aged face from when last he had seen him.

'Yes my King.'

'I cannot imagine where to start! Where have you been?' asked Anka.

'We've entered a living dream locked in the keep, _there,_ but not there,' said Hathai, as though in a riddle.

'You have to tell me, as much as you can. I need to know what's going on.'

Hathai's voice was ominous. 'And you will know all King, but tonight you must first know of betrayal. We have seen much from our dream and must report to you.'

'I already know of Bhask.'

'His is not the only one you must consider this night my King...'
Chapter 10

### Prayer on the Mountain

The next day the entire mood of Attoras had changed. Not a soul within town did not know of the return of the Wolves. And if there were a question about Anka's favour from the mountain, it was all swept away.

Anka's relieve at the Wolves' return was completely offset with something else. He had met one more time with Salstasha, and she again reiterated that she thought it best to go home. She sounded more reluctant this time, but Anka would not in good conscious try and convince her otherwise. The thought hurt him, but he knew, if a dragon host did have their sights on Attoras, Salstasha's best interests would be served in her getting back to Rostrad while that was still an option, before the snows could shut all the roads. And the snows certainly _were_ on its way.

On the day of her departure, Anka glumly waited on the hour she would leave. He decided to go to her room, only to find that she had already packed, the bed already made. It brought a stab to his heart. He would meet her below, at the stables, but already it felt like their time had been reduced to an unbearable briefness.

On his way down, he was contemplating what it would be like if he visited Rostrad more often, on the guise of looking over his kingdom, ultimately however seeking to court Salstasha. The prospect did not give him much hope. In his mind he was still dancing with her, cherishing that closeness and hanging onto that moment that she looked up at him, smiling blissfully.

He caught her busy putting her personal things in the saddlebag, and she brushed the hair from her face, looking somewhat exasperated at the small volume the bag could carry.

'Are we sure we shouldn't arrange a carriage?' asked Anka.

She looked up, the worry evaporating from her face.

'No I'm sure. This will be faster, we don't have to try our luck at roads wide enough for the carriage. I will just have to leave some things behind.'

Salstasha beckoned the King out of earshot from the others. 'Speaking of which, the pages are hidden in library, only Naceus knows where. I cannot dare take them with me. They include everything I know of, including the work I have of Agathir prior to me coming here.'

'We will keep them safe,' promised Anka, his mind flying through all the things he thought on earlier today, the things he wanted to say to her. But it did not come.

'These are my best men that I can spare,' he said instead, indicating to the riders that would be her escort.

'Anka, everything is going to be alright. Thank you.'

'I'm... really glad for the little time we had together.'

'I am too,' she said softly.

She leaned forward and Anka embraced her. It was brief, but her touch made him question why he sending her away after all.

'Take care of yourself. If it comes to it, please don't fight a losing battle, I would like to see you live King,' she said, just a little bit of emotion entering her demeanour.

He helped her up the horse, and before he could know it, they were off. Their gazes lingered on each other for a few yards, and then she looked on ahead. Watching them riding away, Anka felt empty and downcast. She was barely out of the town borders and he already missed her.

Without the fanfare of his ballroom announcement - which had been interrupted by the Wolves - the council of kings was called into action as Anka had promised. Anka felt somewhat endeared to this idea of the throne being opened to a vote, because of Salstasha, whether he would prevail or not. The early morning meeting had been subdued, the many Lords in the court showing none of the vitriol that some of the earlier sessions came to bear. It was a one-sided affair, Anka winning a majority of the votes, the guilds' sudden loyalty shifting much of the sentiment among the nobles and if that was not enough, the return of the Wolves showed beyond a doubt that Anka alone was a force worthy of protecting the realm.

'You did it King, you now stand alone as monarch of the north,' remarked Kenilla.

The victory was bittersweet. Both for Salstasha's absence and for the fear of a dragon army opposed to Anka retaining the throne, and responding in kind.

Later that day Anka met with his Wolves; Hathai and his most lethal brothers, lieutenants of a small army. They always wore their helms in public, but there was one Wolf that Anka sought out by the numbers on his arm, and thereafter identified him by his long blond hair. He was Taggandus and although the Wolves had no title among them to distinguish the skill of one Wolf from another, his reputation called him the deadliest of the brotherhood, a blindingly fast and instinctual warrior.

On the night of the ballroom dance they had explained to King Anka how a force had been in their dreams and made them attentive to men of the north conspiring with the dragons, and standing aside for their march of conquest. The Wolves did not have names for him.

Anka was enraged for a little while, his suspicions confirmed, but then calmed down. He sighed and explained his mind. 'At this point in time it can be anyone. Every man and woman who had either through fear, doubt or ignorance acted in such a way that allowed the dragons to fly over the continent again is a suspect. Torssen who had declared me dead. Laros of Piero who had not reported the dragon movement to protect his illicit ventures. My own failure to be at home more and see to the defence and vigilance of my kingdom...'

'That is wise my King. It is with time that we'll learn of the names we can truly hold accountable. In the meanwhile we must prepare for the coming of the dragons,' said Hathai.

Anka nodded. 'Agreed, someone will pay in time, if they are found to be knowingly involved with the dragons - but let's put that aside for the moment... I would rather hear about your whereabouts Hathai, what has driven you away that you can only return to me now?'

'We needed to hide my King. To isolate ourselves for a time from a magical danger,' began Hathai as he sought to explain their absence.

'How so?' asked Anka.

'In days now long past, one of our very best, Bhask here, got ensnared by the power of the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim's power was of such a nature that it would have exploited our spiritual bond with each other. There was no choice but to enter a living dream, isolating ourselves from all reality, an emergency measure of our deepest magic, of which all the Wolves partook except for Bhask, as he is the afflicted one. If not for our action, we would have risked our secrets to the Pilgrim, and maybe our very souls.'

'Do you know what happened to Bhask prior to this?' asked Anka, hoping to give Bhask the opportunity to exonerate himself.

'No.'

Bhask stepped forward, looking weary. 'A woman I loved was murdered. It turned me onto a dark path...' Bhask explained his tale to his order in apology, the big man's gaze often searching the floor in shame.

'But you are here now? Is it safe now to be returned?' Anka asked Hathai.

Hathai nodded. 'When Bhask walked the mountain, his spirit was cleansed from the worst part of the curse. As it is now, it will not affect his brothers, unless he does something to enflame it again.'

'So no killing?' sighed the King.

'Do you wish for Bhask to cede from the Order?' asked Hathai.

'That is quite alright. I understand. Men sometimes fall. Bhask has gone through the worst life sometimes has to offer, and I have a feeling we are going to need men who can survive worse still. Not so long ago I remembered you guarding a mountain pass unwaveringly in the face of many foes. I do not doubt your loyalty. Besides, we will need every able warrior we can get to contest the dragons.'

Hathai shifted uncomfortably. 'Bhask's curse could not have subsided at a more critical time. We returned King, desperately, knowing that Attoras is in grave peril. The dragons will come, regardless of empty promises some other politicians will make claiming otherwise. The dragons have grown increasingly bold and in the Grand Dragon called Syro'gash, they have found a leader like they never had before. '

Anka nodded. 'I'm afraid it is my House's fault that the dragons are as powerful as they are now,' said Anka.

'We tried to warn your father-king that the stone must not fall within dragon claws. What I failed to say to your father back then, was that they will garner all the knowledges of the world and we as men cannot compete with their magic now that they have the advantages we have. My realization however came too late,' said Hathai.

Though they had discussed many grave things, his meeting with the Wolves had pleased Anka greatly. They had put aside so many fears, including that he had lost his Wolves forever, and that it was his fault they disappeared to begin with. To finally understand why they had stayed away, even if it were because of Bhask's misdeed, put him at ease.

Yet Salstasha's departure came to him again and stayed with him, causing malaise over the next two days, until he was doing nothing productive but wandering around and staring out of windows as though a hazy horizon would somehow betray Salstasha's wellbeing. The last window he stopped at, facing north, he did not move until he had somewhat of a crowd behind him; Kenilla, deBella, Gibbon and Dieral, all of them looking concerned at the King, trying to distract him with some matter or another.

'My King, while you're standing there doing nothing, maybe we should go get a drink?'

'Not today Kenilla.'

'Oh ye gods and little horses!' cried Gibbon. 'The King must certainly be downtrodden if he has forsaken the ales of Attoras.'

'That's _ye gods and little fishes_ , Marshal Gibbon,' Kenilla corrected the man. 'And yes the King is very heartbroken.'

Ignoring them Anka looked forlornly from the tower window, out toward the north-east. The snows were coming and they were coming fast, white fluff already blowing into town, but more telling, a vast overcast that he knew since his childhood days, one that stretched over much of the continent, and never failed to deliver on the promise of winter.

'They should've ridden earlier,' said Anka worryingly to himself. 'Maybe I must send additional men after them to ensure they don't get stuck at Paracharae. _No that is crazy... the men they have is enough._

He was battling his fear that the snows will fall shut the passes to Rostrad. That of course had to compete with his longing for Salstasha. Things had just started looking good between them. But sending her home wasn't negotiable, not with the dragons targeting Attoras. _Unless she gets stuck in the snows._

Anka swung away from the window. 'I'm going about in circles here!'

'Driving yourself crazy your Highness?' asked Kenilla, as though it wasn't very obvious.

'Yes. I cannot help but worry. The snows are coming fast.'

'They will make it. You have good men with her that can ride hard all day.'

Anka nodded, agreeing, because if he didn't he would not have rest for his soul.

The next morning came with more evidence of a storm upon the mountain, and more and more snow that systematically hit the continent. An overcast day greeted them, the sky woollen and the winds slamming shut doors left opened.

The town alarm went up, and Anka, already not dealing well with his worries, felt a disquiet come over him. By the time he made it to the nearest wall, he saw a lone rider coming through town with a black flag. The man from this distance appeared beyond ragged, but Anka saw him wearing the colours and armour of Attoras - one of the men he had sent with the Lady Salstasha. His dread could not be greater. Faster than any sane man would, he rushed through the castle confines, knocking through more than one door and ornament. Kenilla and Gibbon were on his heels because of the commotion. Outside, it was Merohan riding toward them, a bewildered look on his face, his helmet lost, his tabard stained with both blood and soot.

'Dragons! Dragons!' he cried hoarsely, his throat constricted. 'They attacked us, and their worshippers too! We fought my King, as best we could, and sought to escape their wrath doing so, but they got all of us. They scattered us and the company is now dead!'

'WHERE IS SALSTASHA!?' roared the King.

Merohan flinched, and jumped from his horse, revealing behind him a lifeless figure, wrapped in a giant brown cloak so that one could not see much of her.

'I brought her my King! In the blast I somehow managed to get to her where she had fell, and by some mercy got her on my horse and away. But she sustained terrible wounds! She was caught up in the dragon fire!'

Anka stood with his mouth agape, his face fallen and his eyes glassed over.

'I - I rode as hard as I could my King!' he whimpered, the man clearly beyond exhaustion. 'You were the only thing she talked about my King. She considered coming back...' That last bit Merohan said in way as though the soldier was telling Anka of Salstasha's last living moments.

But Anka didn't hear then. His heart had almost stopped, and fear wiped out most of his composure. With a lunge he moved in, and undid the bind that held Salstasha upright, swinging her off and into his arms. The tiniest tremor let him know she was still alive, but she was not conscious, not in any sensible way. Running with her he was back into the castle, heading to the infirmary, again being followed by an ever increasing crowd.

'Joshua! Joshua!' he cried in command, the old disciple turning away from his current query in shock.

'Joshua tend to her, tend to her now!' he said laying Salstasha down on the first available bed. 'You must heal her now!' Anka had gathered a concerned crowd around him, as Joshua hovered over her. Joshua peeled back the cloth, and inspected her in a few quiet moments. There was a terrible fever on her, and seeing her flesh so burned was more than Anka could bear.

Joshua looked up at Anka, his eyes wide. 'I'm sorry my King, but no powers within these halls, combined or not, will save her, the magic within the dragon's magic has seeped into her body... she cannot be healed...not by any power on this world... I can but lessen the pain, I am very sorry...'

That brought a wail to Anka's lips.

Pushing everyone aside roughly, Anka lifted her in his arms again, her figure so limp in the cloak. He turned and then stormed back out, ignoring a hundred protestations, and so many hands that tried to keep him in check. He brushed past all of that, pushing over a person flying through the halls, toward the back of the castle.

_There is one place..._ Anka was outside already, by the pool, going past it, and going toward the mountain.

_There is one place... where this world... crosses another,_ he thought in desperation. The ground was now uneven and then suddenly rocky appeared crags where the mountain was rooted. _There is a place on the mountain , a place where the magic - where the Seluin light, returns to its source._

'Hold on for me,' said Anka, and then it was he and Dunnoom, the King going up into the giant, challenging the slope, with Salstasha in his arms, and running as fast as a man could with another person in his arms. He left behind the many who called him back for his insanity, going into Dunnoom in its fiercest state.

His boots hitting the base of the mountain, he mentally braced himself for what would a bitter trek, so much worse for the pace at which he would need to do it. But it was for Salstasha and he wished he could snatch her back from her fate; she must've been in world of pain, a land somewhere between the living and dead, that allowed no coherent fought or any kind of human strength because of the tremendous shock on her body. What she must've gone through, and was still going through.

He flew through the first half mile, but the incline got worse and the trails got narrower. The snows laid thicker and thicker, his boots sinking farther through.

He ploughed on, as fast as he could, becoming deathly tired himself, but so determined that every besieged moment was met by hell-bent determination on being oblivious to pain. The footing was either slippery rock, or more likely, trenches of snows, every determined stride yielding little progress as the shelves of ice crumbled under Anka's boots, bringing him down one step from every three he took.

'Hold on for me Salstasha, hold on,' he stuttered, swerving around the rocks protruding like great spears, the trails so pitiful, not at all made for a climber in a rush. And the snows fell. And the wind came. His cloak almost rigid behind him in the torrent that streamed down at him, his gaze almost blinded by the growing onslaught, running the trail at times more on memory than sight. The Lady was not a significant load, but over a period of time it was enough to feel like his muscles were ripping from the bone, and the bones from their sockets. Had he not healed his chest just the other day, the cold wind would have stricken him there and then. All the same, he was likely to die with Salstasha today.

He was a mile up. Seeing a marker laid centuries before to commemorate the first mile climbed. It was a despairing reminder that Anka was still far off, and he was already set to collapse. The underside of his boot slipped on a smooth rock, and doing his best not to drop Salstasha, he had no recourse but having his knee strike down on the cold hard stone. He cried out. The very sound of bone against the mountain made him think he had shattered his knee cap, or at least torn the ligaments. He gave it a few seconds for the pain to ebb away and he felt confident enough that he would be able to move. With the snow pestering him he put up his hood, to keep it out of his eyes, although his vision now narrowed.

Cumbersomely he drew himself upright without letting go of her, so very relieved that when he put weight on his leg, nothing was amiss.

He felt exalted as his right leg continued on without too much pain. His knee was fine, or his body did not care. He didn't give it further thought.

'Hold on,' he whispered again, his voice lost in the wind, not sure if had said that to himself or the still figure in his arms.

Many times he stumbled, each time barely keeping his balance, sometimes only saved by his boot finding rock after the snow gave way so treacherously under his stout movements.

He moved slower and slower and then his progress came to an end.

A gust of overpowering wind came running down the mountain passage, so strong that only Anka's boots planted deep in snow kept him from tumbling backwards. He took shelter behind a high standing rock for a moment, the wind howling tenaciously on, and he waited for that sound to subside before continuing on. The problem was how the wind-drift was funnelling through the passage ahead, rushing as a stream of bitter cold air directly down on them, populated with snows and ice. Standing there, he felt his own strength and warmth stripped from his body. He waited.

But he realized then that this was the eternal breath of the mountain. It would not stop. Not until it was too late. She didn't have much time, and soon, neither would he.

He looked to the north, peeking past the shelter of his rock. Maybe he shouldn't have looked. Toward the greater peaks of the north the winter god's footsteps rained down on the mountain, Oludunar's Southerly Stride in evidence and in full force, coming down in progressive waves of snow like a crescendo, systematically crushing everything on the mountain under its downpour. Anka knew it was coming fast; the storm would only get worse. He had to move, and yet felt frozen.

On his haunches, resting her on his knees so that his arms may rest a little, he brought one hand up, and peeled back the cloth covering her face.

She was barely recognizable, the dragon's flames having wrought so much damage, but the outline of her face were still there, and seeing her like that, every last sense of self-preservation left him - and he surged back to his feet at the thought at hearing Salstasha's voice, healthy and alive. And he went right into Oludunar's Southerly Stride, up against the blizzard, his strides as giant as he could make them, as sure-footed as someone knowing it was his last chance, and as persistent as someone who knew that stopping at any point of the slope would mean defeat - a bit slower than he were, or a stumbling foot would carry him down, this time without hope of recovery. He hastened, furious now, his own breaths ringing in his ears, pushing against the resistance of the storm, his head pounding, his body begging for respite.

Again his foot slipped, this time a shelve of snow crumbling terrifically, and right then he knew he would be carried down thirty feet or more. Crushing Salstasha to his chest with one arm, his other arm flung out to catch protruding rock, flailing his legs so that he could swing himself back onto the trail, immediately scooping Salstasha back into two arms. He was up and away, at last finding a switchback route where he knew the plateau was waiting just at its conclusion. That last end, he made by grit alone.

Oludunar's Southerly Stride came at him in the end-part, catching him from the north as the King and Salstasha seemingly disappeared under the snow dumped on them. But the King had out-raced its worst effects, where he stood, even though he needed to plough a bit, the snow could no longer carry him away or bar him.

He reached the plateau that rested between two peaks, a little enclave, the slope finally interrupted by the oddly round-shaped clearing. He laid her down and just a second he caught his breath, which were dreadful solace in this thin frigid air. Focussing, Anka lifted the hood from his face. Ahead, a ceremonial stone slab waited, standing but two feet from the ground. Here, many years ago, they had found that the magic of Evrelyn harmonized best at this spot, more than any other place on and around Dunnoom. Here, the gift of the heavens that ran within the waters was strongest. He picked her up one last time, crossing the distance to the slab and laid her down on it, feeling both relieve and terrible fear that he was too late.

She seemed so lifeless.

He fell to his knees as though in prayer. He removed his gloves, and poured icy cold waters over his hands. If not for the magic he would have succumbed to frostbite then. He said a prayer in his head and a incantation was on his lips. With him looking down on Salstasha, he spread his arms straight out to his sides, his hands clenched in fists, and the Seluin waters then glowed as bright as stars within his grasp. With a cry he threw his head back, amassing everything he could. From the two stars he clenched in his fists, shot forth two perfect beams of light, straight up, like magnificent wires, rocketing skywards and seen by everybody, going so high that it surpassed even the peak of Dunnoom, and soon connected the heavens with the King. Whatever flurry of snows touched the spectacle became roped into the spell and added to it.

He had never wielded the power as he did that day, and he was well aware that in the process he was hopelessly expending his own lifeforce. But he was ready to die, giving everything was not in question. What he had used to heal himself in court was but a fraction of the power he summoned here.

Some unknown strength came down then, a vortex of wind surrounding them, cocooning the beams of light, deafening and fierce, but almost in a protective way as the snows whirled. And some of the snows blossomed into a faint glow, as though set alight and drifted down upon Salstasha, bathing her cloaked figure in a last light of hope.

Anka knew he had done what he could, the spell suddenly ended, as he was sucked dry, blinded by his own light so that his surroundings blurred. The wires reaching the heavens were gone. He reached down, but his vision so disoriented he could not even find her with his hands.

With no idea of what achieved, pain and fatigue came over him from spending too much, and he fell backwards, too tired even to cushion his fall. He drifted in and out of consciousness, waiting for a power of will that would not come. By the fourth time his eyes slowly opened as he lay on the ground, he saw his men catching up to him, many of them having followed him into the mountain. Maybe they were just dreams, or phantoms. He let go, drifting into darkness, knowing he could not do anymore for Salstasha's sake, or his own.
Chapter 11

### Unlikely Allies

Anka woke a day later, and all that had happened rushed back to him in a manner that quickly discarded that first few moments of disorientation. He was up, throwing off what felt like a dozen blankets or more. In his own room he blasted through the door and past a very confounded guard.

'I'm not supposed to let my Lord down the stairs without help!' cried the guard, following in the King's wake.

Not allowing any thought of what outcome his actions had brought about, Anka headed into the infirmary, disturbing its peace for a second time in two days.

'Where is she?' he demanded of Joshua, finally finding him.

The surprised look on Joshua's face made Anka dread for a second.

'She is... alive my King!' he stuttered, pointing to a room.

He left Joshua right there, swerving around him to Salstasha's room.

But deBella waited there like a guard and she stopped the King firmly. He was not to proceed and she looked ready to pull him back on the ear if he did.

'I need to see her,' said the King.

'She has suffered a great ordeal and I don't want anyone waking her up just so that they can feel better.'

'She is alive?' pressed Anka.

A look of sympathy came over deBella's face. 'You love her so, come quietly King, but do not disturb her peace.'

Anka and deBella treaded softly into her room which was dark and stunk of so many ointments that would have been used for her burns. In the gloom, Anka could just make out her fragile figure on the bed.

He saw her chest rising where she lay and deBella stopped him before he could draw any closer. 'Come now, you've seen what you've needed to see.' Anka did not leave the room without tears, his own being still emotionally exhausted if nothing else. But he was thankful above all else.

'Get some rest Anka' said deBella, 'she is going to be fine, thanks to you. I promise you I will look after her every moment until she up,' she patted his arm.

He went out into the hall. Anka felt like he couldn't rest at a time like this, and then, just like that, a bout of exhaustion came over him. It was easier succumbing to it, the image of her alive coming to him again, tears of relieve still warm on his cheeks. He sat down, uneasy and dizzy, almost feeling delirious. It was a few moments before any semblance of strength came back to him.

Suddenly Kenilla was standing over him, but Anka had no idea whether his Steward might have been standing there for some time.

'You are some piece of work my King.'

Anka looked up wearily. 'Not now Kenilla.'

Kenilla sat down next to him on the floor. 'You could have died yourself, and left us kingless, but I guess that was not a worry to you.'

'Should it have been?'

'No, you did what you had to do. That light, the whole town saw it, and even some of the rangers in the forests. We had a hard time explaining it, many taking it as a bad omen. Hallin was telling everyone he was sure it was the rapture.'

Anka chortled. 'I am sorry I caused such a stir.'

'That is quite alright King. Only, I would ask you to keep the heroics to a minimum and rest. Even you have your limits.'

'Agreed, and I am feeling them,' the King assured Kenilla.

The Steward stood up and offered a hand to help the King back to his feet.

Anka himself had a hard time recovering, his trek up the mountain and the magic he had used having taken more out of him than what he had first guessed when he woke. But he often asked on Salstasha's condition, even if it meant he had to send a soldier as messenger to deBella while he himself was indisposed. It was both exhaustion and worry that affected him. A couple of days passed in this manner.

That she was not waking up, brought up fears that despite her wounds being healed, the dragon magic had seeped too deep within her.

Then one day a soldier was sent up to carry the King a message, entering as Anka was lazily working over a couple of charters, his progress painfully slow on account of divided attentions.

'What is it?' asked the King, the man looking quite pale and unsure.

The soldier gathered himself. 'The Lady Salstasha has woken my King.'

'Then why are you standing there looking like a ghost?'

'Because the Lady deBella has said that I... well, my Lord, "under no circumstance are you to storm the infirmary. We are cleaning up the Lady, bandaging her, and we'll see if we can get something in her stomach. She is looking quite alright but is weak. Please stay away." That was her words Highness, not mine.'

Anka smiled, expelling a breath in relieve. 'That is the best news anyone has given me soldier, thank you, take the rest of the day off.'

The man saluted, 'my King.'

Anka waited out the next two days even more impatiently, but with more hope and energy than before.

She surprised him in the garden, before he could go to her. Overcoming his astonishment he moved to meet her halfway, having spotted her on the other side just as she emerged, walking slowly and carefully, as though still very frail.

She looked pale, wore many bandages, and her hair was now cut short, barely making it to her jaw-line. The greatest damage to her body however was a faint memory, the healing light having reversed most of the burn wounds. There were a few burnmarks though that would probably last, the most obvious being the one on her face, the scarring of which looked like a tiny trail of tears below her left eye that had warped the skin. But she was smiling and the light in her eyes made Anka thank the stars for the healing hands of his House.

'I thought we'd lost you,' said Anka.

'Sorry for all the trouble, maybe I should have stayed,' she said coyly.

He could not help but smile a little.

'Thank you Anka, deBella told me what you did,' she said, suddenly turning serious.'

'Don't concern yourself over it... Were you awake during all of it?'

Anka immediately regretted the question, not wanting to bring up her trauma, but she answered all the same.

'I do remember parts of it, although it only made sense to me afterwards as deBella explained it. The cold on my skin was already such an unpleasant experience, but it was nothing compared to the pain, and the horror of some parts of my body feeling nothing at all, as if my skin was a hide and my flesh destroyed.'

Anka reached out and took her hand. 'I am sorry this had happen to you. In many ways I feel responsible.'

She shook her head, closing her eyes.

She was momentarily unsteady, falling forward and steadying herself on Anka.

'Are you in pain now?' asked Anka worryingly as he held her by the arms.

She smiled slightly. 'I feel weak and a little ginger, but I am quite alright.' She did not pull away, and looked up at him. Burnmarks or no, she was still the most beautiful creature Anka had ever seen. 'Why did you do it?' she asked softly. He did not answer

He pulled her close very gently, holding her on the small of her back and for a mere moment their faces were hairbreadths apart as they took in one another. Their lips brushed.

He kissed her as gently as he could and she rose on her toes just so slightly to return it. They stood perfectly still, just that caress of lips ruling them, a faint breeze wrapping around them as though shielded in their own little world at the time.

'There. You have some colour in your cheeks now,' said Anka, not nearly as smooth as he intended.

She looked up with a smile. 'Speak for yourself...' she said. 'Now I'm lightheaded as well,' she added with a lift of her eyebrows as though that was now Anka's fault.

He chuckled and offered her his arm as he escorted her back inside.

Walking her back to the infirmary, he felt a sense of exhilaration, but he soon wondered if he'd ambushed her then in a fragile state.

But that worry was put aside for the moment. Before she entered the little room, she turned swiftly and she gave him a last kiss. Just a swift kiss, but when he walked the corridor alone, the sensation lingered with him, and opened in his mind a resolve that seemed to fill every fibre of him. He could see it now. It was not just a kingdom he had to fight for, but the woman he wanted more than anything else, and because of that, should the dragons ever come, they would find an enemy that was unrelenting.

The hardest part of Salstasha's recovery was still ahead of her. Anka had to keep himself from going to her then, his reason as to give her time to find her feet and recover from the ordeal. He knew though there was something else at play, a fear that what had happened between them had been something momentary, or something that simply happened when two people survived what they did, and sought solace in each other.

He had seen her only once then, bringing her a small bushel of flowers to the infirmary, but he had caught her at a bad time, having just bathed and deBella administering ointments before bandaging parts of her up again. He had but waved briefly in her direction as she sat on the bed, and she returned it, but he had to leave it for another day.

In the meanwhile he set out to investigate the man Salstasha had previously warned him about, her suspicions labelling him a traitor. Henesker was the man's name, the alleged contact of the Hamenra cousins. Wanting swift action, Anka ordered him to be brought to the castle.

Anka saw him come in with a Wolf dragging him on each arm. Already the Wolves instilled such a fear by that imagery, that the town was soon whispering of the man brought before the King in hushed tones.

This all happened now with word that the House of Hamenra had followed Salstasha's lead and left Attoras in all haste to return to Rostrad. Only, they had done so in complete secrecy, which Anka found odd given their tenacity just the other day in winning Attoras over for themselves.

Anka would let Henesker stew a bit in a holding cell before beginning interrogation. He had absolutely no stomach for torture, so he would rely on outright fear to get the man talking.

Little did the King know that capturing Henesker would put in place another plan of his entirely.

Anka was sitting quietly, wondering if he could visit Salstasha. They had not discussed their situation after all. The King of course hoped for the best, but he could not be sure. He feared that if he went to her, she would tell him that it was all a momentary thing. _Maybe I should just go to her and get it over with._

The thought was interrupted, the alarm on the walls sounding.

'What now?' uttered Anka, feeling that both he and the town had had enough excitement in the last few days.

A second alarm went up, bells ringing, this one rarely used, only in drills in fact, as it was meant to signal the coming of flying enemies.

Before Anka could think it many men who also recognized the peal cried 'dragons!' and rushed out onto the battlements. Anka was among them, a sword in his hands, but wishing he had Erenciel with him.

Readying in formation the guard all stood searching the skies, the flock of silhouettes circling closer in the open blue sky. Their outline became more apparent, and by the shape of them - their wings and their riders - they were not dragons. They were not the enemy.

A horn went up from the riders of the griffins, trumpeting resolutely to let everyone know they were not invading this land.

Dread turned to awe for the men on the walls, and where they tried to prevent any kind of landing just a moment before, they now cleared an area for the griffins to find purchase on the battlements.

It seemed impossible that they could plummet from the heavens with such silence, just like an owl hunting in the night, leaving no illusion that they were predators supreme in the open skies, coming in with such speeds it looked like they were intent on crashing against the castle walls. It was a much more chilling show of force than had they come here with eagle cries and men blaring trumpets in the sky as was reputedly done sometimes. Of course touching down the Knights encircled Anka's entourage and the griffins landed with an inevitable commotion and sweeping winds kicked up by their twenty foot wingspans - and then came the eagle cries that had their ears ringing. With billowing blue cloaks the imperious-looking Knights dismounted their griffins, the rest of them as always covered in polished plate armour that gleamed silver in the brightness of the day.

A more regal creature than the griffins there was probably not. Their very proportions seemed to accentuate the best features of them; the eagle heads, the wingspans and the fearsome claws, the short tail feathers a bit of a an afterthought, but still a crucial finish to a creature that was perhaps the master of the skies.

All of the Allandiel-bred birds had white underbellies, which complimented whatever colour the rest of their bodies were coated with. Anka was partial to the rustic maroon coloured bird, some of its oily feathers blazing bronze when the light caught it right.

There were at least thirty of them, more than Anka had ever seen at one time.

The King had to try and get the measure these men in a very short time, as the leader among them was not apparent immediately. The only man he recognized from years before was Gremhalden, a famous knight and veteran of many conflicts, but it seemed he reported to another man with dark hair, young but with a serious face. This man had stood back, doing exactly what Anka did, not drawing attention to himself.

'You told us there were no other Wolves! You said there was only one!' said a Knight in anger, turning on his commander. He was a blond man, tall and good-looking, but his face was twisted in dismay.

There were murmurs echoing the blond Knight's sentiment.

'Quiet down men,' said the dark haired commander of the Knights, 'it would be unreasonable to think that the Wolves had disappeared from the face of the earth.'

A more tense gathering was probably not possible, both the Knights and Wolves smelling on each other the inherent believe that one was a superior fighting force over the other. Distrust and enmity would come naturally. But the leader at least seemed untouched by it and approached Anka diplomatically.

Anka made his observations, since he had suspected a different leader. Gremhalden was a seasoned Knight, famous, if not entirely suited to a commanding position. Still, for the young Knight to be named captain over one such as Gremhalden was quite something, especially seeing that Gremhalden did not show any enmity toward him for that fact. Strangely, Anka thought they were going to be very fortunate - he was not sure yet, but he got the impression that this Knight was a man he could reason with.

'King Anka,' the man bowed. 'I am A'luon, Knight-Marshal of Allandiel and commander of the Knights of the west. I must apologize for the intrusion.'

'No matter,' said Anka amicably. 'Send word next time, and we will have a feast both for you and the birds to celebrate such a rare visit.'

A'luon allowed a polite smile to linger on his face for only a second, reverting to a mask of business. 'Our reason for such a sudden appearance however is a grave matter.'

Anka said nothing, indicating A'luon should continue.

'You have taken a man in your custody recently,' was all A'luon offered.

'Ah, _Henesker_. Yes, I believe he is marked as a conspirator content with sowing discord in my country. We want to see if this lead comes to reveal some of the more questionable acts perpetrated toward my demise. Is he a concern of yours?' asked Anka.

'Henesker has... an accomplice for the lack of a better word, a right hand man. When they took Henesker the accomplice were present and cleared away before he too could be taken as a suspect. Afterwards he let us know that no else than Bhask himself led the raid. That of course got our attentions.'

'But you knew he was here did you not?' asked Anka.

We heard rumours and were in the area, but we did not want to act on that alone. Neither did we want to enter here rudely while Attoras is going through a tumultuous time. We care for the stability of the realm after all. Our presence can be interpreted in many ways, and we would not want to be seen influencing something as delicate as a council of kings.'

'So what has changed now?' asked Anka, narrowing his eyes.

'Well, right or wrong, Henesker's man insisted that the King was taking out allies of the Hamenra family. More pressingly what informed our decision to pursue this, was Bhask himself being involved in this supposed political hunt.'

'Well seeing that I am not up to interrogating Henesker, and you are masters at it, I will open my holdings cells to you and you may have as much time with Henesker as you need.'

'That would be agreeable, but I must caution your Highness that we will not take any particular side until we know more of the situation.'

Anka offered a smile, 'either way I'm glad that you came. No doubt you have heard of a dragon invasion. That will render those of who care for the fate of the north on the same side regardless of what you find.'

'We have, which is all the more reason we could no longer stay away watching from afar. Though we are not likely to be drawn into any kind of conflict, we would like to be of value to ensure the future of Attoras.'

'I also have critical information that you need to know – must know, before you make any decisions. My halls are open to you and your men. I insist you stay, if only we discuss the future of Attoras,' said Anka.

'That's all fine and well King...' said the blond Knight, stepping forward, 'but first we must attend to the matter of Bhask the Wolf. That is why we are here after all. I am Egriss, Captain of the Silverwings, and by the authority of Allandiel and his Holiness Grandmaster Rammas, I place under arrest Bhask of Dordeleen.'

Anka looked at Egriss coldly and then back to A'luon.

'We'll put the hunt aside for the moment Egriss. As the King says: we might soon have much greater problems facing us than a single bounty. Moreover, I feel that we must allow the Wolves for the time being and welcome their return. They alone might be a force against dragons.'

'I answer to the Crimson City before I do to you,' started Egriss angrily. 'You are overreaching on your mandate here Knight-Marshal and creating an unsanctioned alliance with a force the Crimson City considers disastrous for the stability of the west!'

'I am in my full right doing this,' said A'luon.

'And I am within mine seeking to bring justice to the most wanted man in all the land.'

'The crimes you speak of, the ones at Fergro Hollow, I was witness to them, but I did not commit them,' said Bhask calmly.

'That is not our account, and I will not take your word for it. You have certainly killed innocence in the past. In Dordeleen...'

'I killed a rapist.'

'Will you come quietly?' asked A'luon, 'I will not hassle your brethren for your misdeeds. You have my word.'

'Will I get a trial? Held to an orb of truth so that my name can be cleared?' asked Bhask.

A'luon remained quiet at first. 'The Bishops do not believe the orbs are effective against your kind.'

'Then no.'

'Very well. We will settle this by swords Wolf. I will slay you here and fly your head back to the Crimson City,' said Egriss.

'That is not an option,' stepped in King Anka. 'My Wolf carries a curse that is strengthened whenever he kills. We need to rehabilitate him, lest the curse spreads to his brethren because of the bond they share. If you care for Attoras you will not let it go this way, because I need my Wolves to stand against the dragon might!'

'No problem. Then he will stand still, not defending himself, and I will run him through!' said Egriss.

'Maybe we should reconsider our options Egriss. With the dragons bearing down...' started A'luon.

'I do not care for your lenient way A'luon. Under you as long as someone can be used as a tool you will suffer them no matter what sin lays upon them.'

'It has not crossed your mind that I fear for my brethren's well-being?' asked A'luon.

'Fear for yourself, I will cut down this Wolf!'

In an air as tense as it could be, there was silence, Egriss drawing his sword, Bhask defenceless.

Anka feared Bhask was going to give his life rather than further the curse by killing Egriss.

'I will fight on my brother's behalf,' came a calm, ominous voice. Forward stepped Taggandus and all eyes turned on him.

'You slay me; Bhask surrenders himself to you, escorted back alive to Allandiel so that you can get the full praise of capturing a Wolf. You can even deny him trail. If I win, well, let the rest of you know what we are,' said Taggandus.

'Egriss, you must know one thing! If you go down this path we will not honour avenging you should you fall. You are alone in this!' urged A'luon.

Egriss swung to A'luon, 'have some faith brother, I will show up this myth of the Wolves today.' The Knight ordered space about him, a circle formed that would serve as the duelling grounds. He seemed animated at the prospect of battle and the Knight-Marshall knew there was no stopping him.

A'luon in his worry came to Anka's shoulder and said quietly: 'Egriss is the best sword within the Knighthood, a bloodhound maybe, but a Knight exceptional in duels, both in technical bouts and fights to the death. How good is Taggandus, really?'

Anka did not meet A'luon's gaze, just shaking his head grimly.

A'luon could know what that meant, but he had a pit in his stomach. There was not a man in this clearing that was not a fearsome warrior by any standard, but the minute Taggandus had stepped forward his aura had become evident. Bhask was bigger and stronger, but Taggandus seemed to possess a grace and killer instinct that would have the world wait until he plunged his blade.

'This is going to be a good day! I get to kill one Wolf, and as a prize bring another to justice!' said Egriss, now hungry for blood, swinging about his sword in anticipation.

His sword was one of the finest in the company. Anka judged this without having to carry the blade himself. Even standing some distance from Egriss, the King made his observations, impressed by the weapon. It was a cutlass, fashioned to the properties of a rapier. The hilt had a crossguard, and also indentations perfectly moulded to Egriss' grip, which was very important for a weapon like this - heavy, but suited for single-hand combat. Only the one edge was tapered, the other side blunt and straight, providing the weight and strength of the blade so that the edge could fall with power. Where the straight and tapered edge met, was the point shaped like a small razor blade. This sword could run a man through as easily as opening up a man's belly; it was a thrusting and slicing weapon.

'Where is your armour?' growled Gremhalden from side, at Taggandus, as though he expected underhandedness by someone who did not wear any. Gremhalden looked weary, but Egriss did not seem to share his caution.

'The gods of war wondered long what they would give me in life, pondering over their armoury. Realizing that no blade or arrow would kill me, they decided on but two swords,' Taggandus spoke very boldly.

When Taggandus pulled out the blades, they were simple enough; fine quality silver-steel, short and deadly sharp, leaf-like around the edge. But they were but lightweight extensions of his arms, providing an attack without great range, dependent on the Wolf's fast movements to close the gap, and a defence that lacked the sheer substance of heavier swords, and so dependent on the technical skill of Taggandus.

This very observation made Egriss immediately strike overhead, in a clinical fashion but still with rage, hoping to push through the smaller blades of the Wolf right then and there and end the fight early. Taggandus swerved to his left and batted Egriss's sword from its trajectory, only just escaping its edge. With his second blade Taggandus sent a slash that forced Egriss to retreat. The moment Egriss started backtracking, Taggandus advanced forward, his statuesque poise suddenly unravelling into a series of attacks flung at the Knight, pushing Egriss back as he only raised his defence in the nick of time, not doing well with twin blades coming from all angles. Knowing he couldn't retreat forever, Egriss expertly ducked into the attack, catching the slice on the shoulder pauldron. With Taggandus' momentum halted, Egriss threw his sword from the hip.

For just a second it seemed that Egriss' sword was going to cleave right through whatever came first, steel or flesh. Taggandus swayed and batted away the last bit of chance of Egriss scoring. The Wolf made half a show of retreating, baiting the Knight into attack. And his attack came, with zeal, but the retreat was an illusion. Not giving an inch of ground Taggandus seemingly turned to his left shoulder, his blades flashing to intercept that of Egriss on every turn, and then sent a riposte that scraped across Egriss' breastplate. Egriss did not flinch by the Wolf's intimidation and pressed on.

The crowd stood further open as the two men raged, Anka feeling then that he should have done more to not let the matter escalate to this. He had faith in Taggandus's abilities. Egriss did not worry him at all. Rather, he was scanning the other Knights, seeing in particular one man whose hand drifted too close to the hilt of his sword. Anka feared that if one man rushed in it would become an all-out fight between Knights and Wolves. A'luon also saw what the King saw, and without saying anything, he moved quietly to the man who looked ready to jump in. Very gently, A'luon took the man's arm in restraint, letting him know that intervening was not an option, lest it be at the displeasure of his leader.

But that man had merely been a diversion. A Knight that stood stock still on the other side of the circle rushed in just as Taggandus's back was exposed.

No one cried in alarm, Taggandus already pivoting toward the interloper as though he had known about him all along. He sent a high feint toward him and then ducked underneath the Knight's sword, spinning tactically so that he had the attacker between himself and Egriss, blocking off the superior of the two Knights.

He then rushed the already unsure Knight, meeting his steel with two swift blows before sending him to the ground as he drove his shoulder into his stomach, and with the most inconspicuous cut disabled the man's left leg with a slice above the kneecap. Pushing past the falling man, Taggandus leapt forward at Egriss like an animal not satisfied with its solitary victim, and as he spread his arms he seemed to gain extra height as he bore down at the Knight. Egriss was ready to meet him with wild swings of his sword, but it was plain he was on the defence now, his strokes lacking the earlier power as hesitation entered his movements, weary of the blades moving faster than the eye could follow.

In a clinical display of the blend of blades, Taggandus caught and deflected Egriss's attack almost on his back as his trailing sword covered his exposed side just in time, and with his momentum coming around the other blade licked out, this time catching Egriss on the throat, a river of blood spilling into his armour and his hand going vainly to his wound.

Taggandus had not even seen Egriss go down as he turned his attentions back on the other man, the one that lay hamstrung.

Before Taggandus could land another fatal blow, Gremhalden flew in, and flashed his sword up and down to ward off two probing stabs from Taggandus. The Knight was immensely skilled, his grizzled face was locked in an intense look that knew he was up against a faster enemy. Taggandus turned the heavier blade away however, using both his swords. He did not respond in attack, his instincts telling him Gremhalden had merely sought to save his companion and nothing more. The two men's eyes were locked. 'That is enough Wolf, no one here doubts your quality. Enough blood has been spilt,' growled Gremhalden.

Taggandus straightened, and let his swords hang at his sides, the entirety of the crowd relieved and stunned all at once.

'Take care of your dead,' he said.

The Knights did exactly that. Two of them flying off with Egriss's body to burn him on a hill. Anka would offer him no burial, nor would the man have wanted to be laid to rest in the home of the Wolves. The King however spared a thought for the now riderless griffin. Even if Egriss had been the worst of the Knights, Anka understood that a bond must exist between man and beast for the griffin to tolerate a rider.

As for the others, they took up the King's offer to interrogate Henesker. Anka showed them the way and left them to their own devices once they were in the dungeons. He trusted A'luon would be a fair judge of whatever information he got from the man. While the Knight-Marshall was busy with that, Anka arranged lodgings for the Knight and their griffins, hoping to make it of such a nature that they would be inclined to stay as long as necessary. Also to that end, Anka decided to have a feast, a big meal for his guests to get some kind of good standing between the Knights and Attoras.

It also felt right, or at least necessary, after the Knighthood had lost a brother. Anka however was not going to have the entirety of his Wolves sit with them, in fear of another conflict.

It was a weary squad of Knights that trudged into the King's dining hall, and Anka hoped that a combination of wine, good food, company and fine lighting would lift some spirits.

Salstasha herself were in attendance. She entered so carefully although she was the last person Anka would bar from coming. He felt both excitement and trepidation then. She sat herself down at the other end, with Kenilla, deBella and Naceus. 'I finally feel a healthy appetite return to me, so you'll have to excuse me if I have my fill tonight \- I haven't eaten properly in so long,' she said to Kenilla and the others.

'Then cheers to your good health my Lady! And if you so wish, you can have my share if it puts some strength into you,' said Naceus.

'That won't be necessary,' said Kenilla, 'Master Ramone prides himself on preparing a table that not even a squad of Knights can eat through.' They laughed, poured some wine, and chatted while waiting on the food.

Salstasha looked tentatively at Anka once, and he wished he were in a position that he could lavish attention on her then, at the very least to see where the two of them stood. But the Knight-Marshall had seated himself at the King's side then and his conversation with this man here and now would be telling in deciding the fortunes of their war effort.

'I've talked to my men. I had to diffuse a lot of tempers after today's duel,' began A'luon.

'I expected as much,' said Anka.

'Egriss was beyond ambitious. The dangerous kind, that saw justice as absolute. He believed if he could bring any man with the title criminal to book, whether fitting or not, he would be the Knight-Marshall and the most favoured of those who seek justice at whatever cost.'

'I am not happy about the result.'

'Me neither, and I will miss him. But, harsh as it is to say, many of the younglings in our ranks were fashioning themselves in Egriss's image, maybe there was a lesson in all of this.'

Anka nodded. 'Did your meeting with Henesker yield any information?'

A'luon smiled crookedly. 'Much more than we hoped for, and at least enough for us to give Attoras some direction. The good news King is that your reign safe, as is your name. Luckily Henesker was very forthcoming once he saw us, so we needn't use more... distasteful tactics.'

'Now you have me curious,' said Anka, but liking the tone of Knight.

'It's not all good however, as there are men that were very satisfied in seeing Attoras face destruction if it achieved their ends. Henesker was indeed a man paid to do propaganda for the Hamenra cousins; their goal, to sow such discord as to swing court favours, the exodus of guilds meant to force people by fear to choose the side of Rostrad.

'But here's the catch, the supposed exodus wasn't just supposed to be a bluff or a powerplay. The Hamenras never intended to sit here and rule Attoras. They truly wanted to cede from the Kingdom, but bring half of what they could salvage from Attoras to Rostrad.'

'A hair-brained plan,' said Anka, 'the people here are loaf to relocate, even if the incentive is good.'

'Unless there is a dragon threat bearing down on you, and being relocated is the best Attoras could hope for.'

Anka sat dumbstruck.

'The Hamenra's knew of the dragons, and in fact, bargained with their heralds.'

'What? Why?' asked Anka.

'So that they could throw Attoras into a state of fear, shift all blame onto you, maybe even win the council of kings; but in all ways they were planning to salvage what they can of Attoras, and move the capital of the north to Rostrad in a bargain that would see the dragons retake their ancestral home. In the Hamenras eyes, anyone who was stupid enough to stay, would die.'

Anka slammed his fist to the table. 'Fools! Do they really think the dragons could be kept to their word? That they would simply allow people to flee the mountain? And that Rostrad and Nortalon would be safe once Attoras is conquered? There sits Salstasha, who under this supposed safe passage of the dragon ultimatum was still attacked and almost killed in dragon flames!'

The table had gone quiet at the Kings' outrage.

'I know King. The dragons are forked-tongue and cannot be trusted,' A'luon reassured the King that he agreed with him.

Anka took a breath and cooled down. 'Such treason,' he sighed and took a gulp of wine.

All the same a weight was lifted from Anka. He had not been immune to the insults his enemies had thrown at him in court, casting him in doubt in the eyes of his own people.

Chaton and his associates, ready to sacrifice the entirety of Attoras, and by bargaining with the dragons, meant Anka was largely free from many of the faults they had charged him with. At least then the night returned to what Anka had intended: keen to enjoy good food and fill the halls with the voices of Attoras's most loyal servants. Master Ramone and his apprentice Jalson put forth a prodigious line up; stacking plates and bowls along the centre of the table, and rushing more in as the evening progressed. There was roasted short-rib and mutton neck, gammon, every green imaginable, spicy white rice and five different kinds of freshly baked bread, (Rollance must've been overwhelmed just then). What's more, the kitchen Master's apprentice was an especially accomplished saucier, and brought a myriad of little cups, all with different flavours and colours that could go about enhancing just about any dish in whatever combination chosen.

With everyone's mood lifted by food and drink, A'luon offered this to Anka's problem:

'We can fly far and wide, and spy anything from the skies, should we hunt down Chaton for you? So that he can be brought to justice?'

Anka shook his head. 'I really need you here for preparations. Besides, the dragons have already shown themselves to be treacherous as I know them to be; no pilgrims on the road will be safe. If they survive the journey to Rostrad, I will deal with them then. First we must survive.'

'So you think you can defeat a dragon horde, King?' asked Gremhalden boldly, having listened in on the conversation. He said this loud enough so that everyone's attention was fixed then on the King's response.

'Stay with me Knight, and I will make you a part of our history.'

Many noises followed the King's comment, some in disbelief, others echoing the King's sentiments.

'You have a plan to battle the dragon's here?' asked A'luon.

'Yes, and you are part of it,' said Anka.

A'luon smiled a sad smile, as though the King's words were not unexpected.

'I have admit to experiencing some relief Marshall. To meet someone in an order as important as yours, with your integrity... well, I had feared someone more in the mould of Egriss would be in charge of the Knights,' said Anka.

'Is this flattery Mountain King?'

Anka shook his head with a smile. 'No. I think it is no accident that this ensemble of men has gathered here. I know you have great authority, and that the Crimson City gives you free reign to make decisions of your own and for the good of the realm. Now is a time that you make such a decision.

'And that would be?'

'I meant what I said to Gremhalden. I want the Knights here. Stand with us, cover the skies for us. Bring the dragons to ground and the Wolves will take care of the rest.'

'It is better that you flee this place. Let the Wolves protect your people in skirmishes if needs be, but do not engage in war. Give the dragons the mountain. Their forces are too great. With time, the forces of Allandiel can marshal and contain them here. Hopefully, we can convince them to stay to their territory with a combination of force and tribute. Tribute is theirs if they keep to themselves, and deadly force is met out if they do not. As for Attoras King Anka, I don't see how this place will survive. The dragons will come here with an unparalleled might, united for now by the vengeance of taking their mountain back. Afterwards they will disintegrate into disorganization as is their way, and will be much easier to handle, one by one.'

'They cannot be bargained with!' said Anka angrily. 'In their minds only dragon-kind is at the top of the foodchain. For a dragon to even think of sharing spoils with a lesser being is an insult to its own kind. To be a dragon is to take whatever you please, and the rest of the world has to live with this.'

'How will you defend this place?'

'The strength of the Benevolence lies in this mountain, Knight. That is why this is our homeland. These Wolves you see, they are driven by faith and conviction, that is how they win! As a leader of Allandiel, you should know how rare that is even in a city that holds the Benevolence. Now imagine an entire order of such men, and add to them your flying warriors!'

Anka was trying to measure the man in charge of the Knights, and he realized it would be a mistake to appeal to a sense of glory or ego. A'luon was not the type to be swept up in the euphoria of a struggle and hence commit to a doomed cause. He was practical, and painfully calculative. Anka realized then, A'luon was only going to be swayed by bargain.

'If you stand with us. If you assist Attoras, if only until such a time that our cause is confirmed to be truly hopeless, I will sign an agreement with the Crimson City to create a haven here for your Knights. You may station Knights here, and have a presence and influence in Attoras like you've always wanted.'

A'luon looked up. 'That is a very generous offer King. Are you sure that you could hold to it?'

'Better than losing this place entirely, no?'

Again A'luon went quiet. The Knight-Marshall wasn't giving Anka much to work with.

'There is one other thing that you must know. The King of the dragons, Syro'gash, reportedly has the Stone of Privilege,' said Anka.

_This time_ , A'luon let alarm cross his face.

'You know its purpose then, and you know the implications. The dragon-king can talk and rally his brethren. With the stone, he can use spells of human making. You say that after they have taken Attoras the dragons will disintegrate as is their way. But their way is now forever changed \- they have a supreme leader now, and are an army under him, one that will seek to relive its massacre here, relive it upon other cities once Attoras falls. If you want to stop the dragons, then we will have do it here. You will have to do it alongside _us._ '

Anka could now see he had gotten through to A'luon. After a silent minute A'luon spoke up. 'I will draw up the agreement for the day that the Knights can station themselves here. We will have a lot of planning to do. You will not face a greater enemy in your lifetime.'

The rest of night was spent talking of fairer things, topics of invasion now redundant, or at least judged so while the occasion called for a dismissal of all worries, least of all dragons.

Anka then regretted his distance from Salstasha, as she was deep in conversation with Kenilla, Naceus and deBella, and now he grew anxious to test what affection lay between them, before it all unravelled. The arrangement around the table also did not change, so that Anka felt locked in place, only listening with half an ear at the conversation directed at him now as he fathomed the moment or the means to move up along the table and get Salstasha's attention.

Before he could do so, Salstasha excused herself from the table. He thought it might be momentary thing, but it seemed she had decided to call it a night. Maybe she was still feeling a bit ill.

They all finished later that night, the table being cleared as dishes were finished and stomachs filled. Naceus, Kenilla, and A'luon the only ones remaining with the King, talking quietly as the candles dimmed, until the three of them too departed.

Alone, Anka left the goblet of wine untouched, which he had lost taste for the moment Salstasha had risen from her chair. He stood at the window again, like he had done that second night of his return. Searching the castle rooms on the west wing, he looked at her chamber, finding no light this time glowing from the window. She was already at rest.

'Sleep softly,' he said very quietly.

Anka was prepared to leave for his own rooms, but a voice called his attention before he could leave his post at the window.

'What is my King staring at?'

Anka turned, and found Salstasha standing below the arch that served as admission to the hall.

'My Lady, I thought you have returned to your rest.'

'I had, or considered it at least, but I had something I had to ask of you first.'

'Yes?'

She tilted her head at him as though she really expected him to say more than just that. 'Have you forgotten about me already, King?'

Anka shook his head and marched toward to her. 'Not at all, you have been distracting my every thought. I have not come to you, because I fear you are in discomfort whilst healing and need space and privacy, but to my shame there has been a greater fear than that keeping me at bay.'

'So the great King of the mountain is afraid?'

'I am mortally afraid, that that one moment was a dream, or worse, a misunderstanding of two souls that had only sought comfort in surviving peril. That moment is what I treasure and yet I feel that it might not come to me again, that the best of it is already behind me.'

Salstasha stepped forward and came into his arms and he took her to his chest lovingly, feeling the fear evaporate that had been with him.

'It was not, you have me now King, both in heart and mind. I also do not want that one moment to become only a dream and I really hope the best of it is still ahead of us.'

Anka kissed the top of her head, cherishing her and holding her as tight as he dared.

'What will you do now?' asked Salstasha with some meaning in her eyes, and Anka somehow understood that she was making fun of his perceived need for conquest.

'Well I know for certain my own course, but unless you are inclined to... well... I won't presume...'

'Say you what you want, King,' said Salstasha laughingly.

'I never want to let you go.'
Chapter 12

### Flight

It was the strangest of times. Anka had never before faced such a hopeless cause and overwhelming force, and yet he would not trade these days for any other.

Salstasha and he had come to together often, spending many hours together. Because of the magic that ran in her veins, that of the dragon's fire, she still had dreadful nightmares, her mind linked with the dragons in a terrifying manner. More than one evening Anka sat with her, holding her as the vestiges of her dreams left her only reluctantly, her distraught very real even when the cause of it was not. In her waking moments she often murmured of two great dragons; one a terrible black, the other an awe-inspiring gold. Stranger still was when she babbled about these two fighting for the soul of the dragon host. Anka did not know what to make of it, and Salstasha rarely seemed to remember what she dreamt. But that was the full extent of any misery they had and it did not dent the joy of them coming together.

Good news came to them, the winter storm hitting the Attoras continent so hard the dragon invasion was delayed. The dragons themselves could force their way through the storm and fly over any obstacle, but their hordes of foot-soldiers were left stranded before the passes. Many fear-mongering types spread rumours that the dragons were melting open the passes with their breaths, but that was not the case, both for the enormity of such a deed and the dragon's lethargy during the coldest months of the year. So the heavy snows gave Anka and Salstasha more time, and they were grateful for every day.

They had spent the winter months together in bliss, each day more rewarding than the last it seemed. Even when Anka was so busy, she always bubbled in his forethoughts, and when they were together, the world could wait.

Salstasha's hair grew back to their full length and the marks on her body she had been so self-conscious of had indeed faded away mostly. Yet it took all of three months, it didn't stop Anka from telling her she was beautiful. Only the mark under her eye seemed permanent. Also to his delight, the rest of the castle were already treating her as the Lady of his House, and happily so.

Kenilla's second daughter was born, named Claris, and Rollance's wife gave birth to a boy called Salonce. It was a happy time, if but brief.

The summer had come, and with the weather turning warmer, the days longer, all but the highest snows melted and came down the mountain in streams, entrancing many with its melody as it rushed to the castle and beyond.

It was however in this tranquil setting that everyone started getting worried. By now everyone understood, that the melting snows meant the dragon army could move. If that was not enough to convince the populace to fret, the look about the King and his closest council made it all clear; a difficult times were ahead.

They just finished another meeting, in which all the reports then confirmed that many migrants were travelling the roads again, and among them, the dragon army, passing frustratingly easily through the land, marching from where their ships landed on the eastern shores, unhindered because no one could contest them.

In deep thought Anka left the hall with Salstasha at his side, worrying quietly whether he would need to try and evacuate more of Attoras in the next week. Having to shield so many civilians could compromise the war effort.

Right then, Torssen of Tierdom, who had left the meeting a minute or two earlier than the rest, came wobbling out of the levy to intercept them in the hallway. He was a large man, but his weight was more concentrated around his waist nowadays, making him ungainly. 'Ah, good King!' he said ,'we are done then?'

'Yes, we only discussed a possible evacuation in the dying minutes. You have not missed much.'

Torssen shook his head. 'No use mulling over that King. Folk are smart enough to know by now whether it's worth staying or leaving. As is Attoras's wont, most will stay, they will not leave the mountain easily, for better or worse. '

'I'm a little surprised you have stayed as long as you did. Most of the other Lords have left and it won't be long now before going out of Attoras will not be an option at all,' said Anka.

'I've been too busy of late for that your Highness. I made a grave mistake reporting your death back then, as gullible as I were, and I wish to apologize by action. I'm throwing my weight behind you my King. And I'm doing my utter best to convince others as well. Getting out the good word I am. I should have seen through the Hamenras, but I was ill-advised and too dim to see a bad omen when it was right there staring back at me. When the war comes, I want not a soul to doubt you, and give whatever resource your castle will need.'

'That is quite alright Torssen. That you have loyalty to your King, I do not doubt. We have all made a fair share of mistakes,' said Anka gratefully.

'The two of you should get married right away of course,' said Torssen from out of the blue.

Anka was taken back.

'I would not presume that the Lady-' started Anka in embarrassment.

Torssen waved the King down. 'I have seen the two of you and I know the look. I only had ten good years with my own wife, sounds like a lot but it wasn't. Best I thing I ever did was going out of my way to get married to her, it redeemed a lot of the bad things I did and a lot of the bad things life did to me. The best part for the Kingdom however King Anka, is that you will sit with a solidified nation. A unified nation I should rather say! Rostrad finally has their representative.'

'I-'

'Let me finish good King. You have dragons coming down on you. No man has ever faced worse. The point I'm trying to make throughout; use what time you have. The only doubt you have is whether there is an appropriate time to wait. You do not have doubts about her. '

Anka turned to Salstasha.

'I guess, the only thing I can ask is, what do you think?'

Until then she was in thought, but she looked up with clarity when he asked.

'I want it Anka, and from what I've seen, so do you,' said Salstasha.

'Well then, I'm as unprepared as a man has ever been, but Torssen is right, I do not have doubts about this,' he said taking Salstasha's hand.

Her eyes welled up slightly, and Anka couldn't say his didn't do the same. Hers though gleamed like gems.

'Salstasha, will you marry me?'

'Yes Anka, I will.'

And Anka only gave her the swiftest kiss given that they were in a rather busy hall of the castle. But the touch of her lips invited him back and he gave her a tender kiss, from which he then had to retreat a little embarrassingly because of the aforementioned hall.

'Are you staying for the wedding?' Anka asked Torssen, who had just become the most unlikely witness to the King's proposal that Anka could have imagined.

'Bah, I'm not just staying for the wedding King. I will be here to defend Attoras. I can't move a lot with the gout in my knee, but when the time comes, my hammer will fall as hard as anyone else's!'

It was not even a week later that Anka was staring at himself in the mirror, dressed up as rich as with the ball, noting how surreal it all looked and felt, and noting in his eyes some kind of fear or anxiety, his excitement all somehow transformed into what considered to be useless states of mind.

'Get moving,' he said to himself breathlessly, before Kenilla could make any comment.

But Kenilla was very subdued today, though happy. 'You look very good King.'

'Thank you Kenilla.'

'I never thought we'd see this day, but we got you there.'

'Not a day's peace for me, eh?'

'Never,' said Kenilla with a smile.

deBella came in then. 'Well, the Lady is ready, and you my King?'

Anka nodded nervously.

deBella gave the King a rib-crunching hug. 'I cannot be more proud of you Ankareus.'

'Thank you for everything,' said Anka, his voice not without tremor.

It was maybe the smallest wedding a King ever had in Attoras, making Anka feeling guilty, having wanted to give Salstasha something truly special. But that fear was allayed, because of the small group of witnesses, there was not one who was not beaming at the two with absolute sincerity. It was the people that mattered that attended.

There was not a chapel in the castle, so it was held in the throne room. The place was unrecognizable however, so decorated with flowers and curtains of warm colours, pews standing across the normally empty floor before the throne. When Salstasha came in, everyone waiting, there was a light about her following her inside, and the way that she was dressed, and the way she was made up and her hair tended to, and that she smiled so, was as if she an angelic presence were spilling into the room, and all that was ordinary retreated before her.

Anka smiled, swallowed hard and smiled again, his eyes stung, but luckily no one was looking at him today.

'Oh my, I cannot even wait for this thing to start before shedding a tear,' said Naceus, removing his spectacles every now and then and dabbing them with a cloth where they fogged up.

Salstasha joined Anka at the front as Dieral commenced the ceremony, the ceremonies master wearing his most precious of robes; a gown of black and gold that anointed him as a member of the Allandiel council of matrimony, whose powers may join two people before the Benevolence.

They said their vows before Dieral, looking at each other with delight, and before they could even absorb the significance of the moment, they were kissing before the audience, who for such a small crowd cheered monumentally.

The town itself were all in chatter, and gleefully they discussed the now King and Queen of Attoras. It was as good a distraction from war as any. Anka and Salstasha toured the town in a carriage, the folk raining flowers, rice and grains on them in celebration.

They went to the gate were a royal escort of twenty men were awaiting them, ready to see them through to a small and isolated holding an hour and a half away from Attoras, where a well furnished cabin stood ready in the most secluded forest, the fairness of the glade also standing apart from whatever malaise or plainness would visit the rest of the Grove so barely past the winter.

The captain of the riders however greeted Anka glumly.

'Bad news my King, our scouts confirmed a storm swept through the woodland trail just last night. We can still make the ride, but we would spend a day or more just cutting through fallen trees. It will be anything but romantic. I'm sorry,' the man repeated.

The King could not believe it.

Anka looked at Salstasha, feeling a desperate need to salvage the day. He was flustered, angered, and he felt it moving into his face. There was nothing to be done, and they returned to the castle.

'Easy there King, it's alright,' said Salstasha, seeing the look of Anka. 'We can just stay here. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the castle.'

Anka shook his head. 'I had thought we are going to have the perfect day. It really is a beautiful evening, unseasonably warm even for this time of the year. The cabin would have been such a nice retreat, especially with the castle so engrossed with matters of war. Would have been nice to get away.'

Salstasha laughed. 'It is always winter here my King, I don't think you understand what summer really is.'

He nodded. 'I should travel more. South I mean. I somehow ended up going to places that host death and destruction, like it was the only duty of mine to tend to such places. '

'Yes, you should go south. Maybe we'll even do it together. I'd like to see if there is some adventure in you.'

Anka took pause, seeing the faint sparkle in her eyes.

'How is your strength, can I show you something?'

'You would need me to lift this something?' asked Salstasha.

Anka waved away her jest. 'No I mean, it's up in the mountain.'

'I doubt I am up for the climb,' said Salstasha dryly.

'No, there is a way up without climbing.'

'Truly? Do you have wings my King?'

'Yes! Come with me!' and he grabbed her hand and hauled her with.

The pen was stationed to the castle south side, a small bump of grass growing on an open patch of ground still within the castle walls and against the base of the mountain. The small path had not been maintained over the years, the stones laid there mostly cracked and absorbed by the grass, so Anka ushered Salstasha with caution.

From afar the caw of griffins greeted them, their keen eyesight easily discerning the two figures approaching them.

Anka had offered to station guards around the pen, but the Knights had assured him it was not necessary. He could now see why. These things could defend themselves.

Anka hesitated for a second. The way they all gathered at the side of the pen was actually quite intimidating. The giant eagle heads stood at a twelve foot height, their bearing upright and proud. Their eyes were fierce and focused in perpetuity.

'Hold up Anka, what are we doing?' asked Salstasha, now unnerved as they intruded into the griffin pen.

'There's a place in the network of mountains, a little chamber as far from anything as you can possibly imagine. I intend for us to fly there.'

'Are you serious? Aren't we intruding?'

'Very! And yes we are, but this is my Kingdom,' said Anka as he swung his legs over the wooden beam of the pen, then helping Salstasha over. She felt like they had just entered very dangerous territory. The King moved to what seemed to be the most eager of griffins, a fairly large russet-feathered beast that looked welcome to any rider as long as it could get some freedom from the pen. 'I think this is Gremhalden's griffin, hopefully it takes not after its master, and is more friendly than fierce.'

Anka first entreated it as though it needed some kind of courtship, or trust at least, removing the cord that held it to the ground, and judging its reaction as he patted the beak gently.

'You know how to ride this thing?' asked Salstasha, her voice nervous for the first time since Anka had met her.

'No,' said Anka, abandoning his first attempt at mounting the griffin as he slid off. 'Sit _down_ will you!' said Anka, pushing on the griffin's back, hoping the beast was taught as camels were in the Daradya desert. Instead, it lifted its front leg.

'That will do,' said the King, using the step to easily lever himself onto the creature's back. From on high, he could lift Salstasha in behind him as she also stepped on the griffin's leg.

'Hold on tight,' said Anka, kicking his heels to the griffin's sides.

Salstasha was ready to protest the idea, when the griffin broke into a charge, the impulse and speed of movement startling, using the little ground before it as a runway before jumping upwards, the wings folding open and surging to a beat in almost one movement.

'This is preposterous!' yelled Salstasha in fright as they barely cleared over the castle wall. Anka himself was too shocked at the departure to try and console her.

Pending more upwards, the strength of the griffin's wings took them on a remarkable climb into the sky, so easily, as though they were going to shoot right at the stars that shone so bright in the early twilight. The fear fled and the joy of flight took hold as their gamble came to fruition without incident. Up they went, ascending the mountain, going about it in a spiral that showed them so much. The mountain was a giant of many faces, and seeing it from here was a treat. As was the castle.

They circled rock spires, the upwards journey bringing a bit more chill and rarefied air, but combined with the view was received in awe. _This is my mountain, and they will come for it,_ Anka was invariably reminded of the dragons _._ But Anka turned his thoughts away from that, the intrusion not welcome. He had someone much more important than holdings with him, and even if they had to give all of this up, it would be alright.

'Look how high we are Anka!' she said, pointing to the spot where he had laid her down to save her on the ceremonial stone slab.

'And higher still we will go!'

Getting a feel for the griffin's training Anka directed it to the entrance of the cave, the midway station, which he had to scan the mountain wall for a while to spot it. They landed with a jar, the griffin using the ledge effectively to come to a stop as the snows under its claws shot up. Breathless Anka and Salstasha dismounted, only now realizing how the wind swirled all over the mountain like an ancient spirit. It was at least a calm wind today.

They were now virtually on the other side of the range, the west bared open to them, and for the first time, Anka saw a true sunset descending on his home, the mountains always having obscured it. It was magnificent. They stood so high and before them the abandoned lands and forest in the far west waited out an ailing light dissolving on the horizon, its last moments splaying so many colours, lifting a purple blanket from the great silent forests, the sun a blotch and a network of stars emerging as a growing dark crept across the sky and commenced nightfall.

Tying the griffin down, they walked a little bit along the ledge to the cavern entrance. They turned inside, Anka lighting the oil lamps inside the cavern.

The cavern did not go deep, its end but a bend away in the passage. That bend however was crucial for its purpose; a midway station for climbers away from the wind, when the blizzard on the mountain would overcome any living thing. There were supplies here, the most critical ones, some of which had perished, and a bed tucked into the very corner of the cavern. Next to the bed was a little table. Right above it, was a crevice in the ceiling that led up to the outside, a crack in the rock but a foot wide, but which allowed the moonlight to come through and lessen the darkness with a silvery glow. Also on the little table, was a pot and a bright red flower rising from its soil, a periodic drop of nourishing water falling from the crevice above it.

Seeing the flower flourishing, Anka was mightily relieved, _Bhask the botanist,_ he thought with amusement.

'This is a Kuradee,' said Salstasha in surprise, recognizing it the moment the light of the lantern fell on it. She stooped over it curiously, inspecting it. 'They were said to be extinct, at least in their purest form.' She touched the petals and the leaves. 'This one does not seem to show the corruption I have heard about. It's free of it!'

'Metrus the Druid gave me this flower, obviously quite significant. He wanted me to rid it of corruption and I so wanted to show you the flower. In my mind, I thought it was some kind of sign you know. But none of my efforts or my magic could take the corruption out, and I sent Bhask to carry the seed to a place on the mountain where the corruption couldn't survive, knowing that once he had done so I would never get to show you the flower - only a Wolf can climb high enough to reach the midway station.'

Salstasha smiled.

'And yet here we are, somehow having commandeered a griffin and flown up the mountain.'

Salstasha laughed. 'I never liked signs and anything that conveys the world as pre-determined... but, as long as they are as good as this one, I think I can live with it.'

The two of them grew quiet and he sat with her on the bed, suddenly more self-aware than he had ever been. He wanted this for so long, but he realized only then that he might have been selfish.

'I... am in the wrong here. I am making a mistake. Because I shouldn't just be flying you to top of this mountain, I should get you as far as possible from this land.'

'And then I will lose you?' she challenged.

'Better than both of us dying.'

'We won't. And the flames of the dragon still sit within me, Anka. They will always know where I am, as long as _they_ live. You are right. We have to fight them here, and if it all comes to an end, I want to be with you. If that is how it goes, we will go down together, and meet each on the other side.'

Anka took her face and kissed her deeply, she wrapping her arms around his neck, and slowly they went down, and then became lost in one another, the wind snuffing the little oil lamp, but the moon offering just enough light that they could see each other throughout. Exhilaration overtook them, every touch and tremor of pleasure ferrying them higher, as though still in flight.

Later, as they lay together, the clouds obscured the moon and the cavern was very dark. Anka put out his hand and wiped it against the cavern wall, which was wet with Seluin waters. He lit up only his fingertips, so that he could see the out outline of her face and her body, beautiful in the white light, her eyes glistening so, and caressing her cheek as she smiled up at him.

'Salstasha... the Benevolence has never given a man as much as he has given me.'
Chapter 13

### Preparation

Long before the King made his announcement, the people knew of an encroaching dragon threat. Those that had seen fit to flee had already done so, although most were dissuaded by stories of what happened to travellers, the dragons showing none of the mercy they had promised. On the day of the King's announcement, his sentiments in the court were echoed by the town criers that spoke on behalf of the King and made it clear what the situation was. All now understood; from this day on, Attoras was under martial law. From this day on, no one left or entered Attoras without the King's permission. The King's every command was law and every able-bodied citizen was utilized in the coming defence of the town.

For his heroics in bringing Salstasha back from the dragon ambush, Anka made Merohan the head of his household guard, which freed Gibbon to focus solely on training. Both men were very happy with this arrangement.

Anka sent out as many scouts and outriders as he could, men who patrolled the forest and reported back on the movements of the enemy.

Syro'gash himself was spotted taking off from silent woodland a hundred miles to the east, the ranger that had seen him so spooked that he had run for miles before encountering one of Anka's scouts. His words were: "the greatest thing you'll ever see, a black dragon with a gem chained to its chest, a King over sky and earth and anything between it."

Their time was growing short.

All the nearby garrisons were emptied and summoned to Attoras, blocks of soldiers joining with the city, filling the castle's defences very close to its capacity, the rest occupying every open bunk or bed in the city. It was encouraging, _but they were not enough,_ the King found himself thinking.

A huge militia was whipped up with haste to compliment the smallish army of Attoras. They conscripted as many men from the town as they could, willing and unwilling ones alike. They were all in this together now. In the town centre they were assembled and sorted into fighting regiments.

Wide eyed recruits stood in close ranks, waiting for their turn to be outfitted and then their turn to be trained under Gibbon's command. Many were young inexperienced men, the rest being older folk who had done something other than war all their lives - none of them could compare with a veteran, but each man was a luxury in a war for survival.

The militia recruits were lucky if they got a piece of steel equipment. Most would stand with leather fittings, wooden bucklers or a shield made from hide, and either armed with bow or an iron-tipped spear depending on where they would be stationed.

Anka walked among them, talked with them, and gave advice. Some were very afraid and some were boisterous. The King knew that when the dragons came, they would _all_ be afraid.

He saw a problem with the militia; Gibbon's training in combat structure was very fine and efficient, but at this point in time the instructions simply washed over men who did not have something simple to guide them. They needed something fundamental to hold onto, so that they could execute Gibbon's structures with composure. Anka addressed them as they stood in large ranks before him: 'You young man, step forward,' he ordered and a dark-haired youth separated from the front line, maybe twenty years of age.

'Hold out your hand,' ordered the King and the man did so. Anka reached out and twisted so hard on his index finger that the man went to his knees in a gasp. Anka did not break the finger, but he had come close.

'Alone all things break,' Anka's words echoed over the silent crowd. 'In this enemy, you are going to find a force that a single man cannot combat. You are going to find that, when your blade is keen and heart is keen, but your brother is not beside you, that Attoras will fall. And you will die. If there is not unity, you will die. If you do not carry your brother for whatever fault of weakness, he will not be there to do the same for you.'

'Hold your fist out to me,' said Anka. The young man obliged but looked anxious doing so. Again Anka reached out and grasped the man's fist in a crunching grip. The man stood and waited.

'Does it hurt?' asked the King.

'A little,' the man said truthfully.

'A little,' the King agreed with a smile, 'but I cannot break you, not in this way.'

Anka put up his own hand, his fingers spread. 'All of you put your hands up like mine.' They did as the King asked.

'When the day comes, above all things, you must come together like a fist,' he said, closing his grasp, and watching a thousand men before him do the same. 'That is your strength, and that is the strength of Wolves. The Wolves are always celebrated as a pack, but it is not the many numbers that make them strong, but the way in which they come together, collectively unbreakable, because they do not break apart and leave one another.'

Resolve and understanding entered the eyes of many men as Anka looked at them.

'The King speaks of a feast to come lads,' cried Gibbon, 'we'll have roaring fires and spits! We'll be cooking these beasties on their own flames, and we'll be tearing roast dragon meat right from the bone!' The men cheered, shaking their fists, although none of them truly enthused on trying dragon meat.

Anka felt that this new military arm might just stand a chance then, at least as to not unravel in fear at the first sight of dragons.

Still, the greater part of the city would play a supporting role, the men carrying supplies to and thro and also a swath of volunteers that were taken by the infirmary, Joshua teaching them how to deal with the wounded and how to best get stricken men to safety.

The planning of all of this was enormous.

Anka had all of his administrators summoned to court, and they discussed every little detail of how to run a city during the siege. After that they discussed more ideas on how to defend against dragons, and possibly overcome them. It was all very productive, Anka shooting many questions at Naceus and his head full of ideas. The nature of the dragons of course dominated their discussion.

'Dragon's fire isn't really magic,' Naceus explained, 'I mean of course it is, but not in the way you think!'

'Scholar,' said King Anka patiently, but making a pointed roof with his hands. 'Keep it short please.'

'Of course Majesty. The truth is that the fire is in the blood of the dragons. They spray it through their mouths as would a serpent, and the mist reacts violently to air. That is how they create the flames.'

'Is there anything in what you've told me that will help us combat them?'

Naceus plucked the pipe from mouth and smacked his lips and Anka expected him to say no.

'There is Highness. But it will be no less devastating when they do come. You see Highness, their blood to them is as precious as the venom is to a snake – if I may return to that analogy. They don't breathe fire just for the sake of it, they conserve their blood for when they can inflict the most damage or are in most peril. We must be versatile Sire, and not offer them clear targets as far as we possibly can. Add to that any small wound we can open on them would have them think twice about expending too much of their blood. The greater dragons of course are a problem, they are very big, and spend only a minuscule amount of blood to create flames.'

'This is good Scholar, but avoiding their wrath and inflicting as much damage as we can upon them is what we would do anyhow. Will they slow down in a drawn out battle, because of how they go about breathing fire?'

Naceus was hesitant with his answer. 'I'm afraid not. The greater dragons Sire, have a huge body mass and volume of blood. They use but very little of their own essence to create flames as intense as any furnace. Our luck will only lie with the smaller dragons, we can turn them away at least in a protracted conflict.'

The room took the news badly. 'That is discouraging,' admitted the King. He put his fingers to his temple in thought. 'We'll have to acknowledge that the dragons can alter the very landscape upon which they fight.'

'There are fire retardants we can use to cover most of the roofs with. And as much water as we can gather goes without saying and still I will say: we'll need to be well supplied _beforehand_. That will be critical,' said Naceus.

'And weapons?' pressed Anka.

'Well Sire, I have not dedicated my studies to destructive pursuits, but I have been keeping a close eye on a breakthrough development, whose origins are quite astounding. Projectile propulsion as we know it is only a viable option though tension, building up energy by levering-'

Anka rolled his hand through the air hastening on the Scholar.

'I'm only trying to give you some context my King! What I'm getting at is that the next step in projectile warfare is propelling objects through the air using a controlled explosion. Both the device and the projectile must be fit to purpose and somehow we need to get our hands on the black powder of the Gypsies...'

'Gypsy powder near the flames of dragons? Are you mad? We'll burn the castle down!' cried Gibbon.

'I am always open to such ideas Naceus, but I have to ask, how soon can such things be designed and produced on large scale? I think this is a project for another day,' said Anka.

'Very well King, point taken. Ballistae then. We already have them. I would say we would need them in numbers. As cheap and efficient as we can possibly make them. There must not be a minute that we are not firing into the sky. If the dragons gain ascendency in the air... we must keep them off balance. The greater ballistae, I would instruct to a more conservative approach. Give them the iron tipped missiles, and let them only fire when a dragon has been either grounded, or a very clear shot is presented. Also, with our defences hinged on three-tiered walls, we will need a staged retreat when things go awry or aflame, therefore we must ensure that we have the means to relocate the artillery as necessary.'

Anka agreed. 'Okay Scholar, that is good. We will fit cranes on the walls to lift the ballistae out of danger if they are besieged. Anything else?'

'A more practical suggestion to add to this is of course is _rope_.'

'Rope?'

'Yes Lord. Trappers swear by it, for eons, and for all kinds of beasts. More specifically, we need nets. I can imagine that even a dragon's flight is hinged on dynamics very finely engineered by nature. Any disturbance, say getting entangled, could spell disaster for them.'

Anka nodded thoughtfully, and instructed his men along Naceus's suggestions. There was work to be done.

On their next sitting they started getting legitimate reports on the dragon forces. The dragons themselves for the most part moved with stealth even with their size, so it was hard to judge how many of the dragon-kind Syro'gash commanded. The infantry that were comprised out of the dragon-worshippers however were so large in number that they barrelled toward Attoras unashamedly and without regard for being detected; no other force was going to stop them anyway. They numbered more than the nine-thousand initially reported, and that was not taking in consideration any other battalions marching apart from the main force. It would be a bitter fight, there was no way around that.'

'They are ignoring the greater part of the Attoras continent, so that they may lay siege on the city first. They first want to conquer the mountain, then the rest will fall,' said Hathai of the Wolves.

Anka nodded. 'I don't want to do too much of the military planning without all the commanding military personnel here, but I will say this much: We are not going to front up to them in the town or spend any significant resources on the lower walls. In town, we will systemically withdraw, so that the town be spared, using their desperation to get to the castle to save the town from destruction. At the castle is where we give everything.'

'A good plan,' said A'luon.

'Is there any reason for their haste Naceus? Other than trying to feed and supply such a large army?'

'Could be good King. I've been thinking of the Queen's condition, though she was healed by your waters, the dragon's hold on unwilling servants seem not to be iron-bound. Strike down enough of the dragons' leadership core, and we might scatter their armies.'

'We will do just that then,' Anka turned to A'luon. 'Do you have a tactic against the dragons in the air?'

'Yes, rest assured, we are well-equipped and the griffins are not afraid of the dragons. They will not be skittish. Other than any offensive we take against the dragons, we will do our utmost to draw and divert the dragons toward ballistae fire, and relieve men who come under siege as best we can.'

'That is everything I wanted to hear Knight-Marshall. I will array my Wolves to best help you - if you can bring them to ground or even close to it, they will make short work of them...'

Following that meeting not a single industry or guild did not go toward shoring up the town or getting everything ready. Much of the winter harvest had been put away and rationed for the days they were under siege. The blacksmithies worked unceasingly, them being spoken free from militia duty, but in turn they worked slavishly to equip the army or hammer out any flaws in existing pieces.

More water was stored in the castle than what the residents could use in a year. Once the assault started it would be much easier to get the water back into town than to somehow try and get it up.

On the walls and ramparts the engineers worked methodically to install as many ballistae as they could; giant crossbow-like devices that could shoot missiles great enough to pierce dragon skin. Building a configuration big enough to have such power was one thing, but the ballistae had to be very versatile as well. They were facing an airborne enemy, so the engineers had to make sure the devices could swing left to right with speed, and from one o' clock to four o' clock in a blink; all that without a shot going off with such recoil that it damaged the very bearing that allowed such speed. Sibo was hard at work, always proffering ideas and foreseeing challenges they might face, he had become a very accomplished engineer in a short time. Mainly his mind was ripe full of ideas, and even though he could not always live them out practically, that's what the experienced men were for.

A fisherman called Alfonso, and his five sons, had come to the castle to teach the women net-weaving. It didn't take long for them to get the craft, the essence of it not that different from skills they had already, although the work this involved much more rugged. They turned as much rope as they could get their hands on into a storeroom worth of nets.

Salstasha had also taken charge of the women in the castle, organizing them to provide the necessary utilities for the men.

It was a terrifying time certainly, but Anka had the slightest of smiles seeing the town coherent like this.

After each meeting Anka left the gathering drained. And yet there was still much to be done.

_Still it is not enough,_ Anka found himself thinking. He needed more men. He needed men of more skills. Loyal men most importantly. He needed more artillery on the walls. He needed more Wolves. That he had Knights on his side, was going to prove critical. Anka had little doubt if the winds of fortune blew in their favour, that the Wolves could win any fight. But the stakes were higher than that; they had to go to war with the dragons while protecting as much of the populace and the buildings as they could. To that end, to ensure they were not just surviving to inherit a broken kingdom, they needed the Knights and whatever they could do to stop the dragons from wreaking too much havoc. The men were going to have the fight of their lives on their hands.

Anka looked forlornly from the tower top, and for the first time in his life he was afraid that he might see shapes appear on the horizon. When his forebears had first chased the dragons from Attoras the creatures were already divided and too arrogant in their own power to work together. Many had left the mountain simply migrating. Add to that, back then, there were maybe five hundred hardened warriors that were nearly worthy to be Wolves themselves. _What would they say if they saw me doubting like this?_

At night Anka and Salstasha spent hours in the library together, studying every scrap of information they could regarding the dragons.

They were lucky enough to come across a big tome documenting ancient creatures, among them an extensive layout of different kinds of dragons.

Sitting together they flipped through the pages, studying the beasts who were much more diverse than typically imagined, varying degrees of lesser and greater dragons displayed, and they had a hierarchy too, structured around the scope of their abilities.

'You have to plan around the types of dragons I think. They are all egotistical and but they will not come in haphazardly. With Syro'gash guiding them, they will come at us according to their strengths. You must plan around that,' said Salstasha.

Anka agreed, and he made notes that he would discuss with his men. The many variations of dragons were startling, their qualities quite different from species to species.

Anka tapped a page toward the end, which illustrated a giant: a Grand Dragon. 'Syro'gash is one of only few Grand Dragons still in existence. They are highly magical, incredibly intelligent, tireless in battle, scales as hard as stone and breathes flames as hot as hellfire. What's more, if he has the Stone of Privilege as they say, he will command human magicks as well.'

'How will we deal with him?' asked Salstasha.

'Ambush - there is no other way, once we have him in a compromised position we will concentrate fifty men on him. Nothing else will do, maybe drive the bolt of a siege engine into his heart. It will be chaotic, but if we get the opportunity, somehow, to bring him to ground amidst our fighting force, rope him down, perhaps we can overwhelm him.'

They had many thoughtful ponderings and discussions.

Anka could clearly see Salstasha was fascinated with the dragons, even when they had very nearly come to kill her.

'Do you think one day we will live in peace with these creatures?' she asked.

'Maybe. But I doubt it.'

'How come? I don't think all of them are as malicious as their leader,' said Salstasha.

'The only thing that can make man and dragon reconcile, is a bigger evil, and there is nothing like that.'

Salstasha almost had a sad look on her face. _You do not know what the Druids know Anka, there is one of the past, one creature whose evil supersedes all of dragon-kind_. But she did not tell him of this, because its threat was dealt with ages ago. The dragon posed a very real threat and were the only creatures that could conquer the earth from humans.

Anka stood up as an idea of another subject they could research for their defence surfaced in his thoughts, and he disappeared searching the shelves as Salstasha still studied the book of dragons intently. As Anka returned with the book he had in mind, he found Salstasha passed out at the table, her head resting on her arms. She was exhausted and he put down the book knowing it was not going to be used tonight.

He gently took her and picked her up in his arms, she only stirring somewhat. 'Let's go to bed.'

As Anka carried her to their room she said, 'I don't want it to end for us Anka. I want to live.'

'We will.'

'I can feel them, they are filled with hate,' she said sleepily.

The day came that Anka went to the throne room, alone this time; no court was in session. He stood behind the throne and he lifted Erenciel from its resting place, the golden sword clearing with a screech that rang in the halls. Now Anka would not go about or do his preparation without it. The men would see it. The women would see it. Attoras was now on the move. They were readying for war.

'Am I intruding King?' came a voice down the lonely hall. Squinting in the light, the King saw A'luon emerge from the doors.

'Not at all. I maybe need more distraction from my pensive moods.'

A'luon approached, eyeing the sword. 'I have always wanted to see the blade of the north. It is a more significant heirloom than you might guess; both a weapon and a key of the old world.'

'Key?' said the King.

'Indeed. If the histories I've read are accurate, you hold one of the very few blades that were entrusted in opening lost secrets of the ancient world. What's more, few swordes can pair with magicks as can Erenciel – your light King Anka, and the Erenciel blade might be congruent to each other in ways you cannot imagine.'

'These are very interesting things you are bringing to light Knight-Marshall,' said Anka, 'but I feel you don't often do things because they are novel, rather, that you are here with purpose.'

A'luon nodded. 'I've come to deliver a fair warning. If we survive, in whatever way, the Bishops of Allandiel will rush to Attoras in aide, to help with the aftermath. In fact, I would say they are already on their way.'

'Is that a bad thing?'

'They value their influence on others oftentimes more than anything else, and they achieve this in many ways. I say this with the greatest respect, but they are mere men after all. Do not let them beguile you, and moreover, do not let them talk you into surrendering the sword.'

'Not that I would ever consider it, but why?'

'Because they seek what Erenciel can open, and not all of it are good your Highness. I will leave it at that.'

'You are scared you will have to deal with their blunder?'

A'luon smiled slightly. 'Indeed your Highness. '

'Very well. Thank you, Knight-Marshall, your warning is appreciated. I doubt many men would have the courage to speak out against his own masters.'

'Masters is a strong word,' said A'luon.

'All the same, very few men carry their kind of clout and power.'

'I put justice above all else, above all humans, revered or not. '

'Then I have the right man at my side for this conflict.'

A'luon nodded. 'That is another matter I wanted to bring to you: we have many good men, in both the Wolves and the Knights, but we must get them content with each other, and coordinated for the battle. They must _know_ each other.'

Anka could not agree more. 'I will talk to Hathai. Their ways have always been separate, but that will have to change for this affair.'

In time the Wolves and the Knights had grown amicable enough with one another to train together. This was a historical moment that spoke volumes. The Wolves had never before gone about training with men outside of their order, not even with the soldiers of Attoras. Much of the same doctrine existed within the Knighthood. And yet here they were, side by side.

Being two highly professional entities, they went through their motions and adapted to each other with ease. With all the egos in these two groups they dared not test each other on skill, which was likely to boil over into another fight, rather focussing on tactical manoeuvres for different situations.

Securing an imaginary checkpoint, Gremhalden roared in victory.

'I would imagine we would have more resistance come the real thing,' said Bhask.

'You're the only Wolf with a face,' said Gremhalden with a frown, the veteran never holding back it seemed. He was of course referring to the fact that the other Wolves kept on their masks in public always.

Bhask smiled. 'I'm the cursed one remember? A mask will make me a target, which is not a problem if I can fight back. That said I was never partial to the masks, while my brothers revel in hiding their identities.'

'So you won't be fighting at all? More for me I guess,' said Gremhalden.

'I will help in whatever way I can,' said Bhask.

'You will? That's fine news, you can carry me a drink every now and then. Slaying dragons is thirsty work. I will only take your darkest stout, from Milor stock, nothing else will do!'

The men laughed, and more quietly Gremhalden said to Bhask:

'Your soul being in peril might be a worthwhile trade off to have another good sword arm. Two in your case. You might save more than just a few lives.'

'It is not only my soul at stake. My brothers and I are linked in a mystical way. If the corruption of the curse takes hold, it might affect them too.'

'I won't say it out loud, but the Savage Art is beyond equal, a pity then if you can't use it. '

'Not many Knights will acknowledge that.'

'Would you ever consider teaching it to someone outside of your order?' asked Gremhalden thoughtfully.

'Does that person wish to join the order?' asked Bhask.

'I... I do not know if I can serve just one King when I already look over the entire western realm. And I think I will never give up my wings. But I envy you. There is such clarity within you and it reflects in your combat. It almost makes it worth it.'

'Think no longer on it Knight. You would be joining an order that will soon be torn from this world. You have a keen mind, _a just mind_ and you will yet do many good things that we Wolves will never have the chance of accomplishing.'

'Will we lose this battle then?'

'No, we will fight to win. But we Wolves all have the same dream. When this battle finishes, the world will forever change.'

In an overcrowded room they gathered, their last meeting being the strangest Anka had ever seen. The men stood so thickly stacked in the war room, that they spilled right out of the doorway and into the corridors. It was unlikely that before today that either the Wolves or the Knights had shared a room with common soldiers for a war like this, and unlikelier still, that the Wolves and the Knights would plan for this together. Even though they were many men, still only the most prominent of Anka's soldiers were present and they would need to relay to the men below them the King's battle plan.

For those souls that were actually close enough to the table, they followed King Anka's fingers as they trailed over the castle chart, outlining the defence of the walls, the town, the bailey, the towers, the gatehouses and every possible entry into the castle and the town. The ballroom staircase had been knocked down and its doors sealed as it was a potential entry for the worshippers lower down - they wanted the dragon-worshippers testing the walls and nothing else. It was assumed that some general form of destruction would be visited on the town, but that the dragons and any associating forces would focus on taking the castle as priority. Still Anka planned to have the water canal in the middle of the town hold a substantial amount of men, with the option to retreat to the castle as soon as it became evident that the town was to be overrun. And that was just the thing; _the town would be overrun._ Not only was it very difficult to defend in the streets, but Anka's optimistic projection of having 6000 men available would be outnumbered by the dragon worshippers.

They discussed the enemy in detail and the King shared all that he and Salstasha had learned of the dragons. One message was repeated again and again: "fight as a group, do not go up against a dragon alone, fall back and regroup if you have to, but _do not_ fight a dragon on your own."

'What are Wolves if not a pack?' was Taggandus' reply to this, so that men understood the spirit of the instruction.

The men agreed heartily, not in the least because no one looked forward to confronting a dragon on their own anyway.

In time they started speaking of things they had already covered, and yet Anka had not found anything stirring to say in that moment, stacked together like they were, with men who needed some kind of inspiration surely. He looked at Salstasha at his side, his wife, who had been with him through all of their planning and it gave him a thought.

'Our Queen took as much as fire as those dragons can spare, and still she lives, let those scaled bastards come, we will live through their flames and send their miserable brood fleeing the very sight of the mountain – for a second time!'

The men cheered in manner that rang off the walls, Salstasha looking up embarrassingly at Anka, but also with a content smile at his compliment.

After their meeting, Anka and Salstasha retreated to some solitude. They had first thought about reading up more in the library, but thought better of it; they had learned as much as they could and they needed some quiet time before all hope of that was lost.

'In their minds they are extremely strong, hence the effect they have on their worshippers - who will die to protect these monsters.'

'This we know love,' said Salstasha.

'Yes, but I always wondered if that bond could be broken?'

'Is it something your magic can do?'

'I don't think so, nor would I want my disciples spending their time on something besides tending the wounded.'

'Then best we concentrate on other ways to fight them,' said Salstasha.

Anka sighed. 'I think we've done all that can before the battle.'

By twilight they were sitting before a fire in the parlour of the old assembly hall. Anka was watching the fire in the hearth so intently, hypnotized. For now, the fire was a comforting creature. Soon they would face the true masters of fire. It seemed humans have only ever imitated the great power of dragons.

He said this much to Salstasha and she shook her head. 'It might come naturally to them, but they have not done anything with flames other than destruction and manipulation. We have, in our nobler moments, built cities around it, cooked food, keep warm our loved ones. You do not know, but the top engineers of our time are working on machines that will use fire and water to build carriages that can move on their own.'

'I do not fear fire,' Salstasha added, 'only the intent behind it.'

Anka smiled. 'That is good and I'm glad.'

'Why are you thinking so deeply my King?'

'I finally have my kingdom in tow, and I finally have you. Yet all of this has come to me at the most difficult of times. The dragons' shadow lies heavily on my mind, more so for what I stand to lose.'

'Maybe such things only come when the worst is upon us.'

'Maybe, but now I must defend everything from this threat, and I do not know if we are enough.'

'Come now King, you have all the quality warriors you could possibly ask for.'

Anka grunted. 'You're right, I should be glad the Wolves emerged when they did.'

'I know one thing, if you and your Wolves do not stop Syro'gash and his host, no one will. You were right, the dragons will not stop with reclaiming mount Dunnoom. All the men of the west will become the subjects of dragon gods.'

Anka nodded. 'That is a good message my love, and that is what I will tell my men tomorrow. Whether they live or die, they deserve to know that whatever courage enters their hearts, will be in defence of mankind as we know it.'
Chapter 14

### Dragonfall

Anka woke in the small hours of the morning, suddenly driven up. He poured a mug of cold water down a dry throat and headed out, leaving Salstasha in peace where she lay. Heading for the upper main corridor facing the east, he came to a standstill at a window, seeing all of Attoras and beyond.

The town was still sleeping _. They should be quaking with fear and the memory of dragons banished from here might do more harm than good_. Back then the dragons were not united and they did not have an army marching with them.

To the east, where the world inched to a grey blue dawn, pillars of black smoke rose ominously in the deepest parts of the forest. He fixed his gaze there, the trees in the darkness swaying in an animated way as though the wind was a spell that brought things to life in the most eerie of ways, the pines and its needles singing its last song. _They will burn like tallow,_ thought Anka miserably. He did not even want to extend that thought of what would happen to the town. Anka watched the horizon sternly.

In the darkness, every now and then a disembodied spit of fire was visible from thirty miles away, silent and brief, but as fear-instilling as a bolt of lightning. Anka knew the farmsteads and stables that stood in the path of the invasion were being burnt in gratuitous malice. If any of those folk had not retreated to Attoras in the last few days, then they were on their own.

Deciding that all the helplessness he was feeling was put to bad use, he went back to bed, in a soldierly fashion grabbing every minute of sleep for what could be a drawn out encounter.

Anka woke again later than he planned.

'They will come today,' was the first thing he said to Salstasha as he found her in the dining hall, breaking her fast with the rays of sunlight streaming through the window where she sat.

She put down her spoon, saying nothing at first, her eyes glassy. 'I know, I can feel them. Their presence is growing on my mind.'

'I'll have one my Wolves guard you at all times. I cannot think of a single safe place within the castle, so it might come down to you moving from place to place. '

'It will be alright, you focus on the fight and nothing else.'

He came to her and kissed her.

Though he had very little appetite, he sat down and packed himself a prodigious meal.

'We will all stay in the cloister, the one that leads into the mountain caverns. It might the one place they do not reach,' said Salstasha.

'I don't know about that...' said Anka uneasily. 'Should they get there... you'd be cornered... I want to give you a fighting chance should everything go horribly wrong and they penetrate the castle. I can't leave you in the cloister.'

'That's where the women and very young children will be, the ones who won't be helping, are you saying they are not safe where they are?'

'It will be impossible to move them around like one of my men can do for you!'

'Spare your man. I want all the Wolves outside fighting for every one of us. I will be fine. There is a limit to how much you can control the fight. If we cannot be safe within the cloister, then it is what it is.'

Anka conceded with a sigh. 'Very well, but under no circumstance do you leave the cloister! Not until all is over. Do you understand that?'

'Yes.'

He drew her to him and held her, for what might've been the last time, and before it could become a bit much, he kissed her briefly, and sent her off to join the rest of the women and children filing into a chamber that sat very much in the underground of the castle, the doors sealed behind them.

Anka turned away, and with Salstasha still in his thoughts he went to armoury to prepare his fittings. Men were marching up and down, standing in queues ready to be armed, and directed to their position, going through the motions dutifully, both that strange look of resignation and resolution in their eyes. It would be a day of blood and fire.

Two hours from noon, and it all started.

The men of Attoras were on the walls. And on the roofs and in the streets. They stood clustered, with shields and spears and bows. They had swords at their waists. There was scant chatter, very brief utterances as men made last minute preparations, an otherwise thickening silence upon them. Knees were certainly buckling, and in anticipation more than one man stood with a cold droplet of sweat running down the side of his face. Anka stood on the centre ramparts, on the higher walls where two diagonal causeways crested into a buttress, from there being able to survey almost everyone. _Almost everyone_. The Knights and their griffins were stationed even higher, perched in loose formations all over the towers and roofs of the castle, some of them even waiting on the mountain ridge overlooking the battlements. With Anka stood his most trusted and the greater part of the Wolf forces ranked on the stairs on either side of the buttress.

They watched and waited, until signs of movement came in the far.

Great formations of dragon worshippers came marching from the forest, breaching the treeline, and their numbers were unceasing. Horns sounded, both in town and from the enemy. The clear note of Attoras rang proud, but was drowned out eventually by the enemy, as they blew the horns of dead dragons; the sound of them a coarse and repeated slap on the air. Drums were beaten among the enemy, their march now shaking the valley, and vibrating all the way into the stones of the Attoras.

The worshippers wore a faded grey steel, their helms flanked by ornate dragon wings. Being great in number, their black tabards made for a despairing image on the fields before Attoras, and as they approached they swallowed the fair grasses underneath their boots, until they saturated the area between the town walls and the forest.

The dragon army came to a halt, so beholden to their dragon gods that they stood still as statues. Anka squinted to see if he could spot any commanders among the worshippers. It was not a useful exercise. Where one would normally target these, the worshippers relied on their spiritual link to the dragons for commands. At best, he saw a group among them that might be part of Tarah and his magi.

Still the dragon army waited, and everyone was thinking the same thing; _if only we could strike them now, right there where they stood_.

'Did we make a mistake not having archers and artillery closer to the fields?' asked A'luon quietly at the King's side.

'No, if we did the dragons would have hit us hard on the frontline without hope of escape to higher ground. And we would lose those men to dragonfire.'

Anka's words were barely out of his mouth, when the dragons came. It started with a spark. The forests were set ablaze, with the army fully assembled, they could torch the entirety of the Groves in the Attoras vicinity. Soon it was a grim inferno. There would be no escape, not for anyone.

A blizzard strew from the mountain, already dissipating by the time it reached town, its white and blues in stark contrast to the reds and black of the fire in the east, embers and snows disappearing before they could reach each other, as though continuing their fight in a different realm. Shadows of the dragons emerged from the fires, as though they could not be harmed by the harshest element the earth had to offer.

They had marched their men in close as they did because no one would be able pass through the inferno afterwards. The way the worshippers fanned out, forming a half moon around the perimeter of the town, was an unexpected turn of events, although necessary for them now that the forests were ablaze. They would not send in their regiments one by one, but launch against the walls, and where they found a whole, seep in opportunistically.

Anka saw a problem then; if the defenders were going to try and dissipate their attack through the town confines and hound them in guerrilla tactics, they could not allow them to find a single point of entry. If they did, they would barrel by the thousands towards the castle, and no force would stop them. Usually a choke point was useful, but in this instance they wanted the worshippers to enter the town from all sides. Spread them out as it were, and let them overextend in a wide and complicated terrain.

'Open the lower town gates! All of them!' ordered Anka.

' _Oh gods, the King has gone mad!'_ bellowed Gibbon, bringing about a few nervous laughs.

'Shut up Gibbon!' said Anka.

'We let them in?' asked Kenilla.

'We let them in,' echoed Anka.

A minute later the King's command was carried to the walls and the lowest town gates were unbolted, and even though it was by his own command, it was unsettling to see the armies enter Attoras so.

Ten blocks of dragon worshippers were forced through the town gates, entering the city with the urgency of great hunters. Anka's stomach clenched, the sight of his enemy passing so easily into Attoras bringing up thoughts of defeat and a failure to protect Attoras, even if it were their plan to wait for the enemy here. For this reason his blade hungered. Luckily they had adjudged the situation correctly. The dragon worshippers did not spend time trying to torch the town, or ransack it for that matter. They lived for their masters desires, and their masters wanted only the castle. The town could be dealt with afterwards.

The conflict was immediate, the pockets of soldiers and Wolves placed strategically in town holding nothing back as they struck. Always in ambush or at range, never toe to toe. The archers firing from the red shingled roofs, and the Wolves as good as assassins, coming from alleys, dispatching many a men, and disappearing before they were swept up in battle. The soldiers and militia would also pick off an enemy where they could and do their level best to draw the attention of the worshippers, make stragglers of them from the bigger group; anything to lessen the amount of men that would reach the castle gates.

Anka winced as he saw a group of militia, who had done a good job until then, get wedged between two columns of worshippers. They lost the men swiftly.

It became apparent that the worshippers were flooding the town as rivers, and whatever Attoras's efforts in the streets amounted to, had not taken a significant toll on the number of the enemy – maybe just the edge off their attack.

Not getting involved immediately was hard, Anka accustomed being on the frontlines, regardless of how ill-advised it were. _That why I don't take Kenilla along on my campaigns._ He watched on sternly, as the defences came under duress, tested, and every second that the city was not swept away in a ocean of enemies a mercy, but agonizing all the same. Withholding from giving too many orders, he issued directives from his vantage, specifically issuing a change of course where he could see the ranks faltering. With the worshippers moving closer to the gate on the first castle wall, the Wolves in town retreated and were hoisted to a higher level by the soldiers on the wall, those that pulled the ropes welcoming the brave Wolves to their ranks in celebration. Even as this happened, archers also on the wall made sure no worshipper could close in on a Wolf trying to find safe ground.

Again Anka resisted the urge of going lower down and getting stuck in it.

Be patient, the enemy will come my way soon enough.

He left the Knights to their own devices as they would be led ably by A'luon. Anka had to trust this was so or they would not live through the day.

The dragons had grown as shadows on the horizon and through the fiery haze of burning forests they approached, and in this manner closed in before anyone could be prepared for it. Before the worshippers could even draw close to the main gate the dragons crossed that distance with devilish speed, like predator birds that had but circled remotely before suddenly attacking.

A chorus of commands burst around the wall in reaction, the soldiers of Attoras readying a response. The incoming horde was of the greyscale variety, which had smallish statures, lithe, but with a great wingspan that carried them swiftly.

The men who armed the ballistae had waited the whole morning for this, but the way the dragons streaked at them - and then turned upwards at the last second, had them desperately swinging the devices to get aim on the creatures. A few fired prematurely, and the bolts hit only sky.

The dragons looped and then came back down, having wisely avoided the first volley from the castle walls.

As the dragons descended the Knights and their griffins leapt from every perch imaginable on the castle to meet them in the air.

Anka stood rooted as ancient enemies were suddenly clashing, meeting in opposing waves of scales and feathers, claws and talons. The fiery breaths used recklessly and the griffins enjoying an even greater agility to their flight than the dragons. The Knights outnumbered the first dragon brood and employed tactics to contain and divert them away from town. More than one bolt fired from the castle wall now punched a dragon out of the air and the griffins were yet strong enough to capture the greyscales in their claws, the Knights brandishing their swords to stab or behead the arrested beast.

Two greyscales took wounds to their wings that forced them to land on the walls, and the Wolves swept over them.

As the last body of the greyscales fell into the town canal, the King's eyes were drawn toward the bridge leading to the castle, as the dragon worshippers started converging there. The front-most soldiers met them in an affair that was conducted rather even-handedly, no one risking anything bold but trying to push the opposing force back. The dragon worshippers of course had time on their side.

The battle then became complex so very fast, all pleasantries out of the way. In a plume of dark smoke that drifted toward the mountain, came then a variety of terrifying creatures, some descending toward the battlements and others taking on the Knights, who had not even respite after dealing with the first wave of greyscales.

There were emerald dragons with long necks and small unadorned heads, but they breathed golden flames that did not dissipate as it should, bursting smokeless from its maw and cutting through anything that stood in its way. Contrast to these were the azure dragons, short and strong muscled beasts with a broad heads. They could entertain but a short burst of flame, but with the pressure in their bulbous stomachs they could shoot these flames home at an incredible distance, hovering outside the range of the ballistae.

Not all dragons were winged ones and the Rothnis entered the castle thusly: the Argobath was the biggest of dragon-kind and its shadow made its way over Attoras with a slow and laboured beat of its wings. It only emerged once the dragons had secured some dominance in the airspace over the castle. The Argobath did not have fires in its mouth or horns on its body, but was instead known for the tightly clustered ominous bulbs of brightest green on its belly, that looked like eggs if nothing else. It was an obscene creature and Anka warned everyone what it would bring with it.

The Argobath came as low as it dared, taking some fire from the humans, but then dropping what it held in those bulbs on the castle, the bulbs rupturing suddenly, revealing living things inside. Taking the fall gracefully, the Rothnis came down with the webbing between their limbs. The Rothnis were not that big, but their exaggerated bone structure overlapped like plates, forming a carapace-like protection, their body shape very much a like praying mantes once on its feet. Their fangs, claws and horns were a multitude of sharp and long weapons, and on the ground the swordsmen and pikemen of the castle faced its fearsome challenge. It was often a Wolf that bought one of these down, a pinpoint cut to the soft areas in between its plates the only way to wound it without having to use the force of a war hammer.

One such Rothnis landed near Anka to its misfortune, and Erenciel took first blood as the King clove into it with hunger, the ancient blade first severing a limb, and then licked back to open up its chest. The dragon buckling, the King kicked at it to send it down the steps of where he stood, and he let his soldiers finish the wounded thing, turning his attention back on the greater scheme of things.

The castle was in chaos, the walls caught up in fighting, and Anka feared that with the ground forces now fighting a desperate battle against the wingless beasts, the dragons in the sky would be free from arrow or ballista fire. The griffins alone could not contain all the lofty dragons from raining fire down on the town and on the walls.

'Go King, before our men are so diminished that the worshippers get past the bridge!' said Kenilla, insinuating that he would stand on high and give commands.

Anka entrusted this to him, and with Bhask at his side, they engaged whatever dragonling was foolish enough to come close. Bhask of course did not take a life, not even a dragon's, only keeping at bay the creature with a halberd that he carried, so that the King could finish it. They scooped up two more Wolves into their party along the way and together they raided the walls for dragonblood, the ballistae being freed up to fire again, ever so often making a spectacular hit that sent a dragon plummeting to its death. Other bolts got it half right, bringing with it nets and ropes, dragons already pushed to avoid griffins and arrows caught up suddenly, and if they did not take the fall, the griffins would finish them, and if they dared make landfall on the walls, the Wolves were ready.

Whatever preconceived notion Anka had for this battle was swept away. The frenetic meeting of dragon and griffin scattering encounters to all over the site. Above the forests and even into the heights of the mountain. Every now and then a shadow flitted over him and he could look up and see the Knights harassing an oft thought invincible foe, and sometimes even winning them in the ambush. He saw a Wolf mounted behind a Knight, who then, upon hovering over an emerald dragon, flung himself from the griffin's back. Coming down in a treacherous dive the Wolf perforated the dragon from above, landing on its back and stabbing with his swords no less than ten times, furiously. He left the dying creature, again jumping into open sky and a Knight was ready to re-gather him in the air.

Different teams within the Knights often lured their dragons toward the battlement and the ballistae released bolts of three feet or more. Anywhere on the wing would do. Anka was hopeful at first. The Knights worked much better in a group than the dragons. Two Knights would entice the dragon while two others crept up on it. They would lure it into a dive. At some point the pursuing dragon needed to open its wings to catch the wind, and then the Knights struck from behind. Anka was so grateful for their help.

But the ballistae they were losing entirely due to dragon fire were a bigger problem still, the culprits being the azure dragons, their terrible range setting ablaze many of the castle's artillery with explosive shots. That so many men and lads were running around with buckets of water was not enough.

A'luon identified the problem and rallied the Knights into a phalanx, bearing at dangerous sky to eliminate the azure dragons. Anka saw Gremhalden, bold and fearless, going almost recklessly after the azure dragons. Just as it seemed he got isolated among the dragon swarm, he managed to battle his way out, more often than not cutting down a dragon where it seemed he didn't have a chance.

With the ballistae saved, Attoras could contest their fate. If they lost too much of them the day too could be lost.

With the dragons starting to take the lower levels, the order was given to raise the lower level ballista up by crane to consolidate the higher wall. An ordered retreat if it could be called that. The defenders in all forms tried to preoccupy the dragons in such a way that the ballistae could be rolled back against the higher walls, connected to the cranes, and hoisted up to the second tier.

The Knights circled back and now dealt with another threat, who seemed to be the main instigators of the terrible black clouds that were seemingly shrinking the world of Attoras smaller and smaller. The Sordanian dragons could not be named for their colour, for their bleached skin became flushed and red whenever the they breathed fire, from gator-like mouths, the flames they threw around dissipating in whirling clouds of black smoke. These dragons had no protective scales, but were outfitted with armours on its chest and head. The armour however was not the only thing they carried, as they had a harness on them that allowed some of the dragon worshippers to ride them. Where one of these pale dragons could find purchase, they deposited worshippers in high positions that were a pain to the defenders on the walls and the ridges of the mountain. With that the dragons started dominating the conflict.

An enormous amount of water was at work, and had it not been for the citizenry's effort to bring up so much of it to castle during the week, the fires on the battlements would have grown so hellish that a structure made mostly from stone might have faltered.

The huge cauldrons that sat on the fat round tower, was used strategically, so that when a blaze lower down was getting out of the control, the men would tip it and let the deluge combat the blaze in a great hiss. It was the only way they could prevent the entire battleground from becoming a river of fire.

But not even the Wolves were safe, so evident as a dragon threw down a curtain of flame on the walls, three brave Wolves writhing and howling. It was only seconds later that their blackened bodies were still. In revenge came Gremhalden and rammed his griffin into the dragonling, Sunset furiously digging its talons into its scaled face, ripping it to shreds as Gremhalden punched his sword into its belly.

Another dragon came down on a herded group of Wolves. The dragon would not even care to incinerate its own worshippers. Gremhalden steered Sunset directly into the dragon, its fiery maw misdirected, catching a couple of houses' roofs, but nothing more. In the last moment Sunset disentangled itself from the dragon and the lizard ploughed across the rooftops, sending a thousand red tiles scattering into the air until it smashed a building to rubble.

The Knight however was so enraged and intent on chasing down any dragon within his sights, that he did not notice the lowly dragon worshipper, standing on the ridge as Gremhalden flew close to the mountainside. The invader flung a javelin at his griffin and Gremhalden swerved too late. The javelin took him in the side, piercing his armour only just, but more disconcertingly dislodging him from the saddle, the sideways movement of the evasive action also throwing him astray. He fell.

Sunset, the griffin that had flown him into the battle for years and years, looped and chased its falling master in a dive. The ground however was much too close and Gremhalden was sundered on the mountainside. Sunset pulled out of the dive just in time, a mournful eagle cry going up from the beast.

There was more trouble coming. The other crawling dragons were wyrms with long beards. These very much resembled a serpent of some kind, but still propelled by short stubby legs that worked furiously. They were not carried in, but came through town speeding through the streets, terrorizing and slaughtering what it could. They were not a threat to the Knights, but they threatened the gatehouse whereupon everything was centred; if the amassed worshipper army of men could penetrate the castle, the defence on the walls would become moot.

It seemed Syro'gash had brought all of dragon-kind with him today. The worst was his own brood, the lesser black dragons, not quite grand dragons yet, as Syro'gash were. Though young, they were fast and strong and had all the renowned qualities of dragon-kind, but they in particular indulged in terror, mutilating their prey needlessly, and creating dark swathes of smoke that choked any living thing that wasn't incinerated by the blaze that gave birth to it. The Knights seemed ineffective against them.

On the ground it was going no better, ordinary soldiers standing tightly clustered against foes they had no business confronting, and at their best moments they put down another frightening creature, either by arrow or sword. It didn't change the fact that the force they faced seemed to be growing stronger, greater kinds of dragons emerging and exerting their destructive will. At the gatehouse archers stood on high and fired down swathes of worshippers assailing the walls. Men with shields and spears rushed the Rothnis, already on the upper ramparts, and if they stood together, impaled the beast on many spearheads when it charged. The King himself slew a couple with the men at his side.

A'luon had seen Gremhalden fall, a pang of loss hitting him and nearly forgetting all composure. They were already ten Knights down. The magnitude of the day reeled his attentions back to battle, and again rallied his Knights and their griffins, regrouping to the north and then came as a cloud, intercepting the dragons to retake the skies most crucial to the encounter. There was one thing true about the Knights, and that was that they always avenged their own.

He led the Knights into a collision course with a concentrated dragon brood, coming down with claws and swords brandished. A'luon himself banked headlong into the path of a lesser black, a roar of flames already rocketing from its mouth.

His griffin, Gale, did a barrel roll, its wings tucked, coming in close to the ridge of the dragon's back. A'luon's sword licked out in a deadly stroke during the roll, severing the dragon's wing right at the joint, the griffin's wings furling open to catch itself as the dragon fell right out of the sky with a desperate roar.

Another rare breed came then as well, called the great red. Not as famous as the black, but came with an unmatched aggression, and so many arrows simply bouncing from its scales as though it was impervious. It was not as sly as the others, but its fearless rampage at this stage did more harm than the cunning of the others. Add to that this red was an ancient male, a veteran in the dragon hierarchy.

It killed indiscriminately, even biting through the neck of an emerald that got in his way. The normal ballistae could not hurt it, and the greater ballista on the second tier wall was too low to fire at it. Because of its size, the great red did not fly close to earth.

A captain signalled his order, realizing what had to be done, and a dozen men pushed the ballista back to wall three, the men above already readying the crane and casting the ropes down. The ballista was hooked, and the men on tier three worked furiously at the levers to reel up the giant device.

Despite its battle rage, the red still showed the wherewithal to prioritize the weapon that could lay it low, seeing it being lifted to the high wall.

The great red swooped and breathed fire onto the crane, many men going down, but luckily not all of them caught up in it.

With so many men coming in with loads of water, they managed to contain the blaze. After a moment the crane continued to lift the ballista from the lower levels, some of the craziest souls standing there among the flames, and working a lever that had the weight of the world pulling in the other direction. Even more lads with water rushed in to quench the worst of it, braving great danger when seeing their companions working so at the crane, and helping them at the levers once their buckets have been emptied. The ballista came up unsteadily as the one coil snapped - still the men hauled, and it came into place only just.

The great red came down in a second foul swoop, the flames of hell already in its maw. The ballista reared up, inclined to the sky, and a nine foot missile with a trident tip rocketing up, punching the dragon in its chest, the lizard sent spiralling and crashing there on the ramparts. The creature was only momentarily stunned from the fall, the missile not having pierced much of its awesome scales around the heart, and the mere blunt force of the missile that had achieved anything.

But half a dozen savage Wolves had not given the great red much time to re-orient, coming from all the sides. With claws raging and a sweeping tail it tried to defend itself, but this Wolf danced away, and two others leapt over the tail acrobatically, and then their steel flashed silver, the dragon brutalized in many opened wounds, going down in a fiery pool of blood.

A cheer went up by those that had seen it, already resolving not to forget their part in the slaying of this monster. The cheer was short lived.

It was inevitable that Syro'gash himself would come, if the battle lasted long enough. His brood had not been able to take the castle and his patience in this assault would not be everlasting. His shadow was the one everyone hoped would not pass over Attoras. His presence was overwhelming, even more so to the men who had done up small burn wounds hereto, who seemed to be taken by wide-eyed terror, Anka knowing that the smallest brush of dragon's breath now opening their minds to this beast and whatever ancient evil echoed in its thoughts.

Fastened to the dragon's chest was the Stone of Privilege, chained and fitted by the dragon worshippers almost as though Syro'gash wore grand jewellery and the stone was its centre piece. Even the griffins and the Knights shied away from him, cowering almost from his aura.

The dragon hovered there, far away, drawing itself upright and keeping itself afloat with lazy but enormously powerful strokes of its black wings. From its maw first rolled an incantation, the dragon's thundering words indiscernible to those who heard it. Then, it breathed a river of fire which stopped short and suddenly curved like a liquid filling the bowl of a giant glass. He kept pouring fire from his mouth, the blaze curling and folding into a ball, the snakes of flames that composed it spinning endlessly.

Many men looked up transfixed at the display, knowing what will follow would be the end of them. The dragon uttered one more incantation and then pulled back its wings until they almost touched behind his back, tensed and rigid and brought them forward with force, the air they brought coalescing and booming as they did, and in accordance the fire ball shattered into a hundred darts of destruction that rained in and around the castle.

It was too much then. The resistance that kept the worshipper army from entering the castle was shattered. They were breached.

Anka looked about him desperately. 'Bhask, with me, the rest of you, do your best for Attoras, fight for the walls until it becomes vain to do so!'

They needed Anka on the walls, but he could not fight effectively if the worshippers made headway towards the cloisters, towards Salstasha. He went into the castle.

Salstasha heard the rumble, time and again, the sound of war echoing through the confines of the little sanctuary for the women, children and the wounded. Every now and then an impact rocked the castle and shook the very stones.

They knew that if the men failed on the outside they would be doomed. She wished so she could be out there, helping. There was no use sitting here waiting for death. Then again she and the other women might very well be a sentimental liability outside. Their men could not keep their stations if they knew the women were in harm's way.

The burn victims that were carried in here unnerved her - she still felt fragile toward her own wounds. The disciples attended to the burn victims without delay, the magic in the dragon's breath a terrible thing as Salstasha knew, and needed to be healed by the Seluin light as soon as possible. The screams of men, whether they were wounded or burnt, would stay with her forever.

Naceus, amid all the excitement, had gotten lost. He had latched onto an idea, and started wandering the halls like he often did, quite oblivious to the commotion.

Muttering by himself, he had gotten quite frustrated with the problem. 'I need an older mind to tackle this question. Hmm, what about the Lady of castle?' _She is not an older mind, but_ _maybe she has gleaned secrets from her bond with the dragons of our bygone eras?_

'I think I will consult the Lady Salstasha!' he said and headed to the cloisters, finding there Merohan and his guard, standing vigilantly at a concealed door indiscernible from the wall.

They all looked at him as though he was mad.

'Might I see the Queen, her Lady Salstasha?' queried Naceus casually.

'No, these doors are to remain sealed Scholar,' said Merohan in some frustration to Naceus's blasé demeanour. Clearly it was lost on him that a war was enveloping them all.

Naceus looked a bit surprised. 'So I'm stranded outside then?'

'Ah-' said Merohan uncertainly, not too keen on keeping the defenceless Scholar out either.

Just then the doors behind Merohan clicked open. 'Naceus, is that you?' came Salstasha's voice, peeking beyond the door.

'Yes my Queen!'

'Highness, I would suggest getting back inside,' protested Merohan, raising his hands in a pleading gesture.

She ignored him. 'What are you doing here Naceus? Why aren't you hiding?'

'Well, I came to see _you_ truthfully, I was wondering if I could pick your mind, or a dragon's mind really... is that something you can do I've been wondering?'

Salstasha looked at him, puzzled.

'If you know what to look for, can you maybe see into the knowledge of the dragons? That would a great help for some of the problems I've been struggling with, those who have their mysteries enshrined in our distant past.'

'No Naceus, I cannot see into the dragons' thoughts,' said Salstasha, 'I sometimes feel them, and maybe...' suddenly Salstasha stopped. 'But I have no guarantee that they can't see into _mine_. And the closer they are, given how close they are now... They will know about the pages!' she cried, and the anxiety of her realization not lost on the others.

'My Queen?'

'We have to go! We have to go to the library and secure the pages! The worshippers are coming for the incantations!'

A greater rumble than any of the previous ones shook the castle and there was a momentous uproar, shouts now echoing through the halls.

'Highness I think the worshippers have started breaching the castle! You must get back inside!' urged Merohan.

Salstasha shook her head. 'It is all the more reason to get the pages! Come with me!' And she ran, knowing that they would _have_ to follow her.

Merohan had been right, the worshippers were now in the castle, and she allowed the guard to catch up with her so that they could surround her as they fought toward the library. This was one time in her life that she wished she had at some point trained with a weapon; securing the pages would be worth it.

'Once we get the pages Naceus, I'm giving them to you. If we risk the dragons being able to see through my eyes, they will always know where it is!' said Salstasha as they ran.

'Oh my,' said the Scholar, holding on to his hat, and moving his short legs as fast as he could to keep up.

They were up the narrow stairs to the library and suddenly on the landing a stream of worshippers attacked them. They were separated, Merohan and some of his guard cut off, and all Salstasha and Naceus could do were to go into the library and try and hold their own there. At least they had some soldiers with them and they closed the door behind them. Merohan and his two men realized they would be crushed by the thirty-odd dragon worshippers trying to get access to the library. Hating leaving the Queen behind, he cursed and fled to get help.

Inside the library Salstasha and Naceus made for the bookshelves where the pages were stored, re-written by Salstasha and the members of Aurdunauk. Though they could not spare it any thought, through the tall library windows they became unwilling witnesses to the fierce aerial battle that raged between the griffins and the dragons on the outside, ever so often one of the creatures threatening to come crashing into the castle.

'In our day and age, we essentially dabble with old magic, the _gifts_ as they use to say. Tajeni incantations on the other hand was such a meticulous breakdown of magic that when utilized its effects could be incredibly varied. Mere mortals aren't really equipped to handle the scope this magic could achieve. But a dragon with human speech? That is simply not an option. For any dragon to garner that power will become a force we cannot contend with,' explained Salstasha as they rummaged for the secret place behind a row of books dealing with astronomy.

'No need to tell me Highness, I know whatever the pages are, they are trouble, and more so in the claws of the dragons,' ´said Naceus as he piled books to the floor carelessly for the first time in his life.

'Here it is!' said Salstasha, reaching the cavity at the back and bringing about the pages.

The soldiers in the meanwhile had tried to bar the library door behind them when they entered, and they had success for a moment, at least long enough for Salstasha to have found the pages.

It then went awry. The force of the dragon worshippers on the other side were too much, and they broke through, Salstasha's protectors retreating as the enemy entered the library. They came at Naceus and the Queen.

Naceus instinctually picked up a chair and held it up as an impromptu shield. A dragon worshipper's spear struck through the seat of the chair, driving Naceus back and jarring his bones, but it was enough for the spear to have come stuck. What he would do next he did not know, frozen and powerless to protect the Queen.

A Wolf came flying through the library window in a rain of glass. From the side the Wolf vaulted head over heels, grabbing the chair's legs and as he revolved over the fray he dragged the chair, the worshipper and Naceus in chaotic whirl of momentum, all of them falling hard. On his back Naceus had no clue to the Wolf's intention until he realized that other worshippers had come from the left stairway and the little stunt had been used to save Naceus, while both the Wolf and the chair-stabbing worshipper had rammed into the ascending foes. And so also the silver-masked saviour brought about his swords and introduced himself fearsomely into the fray, working his way down and ending his foes as they toppled on the stairs. The soldiers that had lost the door rallied at his side as he reached the first landing, and together pushed the enemy back. Somehow they managed to re-secure the door, close it, and bar it with all their weight.

On the outside Gibbon had trouble getting up then, the blood of his first head wound already dried. 'We can't go on like this, it's been hours already.'

'We're losing,' he said, as he saw A'luon having just landed then, hoping the Knight-Marshall would have an answer to their predicament. Even though he avoided getting any wounds so far, he looked bewildered at the scope of the conflict today.

Gibbon stumbled toward him, almost tripping over a dead Wolf. 'Blast it, we were vain! Always talking of how the Wolves are unconquerable. Look now, we're being round up. We won't see out the night.'

'That the Wolves have lasted this long is beyond my reckoning Gibbon. They are up against a much larger foe. But you are right; the time has come to flee,' said A'luon.

'Leave the mountain? No my watcher of the west. We of Attoras do not flee the mountain, and nary abandon our King. Imagine, telling my grandchildren I got out, but I left a King behind. No, that is unthinkable.'

'Then we will lend you our hand,' said A'luon defeatedly.

'Unless you want to be cremated, I suggest you still man the skies Knight-Marshall.'

'But you will need all the men you can-'

Gibbon shook his head, his moustache quivering. 'Don't be stupid Knight-Marshall, the Benevolence knows we cannot afford to lose you. You might be the only reasonable man south of here. You and your men cover the skies for as long as you can. When it becomes clear you are at the losing end, you can take leave - the world will still need its Knights. But there is one thing you must do; you must tell of us, like you heard our last howl echoing from the halls, and when men even beyond the Starwall hear of the dragon's might, do not let it be without them telling of the Wolves. There is going to be reckoning Knight, the dragons will not go from here without our blades leaving a dread memory in their ancestry!'

A'luon nodded, 'You must know that you will still be crushed from all sides. They will pour into the castle.'

Gibbon didn't like the sound of that, knowing the Knight spoke sense. 'Can you take your men, fly with the griffins, gather every piece of debris, the breastwork, the broken siege engines - fly back with as much as you can and use it to barricade the secondary entrances? We'll allow them to only come from the front and into the main entrance.'

'That we can do,' agreed A'luon.

And so it happened. While the soldiers and the Wolves staged an orderly retreat to the entrance hall, the Knights did their best to fill and barricade every little orifice the castle had. With the retreat, the soldiers ferried many of the wounded back into the castle, which included the recovery of Gremhalden where he had fell. He was alive still, but gravely wounded and they carried him on a stretcher. They had completed what they set out to do, just before Syro'gash descended.

'Flee fools. Run to the other side of the world and tell all nations of my terror. Under my yoke you shall be conquered.' The black dragon's voice was like the full might of a high tide, crashing against rocks.

The Knights and their griffins then made way as the black dragon came.

Syro'gash landed, crawling over the wall and into castle confines, its terrible claws mangling the battlements. Many of the men who stood brave till then simply lost hope and broke apart running, scurrying, finding any little hole that was left to hide. Gibbon marshalled some of the archers around him and they focused fire on the beast. The scales were rock hard, and as much the reason why this creature lived for hundreds of years as his slow aging blood. They did not even get its attention. Rather, it swept its maw from north to south in a wide arc, and the most terrible nightmarish blaze erupted from the dragon's throat, engulfing the bailey in an inferno. It was the worst thing Gibbon had ever seen, and he prayed for the souls that had just been caught in the flames. Seeing the dragon making for the ball room confused the marshal, even more so when it tore its mighty claws through the two story high wooden doors that had been sealed. He took pause: the dragon could simply have breathed its fires through the main entrance and the windows even. _Was its malice so great that it needed to live out its vengeance attacking its enemies face to face?_ Not all was what it seemed. Regardless, Gibbon again rallied as many men as he could, those who had not run and those who were not mutilated; the fight would continue on the inside.

Halfway into the castle, toward the cloister, they ran into Merohan.

'My King!' came his voice, and seeing that the man had a tale on his heart Anka replied, 'we have no time Merohan!'

'The Queen and the Scholar are holed up in the library,' Merohan pressed on. 'She is no longer in the cloisters!'

'Curse it,' said the King, grabbing Merohan by the scruff of the neck. 'Why did you allow her out!?'

'Its better she explains it to my King, but your Highness must trust me when I say she went there in desperation! I could not stop her.'

'Our role here is getting redundant anyway King, you take Bhask and go on. Me and the rest will cut off and scatter the worshippers, so that you don't get cornered in the library,' said Kenilla.

Anka nodded once, clasping Kenilla on the shoulder and then ran on.

Salstasha looked on with concern as the worshippers kept pounding at the door, barely held in place by the Wolf and two soldiers. Suddenly the pounding stopped, the sounds of fighting just beyond growing louder and louder.

'Open the door!' commanded the King from the other side. With relieve they backed away and Anka came storming in. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

Salstasha waved the pages in Anka's face. 'They want this!' she cried.

Anka was dumbstruck and shook his head. 'No, they want back their mountain.'

'Their leader can talk Anka! He has the Stone of Privilege, and as long he has it, he can speak human incantations, of which the Remnant Pages might be the most comprehensive collection of such. If he masters human magicks of old, what do you think will stop him?' she said.

Anka's disbelief continued, but only because he had been so convinced that the dragons simply wanted their mountain back, and of course, their vengeance. He searched Salstasha's face and then knew she was right.

'Their worshippers came storming for the library specifically,' said Salstasha, as to further convince him.

'I understand now,' he nodded, 'all that matters is that you are safe. Thank the Benevolence you had the sense to see this.'

As promised Salstasha gave the papers to Naceus, and the King gave Naceus a party that would protect him and the pages. They were off, and would hide somewhere other than the cloisters, as to be away from Salstasha.

Then the King turned to Bhask.

'The most important thing you can do with your life Bhask, is to ensure Salstasha's safety!' urged Anka, before sending him and Salstasha off to the sanctuary of the cloister again - the King would need to go back down and help the struggling soldiers in the entrance hall.

But they did not get to it, suddenly ambushed by many worshippers and the three of them set of running, their only option the grand corridor that was the single largest stretch of masonry in the castle, a bypass between the north and south wings. They passed through the dining room, locking doors behind them in a hope of getting away from the chasing horde. The bypass was now in sight. They were up the stairs and through the door.

An eerie silence awaited them here in the lonely hall, almost inviting them in, but before they could move toward the door at the other end, a tremendous figure crashed right through Mason-built walls. A dark figure emerged, the stones falling from its body, forcing its way through the door and archway, smashing through the masonry with all its might as dust blast out before him. It was Syro'gash.

For a just second, the King's courage failed him, dumbstruck at the magnitude of the creature facing them and hopeless in that he had to try and protect Salstasha from it. He was terrible in presence. Not as big as the Argobath, but so many times more deadly. His scales were gleaming and black, his body riddled with spikes. On his head were a crown of horns; this was the King of the dragons.

But it was because he had to protect more than himself that Anka acted. Gathering his wits, Anka pushed Bhask and Salstasha back up the stairs, forcing the two of them through the door in retreat.

' _Go through! Go through!_ ' he urged the two, making it clear he was staying.

Bhask made a motion to protest.

'I SAID CLOSE THE DOOR!' roared Anka, pushing them past the threshold, giving Salstasha one last look over his shoulder and slamming the door shut. On the other side he could hear Bhask now carrying Salstasha away from the door, her crying Anka's name.

He could not trade places with Bhask, however willing the Wolf might be to die for them. Only Bhask could keep Salstasha safe from so many enemies coming from the other side, so there was no choice. Anka simply had to face Syro'gash, all advice of not facing a dragon alone falling to pieces. He had to delay him, and hope Bhask could get Salstasha far enough and beyond pursuit, and far from the reach of this creature.

Anka turned to his enemy.

Syro'gash trudged forward slowly with a menacing stride, the weight of his body transferring crunchingly into floor, shattering ancient tiles under his knuckles and claws. The stone on its chest gleamed.

'Well met King. To a world of ash I welcome you. In my voice all have found fear. The stone has brought to me the force of our anguish. In truth your death will bring me little satisfaction. So I will crack open the vaults of your ancestors' tombs and crush their brittle bones beneath my feet. I will let you suffer such indignation that not a page or song could ever mention mankind's lonely victory against the dragon host. I will take the incantations of old from your female, and with my voice I will reshape this world. It will be mine.'

The dragon came forward still, its maw already blazing red even as it spoke.

Anka also stepped forward, with Erenciel in hand, straight-backed and fixing his gaze unwaveringly on the beast, the hall already shimmering in the heat that dragon brought with it. He did not answer the beast, his voice would be lost against this creature.

If he had to fall today, it might as well be against the greatest dragon that ever lived. The King knew what was coming, the dragon already giving hints of it as though his mere presence were summoning the flames of hell. There would be no escaping it, not in this hall.

Of all the words that came to him, it was A'luon's comments on the nature of Erenciel that returned to him; how it was a weapon, a key, and an artefact that could bend magic.

'Is there nothing you would say? Does mankind lose their voice and their courage when the dragons have found theirs? Where is the might that your House have boasted of for so many years?! Speak!' said the dragon.

Anka did not speak, but what he would say fell at his feet: a blue tapestry of House Corbel, which had loosen from the wall and blew off in the heat, falling on the floor and furling there at the King's boots. Upon it stood the solemn words of the House:

My strength, is knowing where strength comes from

Taking the waterskin from his side, Anka poured the water over the length of the sword and spoke the waters to life, his blade suddenly blazing white.

The dragon reacted, and drew itself up, sucking in air, and then unleashed a devastating breath of fire down the corridor and toward the King.

Anka swept the magic-clad sword around him in an arc and the air shimmered as though he had cut the air itself, and was trying to mend itself like scar tissue, creating in the process a translucent magic sphere around Anka like the most fragile of glass. He stared into certain death as a column of flames consumed the length of the corridor, everything blackened and charred. The flames broke over the sphere, everything consumed. Everything came to nothing, except the King and his magic.

The fires did not touch him. He could feel the force of the flames, like a physical thing, but the light held and he took heart. Anka stood there steely, waiting for some kind of cessation, the heat making him weak on his feet - but he did not show it, staring back at the dragon with menace. The paintings on the walls fell apart, the carpet a river of flame, the stones bursting from the heat. But the King stood, the flames washing over him.

Finally the dragon ran out of breath and still Anka stood untouched as the flames rampaged through everything else. The sphere kept out anything magical, and the dragon's breath was filled with it.

Anka took a casual swig of his waterskin, seemingly drinking the precious waters, but not swallowing. The dragon took this gesture as nothing more than a taunt and provocation. A great insult. In fury Syro'gash lunged forward, swift as a serpent to bite through the King's protection. In the last moment Anka ruptured the sphere around him, his own protection, and poised, blew the water in his mouth like a fine mist.

Upon leaving his lips the Seluin light blossomed from what could've been every droplet, the hall of flames momentarily swept away by stark white and the prolific shadows thereof, so many-facetted; an assault on the senses.

The King ducked and pivoted, his cape whirling, one moment in the path of Syro'gash lunging fangs, the next below the nape of the neck, the dragon's jaws snapping blindly behind Anka in the white haze.

As the light faded, the King twisted his hips, and brought up his sword in an arc, the blade's rainbow trajectory perpendicular to the dragon's neck and found its mark, passing veraciously through the scales, as flesh, bone and sinew fell prey to Erenciel.

Its mighty head thudded on the floor as the body pulled back in shock, the fountain of ancient blood spewing chaotically and setting aflame everything in sight once more. Anka avoided the flames and watched as the remains of his enemy thrashed like a headless serpent, and in the same breath brought about a shield around him again.

Just then Bhask and Salstasha came through the door Anka had shoved them through, having doubled back, and they halted in the threshold, seeing the chaos, the slain dragon, and the King standing grimly in the flames.

He walked up to them, and they spoke not a word of what had been done, between the three of them not quite believing all of it, a state of shock on them even though they had conquered an enemy. What's more, they were far from being out of trouble, so they did not know relieve then.

It was only when they realized how much of the worshippers were marauding the castle that Bhask made comment.

'Their King is dead, yet the worshippers still come!' said Bhask.

'They will not stop. Bhask, take Salstasha to safety. I have to rally the men and push the worshippers out to a single point where we can hold them - else we are doomed!'

'Yes King.'

'Be careful,' said Salstasha kissing him swiftly.

Rollance had long since abandoned his post. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. For the moment, it was still an option to salvage as much as he could, get his wife and new born child and flee this place in whatever way they could.

_No shame in fleeing dragons,_ he kept telling himself, as he snuck about the castle confines, avoiding enemy and ally alike, a bag of gold in his hands, determined to get out and as far away from this war as possible.

And then of all things, having been so careful, he ran into Kenilla. That the King's Steward was followed closely by the Wolf named Taggandus put the fear of death within him. It was that bag of gold in his arms that gave him away, Kenilla and Taggandus coming to a halt.

'Did a good job of raiding the treasury hey?' asked Kenilla drily.

Rollance stuttered, not getting out his justification he had thought of moments ago; 'no one can stand against dragons! We are going to have nothing when this is over!' Rollance almost expected Taggandus to run him through then.

'How does that bag of gold feel in your hands? Does it make everything better? I bet it weighs a ton, and will weigh even more when you start spending it,' said Kenilla.

Rollance didn't answer, looking shamefully down at it.

Kenilla grabbed the larger man by the collar and pulled him close.

'A man can only be measured by the courage in his heart and it is sometimes, not always, but sometimes a privilege to be regressed to that state of being where the only thing you have is the fight in your heart. Today is such a day, even for the King. Men will not remember you for the things you have, but rather for the times you were regressed to man's most natural state- where you have nothing but that fight within your heart. The King gave you everything when I advised him not too. He put his trust in you and made you a part of his guard, so that the child could have a father to look up to.'

Rollance stood frozen, his gaze cast down.

'Look at me,' ordered Kenilla, and Rollance had to meet his piercing gaze, 'turn around here, and make a different choice. Redemption is still an option.'

'I don't know what I can do,' said Rollance, relieved then that Kenilla had not ordered the Wolf to kill.

'Just fight. Or, if it really means that much to you, take the gold and run. I don't have the time or inclination to try and stop you.'

Rollance looked down at the bag of gold and then stuck it out for Kenilla to take.

'How generous. Now get going! Divert as many of our men to the King's aid as you can!'

Rollance was off in an instant as Kenilla watched him disappear, but confident the man was serious about his change of heart. Before Kenilla could go down, he very nearly ran into Merohan and a contingent of men in his wake.

'Whoa, where are you going? Why is everyone running around so headlessly?' asked Kenilla, certain that the action would be lower down.'

Merohan spoke with urgency: 'The upper halls have been pierced by one of those lesser blacks dragons, flung himself into wall he did! The worshippers are entering there, having managed to create a bridge into the lower walls and a ramp with the rest of the debris. They are not a lot, but they will take the castle if they keep on entering there. We cannot afford them to have two entry points into the castle,' explained Merohan.

'Damn it,' muttered Kenilla, knowing the captain of the guard was spot on with his assessment.

The Steward's gaze drifted to the floor where an Attoras soldier had fallen, having carried a tall banner of House Evrelyn, a blue cloth showing the chained hands holding a lit candle.

'A fair trade,' said Kenilla, putting the bag of gold on the dead man's lap as he pried loose the banner and took it up. 'I always wanted to do this,' said Kenilla to no one in particular, the banner adding another man's length to him. It would certainly get him the attention he wanted.

'You go to the King, protect him, wherever he is. I'm going to rally whatever men I can and plug that hole in the wall.'

'You won't be enough,' said Merohan.

Kenilla smiled. 'I have Taggandus!'

Not going to debate the matter, Kenilla left it at that, he and Taggandus going up the stairs, and roping in whatever soldier they could come across to their cause.

The King followed the sounds to where the fighting was heaviest. Even with their master gone a mass of enemies still surged through these halls. Syro'gash's might carried on even in death; the curse of his flames visited upon the worshippers rendered them eternal slaves to a malice uncaring for any cause except the total destruction of Attoras. There was only one way out, and that was the domination of the enemy. Descending the stairs, Anka swept into the most forbidding scene, and it seemed the worst was not yet behind them; an unending flood of dragon worshippers poured into the entrance hall, barely kept in check by the soldiers who had barricaded themselves there. Many of the wounded had been brought here and no further. Even Gremhalden had been left stricken as his carriers had to take up arms. If the defence failed here, it was over.

Anka took point, fighting and wrestling to get a place on the frontline. What he added to his men was courage and moral, and a devastating blade.

Anka pivoted, bringing Erenciel around in a big circle and nearly cutting a man in half, the blade going through the waist. A Wolf covered his blindside, and by the time he looked back, he saw three men whose bodies fountained blood in the Wolf's wake.

Anka lunged for the next foe, driving his sword through the man's shoulder. An alarming thought sprung up, his battle instinct telling him it was a mistake for his sword to get stuck like that, feeling another worshipper encroaching him from behind. He spun around, the sword still impaled in its victim, and he went on his haunches, the hilt now overhead like he was bringing it down to split wood. With more leverage, he pulled the blade clear and toward the next man and cutting him down. Surging to his feet he repelled another attacker just in time, pushing him back, until he crumbled before the greatsword, and Anka ended him where he fell, bringing his boot down on his head, and snapping his neck on the steps. A Wolf then came vaulting over Anka, the bite of his blades mangling another pair of worshippers. Anka witnessed this with pride. Their excellence in battle were infallible, yet the press of worshippers were taking its toll. They could not go on like this forever.

The bloodshed was endless, and an indomitable tide of foes poured into the hall unceasingly. Anka then realized, though his blows were mighty and defining on any other day, on this occasion the men he disposed of were negligible weighed against the many men still storming the castle. In the back of his mind, an almost childlike anger surfaced, regretting that he had not spent more time with Salstasha. Even greater than that, deafening all else in a mind that was paging through the desires of man facing his last moments, was that he would never have a moment with her again.

It was a murky struggle, the worshippers too many and the lesser black wreaking havoc. How anyone could call it a lesser of anything was a mystery. Kenilla had managed to gather a fair amount of soldiers, and both Bhask and Taggandus had joined him where they now fought in the armoury's dining hall, a huge hole in the wall where the dragon had very astutely identified a weak spot in the recently completed construction.

The Lord Torssen had surrendered his hammer to Bhask, the heavy-set noble having done his best, but his knee swollen to a degree where he was limping. He had joined the wounded in the cloister and had found the big Wolf there, bringing Salstasha to safety.

'I've laid low thirty worshippers!' breathed Torssen, surely exaggerating that number, but Bhask only smiled, 'I will add to the hammer's tally, if only to cripple them,' Bhask promised.

'That's I what I want to hear lad, go!'

Taking the hammer, Bhask had retraced his way back and found Kenilla and his posse charging at the armoury. That's where they were now, the fighting fierce and multi-headed.

Taggandus overcame swathes of enemies, but he was not enough, and though he was so very good at any enemy that got isolated even a little, the greater formation of worshippers were going uncontested, and standing too strong.

Bhask was standing a little back, doing his best with his hammer, crushing his enemies but not killing them. Kenilla however realized they were going to lose, the dragon killing another three men and certainly started eyeing Taggandus, who was not going to be able to deal with both it and the incoming worshipers.

Kenilla looked about wildly for a solution and realized what was missing. He then shouted: 'now is the time Bhask, _either you start taking lives or we all die_!'

Everything seemed to slow down for Bhask then, Kenilla's words ringing true; he too saw their defeat encroaching fast, his current efforts not enough.

The strongest of the Wolves then stooped, picking up a pair of broadswords that had fallen with their two brave owners. His grip hardened around the hilts and then stepped into the fray, damning his soul to whatever consequence, but knowing it could go no other way.

He swept through three men, breaching their ranks with bodies flying backwards, and with the rage of a storm Bhask clawed open a path, giving impetus to the struggling castle defenders.

It freed up Taggandus, who moved his attentions more toward the dragon.

It swept its maw and they all ducked out of the blaze. Like a lizard it crawled out of the ambush along the wall, getting some distance. One brave soul ran at the creature, drawing its wrath by scoring a hit on its leg. The dragon's long-necked head raced after the man, who fled around a great table standing there. Kenilla swept by going the other direction, waving the banner in his hands madly, diverting the dragon again, so that it turned itself into a corner.

Taggandus jumped onto and ran the length of the table at full speed, and closing in on the dragon he leapt again, high and tilting head over heels, clearing the dragon's attack as jaws lunged.

The dragon again wheeled its massive frame to pursue, but with the confines of the room the Wolf had the advantage now as he retreated in a circle, the dragon seemingly chasing its own tail and its bite ineffective as Taggandus kept swinging to his left.

During this Taggandus moved haphazardly like a bolt of lightning, his speed incomprehensible as the twin bite of his swords bloodied the lizard's face and neck even in retreat. Infuriated, the dragon pulled back its head and then snapped forward like a snake would. Taggandus leaned into the attack, the weight of the dragon's head driving him back toward the wall, but the bite never happened, Taggandus' two swords having struck simultaneously into the dragon's head, sticking there as the weight of the beast came to a dead halt. He pulled them clear in fiery blood.

They returned their attentions to the worshippers still mounting through the hole and pushed them back. With a terrific sweep of his blades, Bhask created a hole in their ranks, and there entered Taggandus, his blend of blades the form every other Wolf measured himself against.

He was a force of nature, often his blades following so rapidly on one another that the dragon worshippers were collapsing in heaps, as if their souls were snatched and their bodies left without a will to stand. He never stopped, besieging his enemies, blades flashing, his attacks knowing no relent, every blistering fast movement feeding into the next, until the force of the worshippers broke, and as the last few fell to his swords, the chants were ringing across the room: ' _Taggandus! Taggandus! Taggandus!'_

Bhask and Taggandus smiled at each other. 'This is typical, I watch your back and break their charge, and the men end up chanting your name.'

Taggandus laughed. 'Easy brother, you have time yet to learn to kill with grace and style.' As they spoke the soldiers of the castle quickly barricaded the hole in the wall.

They had let their guard down too soon.

A second lesser black entered through the hole in the wall, landing with such force and blast of it wings that it knocked many of the soldiers down. At the sight of its kin deadened, it raged forward, biting and clawing. Even Kenilla, Bhask and Taggandus had to retreat to regroup. But the beast snapped forward so fast, mangling a man and then breathing a wall of flames that separated much of the men, least of all the two Wolves that could contest it.

Kenilla on his own were in any position to confront it and he would do so before the entire room was set alight and they lost this situation again. He antagonized it, waving the banner, hoping to avoid it long enough so that he could get out of the corner, or at least receive help from the others.

There was no such luck, the dragon thrashing its tail and flinging its claws at the Kenilla, the flames a long lasting obstacle. He jumped out of the way successfully, until the dragon swept its tail and suddenly flicked it back. It knocked Kenilla over and he rolled as the dragon breathed another blast of flames. He barely escaped it, his cloak singed and the banner as well.

He was cornered. The dragon punched out with a claw, driving it into Kenilla's midriff. Struck down and terribly wounded, Kenilla drove his sword reactively into the scaled hand surrounding his waist. Roaring in pain, the dragon went on its hind legs, still holding Kenilla in its claw and slammed the King's Steward high against the wall.

The rest of room looked on in horror.

The dragon reared its head as it held Kenilla there, and then lunged to bite the head off this nuisance. Kenilla somehow got his sword up, forcing the dragon to miss as he struck its snout. More startlingly, Kenilla had held onto the banner through all of it, and with the dragon's head turned ever so slightly, he drove the broken shaft into the beast's eye and all the way into its brain. Kenilla fell twenty feet as the dragon collapsed, lifeless then. With the flames subsided just enough, Bhask and Taggandus rushed in, finding Kenilla on the floor.

He was dead, still clutching the banner, his eyes staring lifelessly up at them. Bhask kneeled down and closed Kenilla's eyes. Many words would have been fitting, but the two Wolves said nothing, only looking at each other. Because they knew their King's loss, a spirit of vengeance came over them, and they rushed out in search of their King, to finish the last of this war.

Rollance picked off another foe, blood spattering over his face, already so weary of the sweat and grime that had seemingly worked its way into every nook of his body, his long hair matted with dried blood. He too was working his way to the entrance hall, where he knew the King was going to make his final stand. In the last thirty strides or so, Rollance had made peace with the fact that he would die today - such a sudden change from a man that wanted to flee for his life. In the hall, the men of the castle, those that could, would die together; he had seen from the parapet the many men that worshipped the dragons. They were verily outnumbered. What he could contribute in a hopeless battle was not much, and he wasn't sure he had ever bought into the glory of battle, the concept not appealling to him. At play now was only one thing; he could not live with himself running away.

Quite suddenly two men stormed around a corner, and Rollance's anger at himself flared up instantly. He had been caught unawares. He had dropped his guard. The slightly smaller of the two men rammed Rollance right off his feet. Yet it was alright, because even though two of most terrifying warriors the world over were bad news for anyone else, Rollance had stumbled across an ally. Bhask helped Rollance up to his feet again.

'We cannot find the King,' said Taggandus evenly, and yet the slightest tone of frustration crept into his voice. There were some things that not even a great sword arm could solve. 'We thought he might have moved further up to the cloisters!'

'I know where the King is!' cried out Rollance, at that moment realizing his worth.

'Then lead the way!'

Rollance was off without a further word, toward the great hall, the Wolves of the fiercest kind on his heels.

They swept around another corner, and then they overtook him in the last few paces, surging toward the split staircase that descended into the entrance hall, and from the landing mid-way, they leapt clear into the battle, both of them coming down amongst the soldiers and worshippers clashing there, and bestowing death immediately. And in the chaos they restored order, if that was the difference between victory and defeat, the fell blows of Wolves bolstering the men so weary that they had fought mindlessly at this point. In a flurry of movement they slithered towards the frontline, not a single step gained without two blades flashing out, and meting men with their ultimate fate. They joined the side of their King, where he stood at the front, meeting the enemy charge. And there they were, Taggandus on his left and Bhask on his right. He could not have asked for better. The three of them kept their line, somehow not surrendering an inch, a phalanx of five blades, one golden and four flashing deadly silver, which laid to ground a wall of enemies as fast as they arrived, the men behind them pulling the corpses from under their feet and whatever foe slipped past their defence were dealt by the ranks that supported the King.

And if the enemy was a tide, they were a rock, unmoving, unyielding, their fight oscillating between clinical strokes and wretched struggles where one man had to overpower another, of the latter the King thundering his fist into the jaw of a man who had lost his helm, then regaining his form to execute the former, Erenciel singing in sidelong strokes that held true both accuracy and the momentum needed to relay the next stroke. He was in good company, the deadliest being on two feet a blur of motion, his attacks often finding its next target before a prior victim could even collapse, and Bhask a wall on his own, sundering the power of the worshippers' charge, no matter how they tried to push a smaller force into a compromised position.

But time chipped away at strength even from the most determined. There was no way around it. No one could overcome the law of battle. Not even Wolves could avoid the moment when the clothes on their bodies carried heavily, and their movements slowed, and their defences weakened, and their reactions just a moment too slow for the myriad blades that came again and again in the hands of the worshippers. And then they lost ground: Taggandus getting an ugly slash on the arm, a knock to the head, and he went down momentarily; an unseen event hereto, and an unthinkable one at that. Bhask too bruised his ribs when a flanged mace caught him on the side, and got a slice from a spearhead that very nearly hit the vein in his leg that hamstrung him all the same. He kept on fighting, but his mobility was impaired; it was just a matter of time.

They fell back and others came forward to take their place. But the King knew it was vain. He had somehow escaped deadly injury, but fatigue itself seemed a likely fatality right then. There was no air in his lungs, and not a part of him escaped that awful duo of numbness and pain. With disbelief at his own weakness, he crumbled down next to Taggandus, who was still trying to shake off his stupor. While the others carried on the fight, Bhask hunkered down in front of Anka and Taggandus protectively, should someone burst through the frontline. But even Bhask it seemed was quickly bleeding out, his trousers drenched in blood. He would probably not be able to stand up where he was.

Anka was trying to fathom a way to get back to his feet, wondering if there really was a difference between dying right there, or at the very least meeting his killer upright. His thoughts as always went to Salstasha, but this time it didn't spur him on, this time he apologized, knowing what would come next. Such was the law of battle; what you did yesterday is irrelevant. It didn't matter that he was King. It didn't matter that he was surrounded by Wolves. Being a dragon-slayer would not save him from some nameless man coming along - after he had given everything - and cut the King down when he was weakest. There was simply a point where no more strength was to be had.

Love, I am sorry.

Salstasha had not returned to the cloister, thinking that at this stage, either they won or they were all going to be killed anyway. She couldn't just sit there and though Bhask had brought her to the doors, she did not enter like she assured him she would. When he had turned, she headed for the upper levels to get a view of the battle.

Salstasha had seen from the windows the amount of worshippers that crossed the bridge into the castle. More disconcerting, from her point of view she could see how many more were standing there in town, waiting to enter.

The fighting was now solely concentrated in the entrance hall, Salstasha knowing by intuition that if Anka still stood, he was holding his ground there until they were inevitably overwhelmed. And there was not a single thing she could do to help. In a daze she looked down at the walls, thinking how much those cauldrons on the tower had helped to quench the fires. And with that thought her mind turned to water, more specifically, the stone levers that controlled the canals and the one that diverted it into the castle walls...

An idea came to her suddenly and she darted away to the site of Syro'gash's demise, where the stone levers sat in the niches of the hall. She was going to get a chair in the dining hall, and from it jump as high as she can, and push down on the lever with all her might.

The waters came bursting from walls, shooting from the mouths of the Wolf murals nearby the great doors, like a howl. Anka was so tired that it took him seconds to realize what on earth was happening. The waters encumbered the worshippers a little and pooled there. _Not a great help,_ thought the King. But he saw the clear waters as they sprang from the walls becoming pinkish as it mingled with the blood of so many. He thought in delirium what a pity it was that the waters were tainted. _Still, it is water of the mountain._ Only then did he realize the opportunity.

When Salstasha had needed it most, Anka had used more of the water than ever before to save her, and bless her if she didn't give the King a chance to do so one more time for his men.

But the frontline was struggling, getting pushed back hopelessly, never mind gaining any ground that they needed.

'Bhask, we need you,' urged the King. But the Wolf did not seemed to even hear, his gaze glassy and still fixed on the enemy, but fading where he sat on his haunches, the blood still running from his leg. He would die there, in that very position in which he had tried to shelter his King. His face was that odd shade of purple and red, a mark of true exhaustion, one that came about only after a man had tried to beat his own limits into submission several times.

'Bhask...' said the King hopelessly, the big man heaving, but else not stirring.

And then Wolf flew up! With his last legs he piled into the frontline, pushing it back with the force of his limbs. Bhask went down, already spent and went invisible somewhere on the floor. But it was enough, the King sprinting in Bhask's shadow and ghosting himself into the ranks that he opened.

Into the waters where it pooled, Anka cried the words that would define his bloodline always: ' _Aveno Enumas!'_ The hall went ablaze in a healing light, and ironically it almost killed the King right there and then. But for the rest of the defenders it was a second wind.

So many of the King's men were renewed, Bhask coming up back as well.

He was not alone in that.

The body of Gremhalden came up where he had been dropped, like a man rising from the dead, crippled in his left leg, but was carried by the healing light and overcame the rest with will, snarling as he took up a blade.

Bhask and Taggandus took point once more, the weary King replaced by a raging Gremhalden and his great sword. The three of them fought with reckless regard, not worried about any wound they might sustain now, taking whatever pain came their way and returning it tenfold, and their wounds healed by the fountain of light. Together, they broke the siege.

From outside, on high with his griffin, A'luon looked worryingly down at the bridge where the worshippers streamed into the castle. In his mind it was already over, but he watched, clinging to the kind of hope that belonged to men who had not yet seen war as much as he, knowing it to be over.

Suddenly there was a roar of white light blasting from the doors and spilling out onto the bridge, and in it progressed the warriors of the King, belittling the enemy as they tore through a current of invaders - and finally emerging victorious. The enemy broke, the remainder suddenly looking more fearful of Wolves than their masters finally. And they ran and fled Attoras. Relieved cries swept over Attoras, and the Knights made sure that both dragons and dragon worshippers were chased from this land.

A'luon rejoiced, elated, but with it, undeniably, came a cold fear. Seeing Anka's men standing there, winning a battle that they shouldn't have, gave A'luon understanding of what would come. Bhask was right, after this the world would be changed. There was no force that could compare with the Wolves of the Black Mountain, supported by the magic of their King.

And that would ultimately cost them.

Yet in the moment A'luon still smiled, seeing the King emerging on the bridge, the men with him silent and in disbelieve. Some were weeping. Anka slowly turned in a circle, looking at his men who had remained with him through the worst. He then called his Father's name, raising his sword into the air and the rest of the castle took up his cry in a tremendous celebration of victory.
Chapter 15

### The Stone of Privilege

A sober and greatly saddened Attoras woke up the following day. The adrenaline and fury was gone, those that had survived, now needed to take stock of the damage and more importantly, take stock of all those that had been lost. The city was a cesspit of ash and blood, the bodies of beasts and men alike choking the canal and the corridors and the streets. Many weren't even recognizable. Some mutilated, some burnt. It was with many tears that both friend and foe was removed and carried away. The infirmary had more work than it could deal with.

The body of Syro'gash was so big that it had to be dismembered to be carried from the halls. It was however reported that during the fighting, someone, probably a dragon worshipper, had wrested the stone from the dead dragon's chest and made off with it. The stone was gone, and this was terrible news. But it was not what haunted Anka most.

Anka walked with a weary soul into the armoury, the side of the wall gone, and his knees weak as he walked through so many bodies, but his eyes on one still clutching the banner with which he had pierced a dragon's eye.

There laid Kenilla, already cold, his mid-section ravaged by dragon claws. He fell to his knees and mourned his friend, promising him that he would look after his family.

Salstasha followed him and sat on her legs at his side, touching his arm 'I am so very sorry about Kenilla.'

Anka nodded. 'He was the best man I had in my service. A brother, and a man that could have been a King himself. Probably would've made a better one than I,' he croaked. Salstasha moved in closer, hugging his arm.

'I so sorely wanted him to help me watch over the kingdom, and more, watch over my children, teach them like he taught me.'

'Maybe... if we have a son one day, would you like to call him Kenilla?'

Anka smiled sadly. 'I would like that very much.' The tears rolled freely from the King's face and Salstasha held him.

Attoras did not have time for rest. The rebuilding of the castle defences began immediately. One day, the people would look back proudly at this victory, but for the moment Anka saw weariness and fright in his people's eyes. The dragons had shook them all, certainly. But if they had shown spirit in the fight, then they still showed it now; they would restore their home no matter how hard the work. And the work was for everyone, common folk, Lords, Wolves and Knights all doing the most menial of tasks to get the working of Attoras back to a functioning city. Gibbon was heard saying several times that he'd rather face another dragon than keep on scrubbing the walls free of soot.

Many different people came to Attoras then, builders and merchants who saw opportunity in the reconstruction of Attoras, but also a contingent of Bishops from Allandiel. They were red-robed men, sacrosanct and holy, and whose power outweighed even those of the Knights.

Anka was not sure he was ready for their visit, not when Attoras felt as fragile as it did now, but their presence seemed to console the populace, so he was happy with that at least. He just didn't want them to impose some kind of diplomatic will at this point in time. They brought resources with them, food and medical supplies, but Anka was weary that this would come with some strings attached.

A tremendous shadow passed over Attoras, and many people cried in fear as they recognized the shape of a grand dragon, something they thought they would be free from forever. In alarm the soldiers of the castle gathered and then formed ranks as a great golden dragon boldly landed on the castle battlements. The Knights, Wolves and Bishops all convened to confront it, encircling it where it stood.

'Parlay! Parlay!' the dragon called in a voice like thunder. Whether it was its voice, its majestic appearance, or simply the fear it inspired, the men did not shoot at it. Anka rushed to the fore, Erenciel in his hands. Anka entreated with it, noticing it had the Stone of Privilege in its claws. It had somehow salvaged it. It could talk, and maybe even cast a devastating spell.

_This one,_ Anka was thinking, was maybe even greater than Syro'gash himself, undoubtedly also being one of the last grand dragons. So many spears and arrows were levelled at the creature, but its demeanour was enough for the men to withhold fire. There was something about the creature that did not communicate ill intent.

'Parlay,' it repeated.

'Hold your fire,' issued the King, hoping he would not regret it. One sprout of flame from this creature and most of the men here would be incinerated.

'Speak clear and speak fast dragon. My men have seen enough of your kind.'

'My name is Tohraa'gash of the grand dragons, of the same kin as Syro'gash that lies defeated.'

'You've returned for his bones?' asked Anka.

'No, burial is not our way, nor was there any liking between myself and the black dragon. I had to turn against my own brothers for your sake great King.'

'What do you mean?'

'With all my might and influence, I advised against dragons marshalling against humanity. The world needs both, and should war come like it did, both sides would lose.'

'It seems to me dragon that we very clearly won the day,' contested Anka.

The dragon did not reply on that, but its eyes told Anka that it alluded to a deeper meaning of some kind.

'When my brother Syro'gash emerged with the stone, I could no longer keep him in check. He had become more powerful than I, and so all of the dragon brood became subservient to him.

'His magic was so strong, and Syro'gash enchanted the worshippers to be immune to my call. When I had recovered the stone from the man that raided the body of Syro'gash, I called off the rest of the invasion.'

'Then you have our thanks dragon,' said Anka warily, 'but what are you doing here?'

'I have had dreams of things to come, King of the Mountain. In this world we fly too heavily, our time is not now and this mountain is no longer our roost. We should never have come here, because with our power broken, I fear a greater evil still will arise.'

'That is no matter. My Wolves will deal it.'

'Do you think your Wolves will be safe Lord Anka? Do you think your own kind will forgive them because they do not breathe fire and do not have wings? They are too powerful.'

'I am tired dragon... what do you want?'

'This stone I hold is much too powerful. Because of the things ancient creatures know, the stone that can reveal terrible secrets as long as it can give us speechless creatures speech. There are those that would exploit it. I want you King, here and today, to destroy the stone.'

Everyone was taken aback, but it made sense, the stone was no good. No one was going to disagree.

'What about yourself?'

'I will do what is unthinkable for my kind, I will hide great King. If I may, I would like to stay on this continent; I have always been fond of it.' The dragon pushed the stone forward. 'I will go silent forever,' he added, his claws lingering on the stone for the moment.

'Are you sure?' asked Anka.

'Yes.'

'Is there any last thing you would say?'

'What made you fight the way you did?' asked the dragon.

Anka looked over his shoulder, Salstasha standing in the crowd.

'Then never let such a person from your grasp. We dragons have little understanding of love, maybe in my dark years I will ponder it. As for wisdom that I might share, of which is from the grand vaults of dragon memory, well; I've already written the truth upon your mind and on your heart. Here mortal, destroy the stone, and I hope one day that I will be remembered fondly by the King of the Mountain.' The dragon pushed forward the stone and then its claw retreated from it.

Solemnly Anka lifted Erenciel overhead, his father in his thoughts, and with a sound stroke brought down the golden blade on the stone. The obsidian surface split and cracked, and then suddenly broke down to a fine dust that blew away upon the wind.

With the stone shattered the absence of Tohraa'gash's voice was so pronounced that he seemed like he had been a voiceless beast all along.

It was not lost on anyone who stood witness, that the dragon had sacrificed the stone for the fear of what mankind could learn from dragons. What it could be, none of them knew.

In the next days there was no time for the rest that was so needed, leastwise not for the King. The men alone who needed treatment from wounds and burns kept them up day and night. Anka would work slavishly over one person, and then move to the next. One of these was the Knight Gremhalden, which Anka saved from death's door a second time. The grizzled Knight refused to die and Anka rewarded his tenacity by not giving up on him.

Salstasha was nearly always with him, assisting where she could, holding him when his fatigue and many days without sleep drove him to quiet sobs. Many times those tears were for Kenilla of course.

War was just an ugly thing. The glory of it escaped those that survived, maybe until such a time that one needed courage for the next one. Whatever happened here would redefine the west, of this Anka was certain. But his heart was grateful even in having lost so many. Somehow, Attoras had survived.

A much more welcome guest came then from the sky, and with much less fanfare than that of the dragon. In the garden the eagle landed, and called on the first person he saw to summon the King.

'Metrus!' cried Anka, as he and Salstasha came into the garden together. 'I am pleased to see you!'

'As I am to see the two of you my King. That you've survive all of this...' he looked around. 'It defies believe.'

Anka nodded. 'I'm sorry about the forests.'

'Their pain is great, and me and brethren will tend to its healing with heavy hearts, but with the hope that from fire grows fastest the flush of new life.'

'Do you bring news Druid? Have your eagle eyes seen something?'

Metrus smiled. 'Not my eagle eyes, but my eyes that are within the dream, saw something good coming along, and so, I brought you a gift.'

'A gift?'

Metrus stepped forward and came bearing a circlet out of the Grove, a rudimentary thing made from supple dogwood saplings twined into a circle, enchanted so that its white flowers did not wilt. 'You have the loyalties of the Druids Anka. A more powerful King the north has not had.'

Anka accepted it graciously, knowing that this simple thing probably meant a lot to the Druids

'I might as well wear it in the courts, standing beneath that crown of mine the whole day is no mean feat,' putting the circlet on to show the Druid his respects.

'Err, love,' started Salstasha, 'that circlet among the Druids is a sign for a blessed pregnancy, maybe _I_ should wear it?'

'Yes, maybe you should,' said Anka, embarrassed, taking it off and handing it over.

Salstasha looked fondly at it, placing it on her dark hair.

It took Anka a moment for the significance to dawn on him.

'Wait! Are you...?'

She smiled, nodding, her face lit up with delight.

He picked her up in a hug, soon kissing her deeply. And they laughed over one another's shoulder, their joy reaching smiling men and women in the town below, the weariness gone from their eyes.

The End

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