

An Innovation Today Book. Go Indie.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 John Hennessy

All rights reserved

2013 third edition

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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

Line editing: Sara Stamey

Cover art and design by Brett Carlson

Interior art by Brett Carlson

Inside maps by John Hennessy

eISBN-13: 9781476434186

This book is available in print at:

http://www.johnhennessy.net

# By John Hennessy

Novels

THE ROAD TO EXTINCTION TRILOGY

Book One: At the End

Book Two: _Into Cinders_ (Winter 2012/13)

Book Trailer

THE CRY OF HAVOC SAGA

Book One: _Life Descending_

Book Two: _Darkness Devouring_

Book Trailer

Praise for Life Descending

"As good as _Game of Thrones_."—Stella Blackmore, _Night Owl Reviews_

"A masterpiece."—Reviewed by Rita V for _Readers Favorite_

"A riveting read."— _Midwest Book Review_

"Endlessly imaginative."— _Kirkus Reviews_

"Hard to quit reading."—Robert Medak, _Allbooks Review Int._

Finalist in _ForeWord Magazine's_ 2011 Book of the Year Awards

—fantasy genre

Short Stories

_A Stalker's Game_ (free eBook)

# Facebook

Visit my facebook page and leave a comment.

# Dedication

To my mom and dad, who have

always supported my dream.

To my love, Katherine, who has shaped

my life since the seventh grade.

And to Captain Ron and Lola,

who have serenaded me

during the many long hours it took

to complete a project of this magnitude.

# Poem

In the North vigor Assembles.

Valiant aequi bred for Burden,

To cross the height that Devides

Between depravity and Truth.

In the North unity Triumphs.

Hallowed is our Savior,

True are His Faithful

With His strength our lines Prevail.

In the North purity Survives.

Heaven rallies under one Banner,

Voices of many meld Together

One sole chant thunders like a Gale

In the North valor Vanquishes.

Grass stained by wicked lives,

A feast for any Scavenger

Among those lingering Wails.

A poem for the swords—

Lord Lothkura

About 517: Ruin

Table of Contents

Also by John Hennessy

Facebook

Dedication

Map

Poem

Note from the Author

Chapter 1 – The Storm. Lost Friends. A Shadow's Blade.

Chapter 2 – The Vultures. The Smoke. Some Strange Company.

Chapter 3 – Strange Company Gets Stranger. The Long, but Sufficiently Entertaining Story. A Straying Memory.

Chapter 4 – The Conclusion to The Long, but Sufficiently Entertaining Story. Gifts for The Road. A Swift Friend Arises.

Chapter 5 – My Annals: On The Promise of our Savior

Chapter 6 – The Devides. An Unexpected Guide. A Not So Quiet Morning.

Chapter 7 – Their Faces. Their Love. Their Distance.

Chapter 8 – A Soaring Patrol. Out-Line Post. Salvation.

Chapter 9 – The Reawakening. A New Direction. Job Opportunities.

Chapter 10 – A Lost Acquaintance. Noiseless Steps. The Wild Field Road.

Chapter 11 – The Great City of Heaven. A Crowded Market. One Final Judgement.

Chapter 12 – My Annals: On The Regicide

Chapter 13 – Three Flagons of Ale. Some Despairing News. A Disappearing Act.

Chapter 14 – Homecoming. A Trespasser. The Gift of Burden.

Chapter 15 – Their House. Their Toys. Their Names.

Chapter 16 – A Small Contact. A Very Old Map. The Betrayal.

Chapter 17 – A Darker Road. An Unforeseen Foray. A Captain & His Captain.

Chapter 18 – Quiet On The Waves. Sea Marauders. A Forgotten Treatise.

Chapter 19 – My Annals: On Frost The Mother of The Deathlar

Chapter 20 – Faces Full of Sand. The Home of The Leprechauns. A Decisive Plan.

Chapter 21 – Marendia. Revenge of The Leprechauns. A Tragic Escape.

Chapter 22 – A Despondent Valediction. A Battle to Remember. One Clout to The Head.

Chapter 23 – Their Breach. Their Cries. Their Execution.

Glossary

About the Author

# Note from the Author

There is a glossary at the end of the book that will help with names, terms, locations, and units of time. There is also a colored map at www.johnhennessy.net

#

### The Storm. Lost Friends.

### A Shadow's Blade.

"A storm is coming," Scout Burban predicted in a deep, clear voice as the fire licked the black sky above them. A dozen gray clouds rolled by with the promise of snow.

"Tell us something we don't know," Ranger Korshire growled with the slightest sneer.

Delighted, Burban smiled at the opportunity to spar with the gruff Ranger. He was an old dwarf with a snowy beard past his stomach. "Your breath smells like piss," he answered.

Korshire brought the wineskin to his lips and squeezed. "So it does," he laughed. "But then the whole world smells like piss, isn't that right, Tom?"

Tom was looking at the stars, distracted. He heard his comrade repeat his question but chose to ignore it. He had learned it was never a good idea to step between the two on a cold night. And the nights were always cold in The Devides. He slowly drew his attention back to the three that sat around the campfire, which burned an icy gray, and stuck out his gloved hands for warmth. "The Blest Gods are smiling on us tonight." There was a yearning in his words, a yearning for them to be true.

"Ah, piss on your Blest Gods!" Korshire roared. There was no argument that the Ranger was easily the tallest and strongest among them, with a reach like a giant, and arms as thick as the trunks around them. Tom had seen those arms in action, and he decided long ago that it was best to avoid them when they launched into an attack, even when only engaged in a friendly brawl.

"He's right, you know," Cleric Raben said in a calm but serious voice. "There is only the Father and the Son." The clergyman was the stick of the litter, straight and narrow, and the only one who kept a close shave. Without a chiseled muscle on his body he was also the only soft-skinned one on the mountainside. His ability to cast spells countered all of that.

"And piss on the Father and the Son," Korshire spat, "and the Mother and Father to the South, and Ixsol, and the Polligio Gods, along with every other fucking Divine out there. I'd piss on the whole lot if I could."

"Your insults won't always go unheard, my friend," Burban snarled, his smiled fading into a grim leer. The dwarf stroked the haft of his Raven's beak, his mighty two-handed war hammer, with a glint of rage in his eyes. Whetstone in hand, he began grinding away a minor chip into a smooth, flat surface along the pointed pick. Tom watched as the dwarf puffed up his chest, which was wider than a keg, and though aged and slower, he guessed the dwarf possessed a few maneuvers that would put the Ranger in his grave.

"I could report you for such talk," the Cleric threatened Korshire. "You too, Tom. You know it's forbidden to speak out against The Sacred Church. You'd be wise to remember that outside your little town beyond The Spinebreakers."

"Sorry, Cleric," Tom said quickly. "I'll remember my tongue next time." He had heard stories over the cycles, stories of men who defied The Sacred Church; none of them boasted much spirit after they were reported. The fire captivated him into silence. He concentrated so hard on the flames that he could almost see his reflection. It had been a long while since he had come across a mirror and could barely remember his own features. His skin had become chalkier up in the snowlands, but that was as far as he could go if someone asked him to describe himself. The last chance he had to scrutinize his appearance was back in Federol, at a small inn, the last luxury before they traveled beyond pleasant comforts. His hair had been jet-black then, and wrinkles were forming along his brow and around where he smiled.

He glanced over at the clergyman.

The Cleric, a young man in his twenties, wore a mixed robe patterned in white and blue, which showed his low standing within The Sacred Church. Tom remembered Raben saying that it was his first assignment, and it was a terrible one at that. But then all first assignments normally were, for clergymen and soldiers alike. He glared at Korshire, seeking the same apology from the Ranger.

None came. "You need something, Cleric?" The Ranger's tone was as sharp as the single-edged shortsword at his hip.

Tom could see the tension swelling among his fellow Brigade members, the dwarf just as furious with Korshire's words as the clergyman. The nights were growing colder the higher they climbed, and tonight was vowing to be the fiercest yet, with frost on the mild wind. This brought out the worst in his comrades. Burban's jaw tightened. Raben's grip on his sleek silver wand was so firm it looked as though he would warp his only weapon.

"Trouble?" came a soft voice from behind Tom. Master-Ranger Kornelius trudged up through a layer of knee-deep powder. "Ah, what am I saying, there is always trouble with you three." He nodded at the dwarf, the Cleric, and the black-eyed Ranger. His commanding voice diffused the situation in a heartbeat.

"Us?" Korshire snickered.

"No, not us, vire," Burban piped up. His thick white eyebrows pressed together as he smirked. "It was Tom over there. He's always the guilty one."

Kornelius gave a great chuckle. "Tom Navo always has his head in the sky, thinking of his family; he's no time for causing trouble." The commander sat down on the empty fifth stone that circled the fire. "You lot, now, you're a different story, aren't you? A drunk." He nodded at Korshire. "A storyteller." He indicated the dwarf. "And a man of the cloth. How're the robes treating you up here, Cleric?"

"Just fine," Raben said curtly. "Are all mercenaries as without faith as your flock, Kornelius?" Tom had learned that the Cleric was the only one who could talk to the commander on such level terms. A strange note, especially for someone with such a low rank, since in all the cycles Tom had served under Kornelius, not one soldier below his rank had called him anything besides the respectful "vire." But all knew clergymen had their own way.

The Master-Ranger let out another laugh. "Only from old Brigades north of The Spinebreakers. Once you join a proper attachment, you'll be greeted by all the belief you can take, I'll tell you that, Cleric. Maybe even more than you can stomach."

Tom eyed the old man, who was at least twenty cycles past his own thirty-four, and could not help but admire the commander. He was the only one in gray, wrapped up in a padded marten cloak, covered underneath by a boiled leather jerkin that sat atop his chainmail, the coat of steel rings hidden from the eyes of any attackers, to encourage them into hasty strikes as so many often performed when they thought their prey weak and poorly armored. The rest, Tom included, wore either light-blue or dark-blue shades of leather to point out their rank. The darker the color the higher the rank, but none of that translated to cycles of service, as promotion only came when one dared to asked for it, and any man could retire still wearing light-blue in The Hill Glutter Brigade, if luck shined on them enough.

Tom made damn sure luck favored him. His straightforward attitude had always done him good, and he made good money for it, better than most. It also happened to put him in the worst environments for long periods of time, away from his wife and two daughters, who waited for his homecoming in Bedal. He spoke nothing as the men continued their conversation and the weather turned against them.

"Appreciate the fires, Cleric," Tom said, struck by a dangerous shiver. Five fires lit the camp with five men around each. The others slept as the wind picked up and the clouds grew darker. In the night, when snow fell three meters or more, the fire remained the only hope any of them had to survive. Not all did on assignments into The Bordergrounds, he had gathered, as words drifted around when the Brigade was looking for work. The storms in the mountain chain were the cruelest on Leterra, and no one lasted the night without the aid of heka, for without a magical fire the dark hours would freeze you in place before you screamed for home. A sad fate, one Tom wished to avoid, and no doubt so did the others with him.

"Just doing my duty," the Cleric said, a tad grumpy now. He tightened up his robe, his metal wand clutched, his knuckles white from the intensity. Tom observed that the Cleric usually held his wand like so, as if afraid of dropping it.

The clouds above thickened and grew blacker than Tom had ever seen, while snow began to fall in a flurry. The beginnings of most storms they had weathered were abrupt, and twice they had not even set up camp before they were waist deep; an unpleasant hassle none in the Brigade wanted to contend with, and were almost consumed by white before they formed the pits required for the Cleric's fires. As Tom thought of a reply, the white flakes piled up all around them. Soon they were sitting at the base of a deep bowl, the magical gray flames flickering, keeping a somewhat comfortable diameter clear for those around it.

"And so the night begins." Korshire raised his wineskin. "To the fieldlands, where it's warm and women are plenty."

"Here, here," Burban said. He lifted a lidded tankard above his head, toward the fire.

"So, Cleric, tell me about your wand," Master-Ranger Kornelius asked, forcing their talk in another direction. "I've never held one before, is it heavy?"

"You'd have broken the law if you had," Raben said with a bite, "it's illegal for someone outside The Sacred Church to touch one while in the North." He twirled his in front of the fire, as though thinking of casting a spell. "To answer your question, no, it's not heavy; it's hollow."

"Hollow . . . truly?" Kornelius asked, surprised.

Raben only nodded.

"Only a dwarven smith can do that," Burban said with pride. He glanced across the fire at the Cleric, then back at his war hammer. "Your wands come from Lo'Darrow, you know."

Raben snorted. "Unlikely, dwarf. As fine as craftsmen your kin might be, Alexandroz would never trade with such filth."

Kornelius threw up his hand before Burban exploded from his seat. "It's true we have to learn to watch our tongues, Cleric, but as long as you're with my company, you'd be wise to do the same." The two met eye to eye, locked in a murderous gaze.

"Aye," Korshire boomed, "he thinks he's different from us, but he'll piss on his manners and insult us just the same; he is me and I am him."

"You say that every time the Cleric missteps," Tom said with a smirk. He returned his attention to the sky and the falling pellets of white. The flakes evaporated just above his head, as if they had never existed at all. A shadow caught his peripheral, about to glance at the Cleric, to watch his agitation; it was a silhouette at the rim of the bowl. A long black cloak whipped in the wind.

Tom jumped to his feet, his double-edged longknife drawn, the dull metal dancing in the firelight.

All the others were on their feet a breath later. "What is it, Tom?" Master-Ranger Kornelius asked softly.

"The plagued we've been tracking?" Burban whispered.

"Fucking Southerners," Korshire spat.

"No," Tom answered, staring at the dark forest, nothing but trees within sight. "There was a figure."

"Seeing ghosts now, are we?" Burban laughed, relaxing his hands around his war hammer.

Before Tom could reply, a man sleeping at one of the other fires called out. Within seconds, all Brigade members had scaled the snowy crater walls, weapons and torches in hand, breaths hard and steaming.

"What happened?" Kornelius demanded, rushing across the camp.

"Didn't come from here," a Ranger replied.

Tom, along with twenty-three of his brothers and the Cleric, scanned the forest. The falling snow was virtually impenetrable for his eyes to spot anything. A shadow swept through the camp, a wispy cloud of black smoke, and cut down Torance, a Scout of four cycles. Two more men fell before the shape disappeared.

"That way," Burban shouted, pointing south with his war hammer.

"I'll get the bastard," Korshire roared, tossing his wineskin down beside the fire. Prone to reaction without taking the time necessary to draw a worthwhile conclusion, the Ranger was off, racing into the dark and the deepening snow.

"We can't let him go off alone," Tom muttered to the dwarf.

"It was his stupid choice to leave the camp, Tom, not ours," Burban said with a heavy grunt. "If we follow, we'll surely die out there, and you know it."

Tom weighed their options. He had trekked around the North with Korshire for too long to just let him die alone in the cold; he was a good Ranger and a good friend. He gave a grunt and bolted off into the deadly night. He could hear the dwarf's throaty breaths behind him.

"You'll be the death of me, Tom," Burban growled. "Always trying to do right, you are, but it's not always right to be so damn stubborn." Together they battled the snow, the torches threatening to desert them in their sincerest hour of need. Calls from the others reached their ears, beckoning them to retreat from such a mad chase.

"He's a bastard," Tom admitted, "but he's our bastard." He continued on, pushing aside the dense powder, fatigue creeping in. Korshire's tracks were easier to follow than one might guess, his trenchlike impressions, thigh-deep, provided them with a laid-out course. All they had to do was catch up to the Ranger before he met an unfortunate, yet inevitable end.

A minute later, his torchlight revealed blood on the natural canvas, scattered in a five-nail pattern, as though slashed by a bear. "AH!" Burban bellowed, and a strange low howl fell upon Tom's ears.

He spun around and sighted the dwarf swinging his hammer at the spectral shadow. His assault did not last long. By the time Tom reached his comrade, the dwarf's chest was pierced a dozen times, as if the mail he wore were only thin wool. Then Tom glanced the blade that had butchered his friend, a blade so black his eyes barely registered it in the darkness, and only truly did when it hacked toward him.

Tom raised his longknife and deflected the blow. No song of metal on metal graced his ears; no, it was a treacherous call, a wolf's howl, only strangled and corrupted and all the darker. The force driving the weapon blew him back, shaken by the malice, the pure hate he felt in the connection. The snow restricted his movement. He was stuck in place, blocking a tireless bout of swings.

He could feel the metal in his hands promising to sunder at any moment. There was no hope for him unless the Blest Gods answered his prayers. Enveloped in shade, the gods spoke nothing, and no defense rushed to his side. Only his strong arm was there to parry the next shower of blows. But it was weakening after every save.

Until finally a crack surged from the knife's hilt to the tip of his blade and the steel shattered into a thousand pieces.

Tom's back kissed the snow. He gazed up, stunned.

The airy black figure replaced its weapon into an unseen sheath. "I am trying to help you, Tom," came a powerful voice that sounded like a windstorm. Faceless, it was impossible to tell if the cloaked apparition was staring at him like he was at it, and he could only guess at the meaning of its words. The hand of the shape rose as five knife-like fingers, bearing only shadow as its skin, curled into a fist.

Tom felt warmth erupt in his body as the punch bloodied his nose. Then, for the briefest instant, a memory shook him. A memory so buried by lies that the startling confusion was twice the blow the fist had dealt. Tom knew then with absolute certainty, he knew this was not his life.

The second hit plunged him into a devouring darkness that nothing could escape.

#

### The Vultures. The Smoke.

### Some Strange Company.

Tom lay face down in tall red grass. Overcome with exhaustion, he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, barely able to move. The grass grew too high for anything to be visible but the long blades. His body ached in soreness. His head was foggy and his memories distorted, as if blocked by a wall, one he could not break down, only able to recall the faintest bits of who he was. He had no idea how he had gotten here. A few loud cries of an animal had woken him, but they passed shortly after he was roused from the darkness, and for the time he believed it safest to remain in the cover of the flourishing vegetation. He rolled over on to his back, which took great effort.

Vultures flew overhead, looking for scraps of carrion. Circling Tom, one of the vultures dove for his shoulders, thinking him easy prey. Four sharp talons landed next to his head, but he rolled twice to his side, out of harm's way. His entire body ached from the effort, the sides of his stomach gnawing at him, but most of the pain centered in his head, pulsing.

The enormous bird jumped into flight once more, circling just a bit above Tom's head. When Tom finally stood up, the bird flew to a distance almost reachable with an extended arm and a powerful jump. Three vultures glided above him, sweeping down every now and then, which tensed all his muscles. Their wingspans distanced over eight feet, and their bodies stood tall about four feet high, reaching just below Tom's shoulders. The birds' feathers glowed pure black except for a few small bands of red underneath the wings, and their flesh looked like molten fire; black covered the top of their faces and down their cheeks as though forming a helmet. He watched their soaring, ready to duck.

Tom scanned the area and spotted the rotting carcass of a nearby bison; red hair covered most of its body except where patches of brown splotched the animal. Flesh and bone showed in places around the creature's gut, and its entrails were spilled on the ground, untouched, as if someone had gutted the unfortunate animal then left it there to roast in the sun.

He spotted a herd of red bison that grazed in the distance, with many similar carcasses scattered in bits and pieces across the plains. He nearly choked on the fetid scent of the bodies, but then he covered his nose, only breathing when necessary. The birds swooped down to the grass and landed next to the decomposing flesh. Tom stood closer to the dead bison than the three giant birds, but slowly they inched their way toward him and the rotting odor. The nearest of the birds cocked its head in a funny manner, peering up at Tom, and they made eye contact for a prolonged period of time. The bird squinted at him, and then it ruffled its feathers as it attempted to intimidate him, which worked, as Tom took a quick step backward.

The bird blinked. Its eyes never left him. It opened its beak and a sound came out, but not one Tom had expected from the enormous bird. It squawked gratingly, yet within the high-pitched noise, something else hid that he could not discern. He furrowed his brow as he observed the creatures, not wanting to make any alarming movements, and remained motionless.

"I'm sorry, kid, you must have misheard me. I asked if you were going to eat that?" the nearest bird spoke up, aligning its head upright. Its voice lowered since it first spoke, and became clearer too. The words shocked Tom's ears, and he blinked in bewilderment, thinking that the incident only existed in his head.

"Terrible times, these are terrible times we're living in. I think we have another lost kid," the second bird said. "He doesn't want it." Tom knew he was dreaming then. The three birds bent over the carrion and began to feast upon the decay. They tugged on the meat and other body parts of the animal, carefully dissecting the dead creature. Two more of the birds flew over and landed on the far side of the bison, away from Tom. They blinked at him for a second.

"What's with this one?" one of them asked, as the other one immediately started to gobble down the smelly flesh.

"He's lost. Might have been part of one of those small expeditions," replied the first one, who now cocked his head at Tom once more, and blinked his eyes a few times. "We aren't sure what's wrong with him, he could be mute. Terrible times, you know."

Tom disliked dreams like this.

Suddenly he had the urge to speak. "I'm Tom," he introduced himself, but only the first bird heard him, for the others busily yanked pieces of the animal's hide away, exposing more of the foul smelling muscle.

"Ah, so you're not a mute after all," the first bird said, blinking rapidly. "Well, Tom, it is pleasant to meet you, my name is Gregon. That's Larry, Kizo, Bell, and Noizen," Gregon introduced the other birds in order from where they stood. They all dipped their necks slightly, half-bowing.

Not knowing what to say, Tom fell silent. He had never had such a real and vivid dream, especially one where animals had names and talked to him. He did not know how to respond, but he also did not want to be rude. "Hi," he replied, and nodded to be polite. He could not remember what he normally dreamed about, but he had the sense that they were nothing like this one.

"What brings you to The Stained Lands of Hell?" Gregon asked, plucking a piece of meat from the carcass.

"Huh?" Tom uttered, but his indistinct speech sounded more like a groan. It might have been a groan, but thankfully, Gregon had a very aural keenness and perceived Tom's confusion.

"You really are lost then, aren't you?" Gregon said, after swallowing the chunk of meat. "You, my sore compadre, are on the edge of Salenk, near the border of Lyree Plyth, and close to The Bordergrounds."

Tom met the bird's eyes once more. Gregon must have seen that Tom wore the most flummoxed expression. So the bird went about his business, feasting on the carrion, and waited for the human to ask questions.

Tom had not a clue what the bird meant when he told him about his supposed location. _Stained Lands of Hell_ —what could that mean? Maybe he dreamed about life after death; despite his confusion and lack of memories, he remembered he did not believe in Hell, yet somehow he had ended up within its borders.

The vultures voraciously attacked the remaining flesh of the dead bison, and they spoke no more to him, but he noticed that every once in a while Gregon stopped to peer up at him and waited for a second, as if he thought Tom would ask him something more. With the human's silence, the bird returned to the carcass, pulling on the stringy and stretchy tissue.

Tom surveyed the land more closely and saw a trail of hoary smoke that billowed above a nearby woodland. He could see the tops of a massif that the forest covered up unto a point; the smoke remained visible as it flowed up the slopes of the mountains.

A dot soared in the skyline by the mountains, which appeared to be another vulture, but Tom could have been mistaken, since it seemed to be circling the area even though a surplus of carrion lay on the ground. To the north, he saw another chain of mountains that stretched far out of the range of his eyesight. Two suns hung in the sky, a smaller and dimmer Crimson one that traveled ahead of the second one into the west, over the tops of the massif. The second sun shined Golden, and illuminated much more than the Crimson.

The landscape that surrounded Tom reminded him of a sanguinary battleground, with blood soaking the fields; the deep scarlet grass slowly wilted in the sunlight. He watched the herd of bison while they roamed about the area; the large heavyset oxen ate at their leisure, careless about anything other than filling their bellies, and at times, observing their young that rested and grazed near them.

Tom decided he wanted to know more about his location, even if only a dream. "So what exactly are The Stained Lands of Hell?" he asked the small flock of vultures.

"The land of the dead," Gregon answered, choking down a scrap of bloody tissue. "There have been thousands of battles fought on these lands, and eventually the blood permanently changed the color of the ground and the grass that grows on top of it. And now, terrible times are a coming again, war is approaching."

"I see," Tom said. He wanted to know why so many battles took place on the plain, but instead a more pressing question occurred to him. "How do you know war is coming?"

"We've got a sense about these things, when mass bloodshed is a coming. Call it a gift, I do," Gregon replied.

Tom brushed aside the prediction and asked, "Do you know where I could find the closest accommodations?" He needed to escape the dreadful plains.

Gregon tilted his head and blinked. "Accommodations?" he said, perplexed. "If you mean a city, then the closest one would be Brilam, and it's a long ways south of here."

"Yes, that's what I meant," Tom said, a little annoyed by the bird's tone. Of course he meant a city, what else could he have meant? "Do you know how far away it is?" He hoped for a time less than an hour. The two suns beat down relentlessly on his sensitive skin.

"It's at least a couple of sequences on foot, though I once tracked one of these bison down there for longer. But they are pretty slow walkers," Larry responded, who had been quiet, but listening the entire time.

"Yeah, all they do is eat all circuit long, or mate," Kizo added, who had also been silent.

Gregon nodded. "Yep, it will take you some time to get down there, and the suns are starting to get real fierce during the circuit, even for us while flying. Terrible times, I say."

"A circuit? A sequence?" Tom asked.

"Where are you from, kid?" Gregon said. "A circuit: the thirty-seven hours it takes the planet to complete its revolution. A sequence is made up of nine circuits. You know it's terrible times when kids don't even know about time. Next he'll say he doesn't know what an orbit or a cycle is."

"Terrible times," the others added, sounding off in a row.

Tom thought better of asking about the meaning of a cycle and an orbit, he just wanted out of the sweltering heat, and a good place to rest.

"You won't find too much shade neither," Bell apprised Tom of the lack of tree cover, with a strip of muscle hanging out of her mouth. She quickly swallowed it. "At least for the first couple of circuits, but once you get south of that forest there." She pointed with her massive wing. "You'll start to find more trees in the southern grasslands."

Tom grew puzzled about their sudden interest in him, and why they talked about him not having shade when an extensive forest lay close by. "Can't I just walk in the forest?" he asked.

"Oh troubled graces, no!" Gregon cried. "You cannot travel in The Untouched Lands. That forest has a curse that scribbles anything that tries to pass through its borders."

"Scribble?" Tom inquired.

"Kill . . ." Larry responded calmly.

"Yep, it is protected somehow, but by who or what we do not know. What we do know is that we do not see anything go in without finding half of itself our next meal, and we don't see anything venture out either," Bell reported.

"It has been good for us, though," Gregon added. "We watch it circuitly for someone silly or stupid enough to find itself falling over dead when they try to walk into its enticingly green landscape."

"Trust us, kid, you don't want to try it, unless you think you would make a mighty meal for one of us, but judging from your muscle tone, I should think not," Kizo said.

Noizen had been noiseless throughout the whole discussion, a noticeably odd occurrence for a vulture when in a group, and they usually huddled together in groups, scavenging in collaboration. For the first time the bird took his attention away from the carrion and examined Tom. "Yeah, you're right there, Kizo, he's not much of a meal, is he?" Noizen said with a chuckle. The rest of the birds joined in on the laughter, but Tom scowled, not thrilled about being in a discussion of whether or not he made a worthwhile appeaser of hunger.

The herd started making long calls. Increasingly, other bison joined in, aware of something new in the fields. The majority of the herd began to move south. The nervousness of the red-haired bison made him uneasy as well, and looking around he spotted more bison approaching from the east at a swift pace.

Among the bison, something else caught Tom's attention, where a few larger animals moved about the herd. The white creatures ran on four legs much the same as a cheetah and with apparently the same astonishing speed. Their curved, humped backs raised into the air, jumping onto the bison as they tackled one to the ground. The white reflected off the suns, making it unbearable to look at them for longer than a mere glimpse.

Thick scales covered the animals, like armor, impenetrable. Soon the herds mixed into a mass of chaos as the huge bison ran in all directions, with most of them traveling away from where he stood. Several of the white creatures ran amok within the herd, taking them down with ease, ripping at their stomachs with huge swipes of their claws, or once on their backs, positioning themselves under the bison's well-covered throats and snapping into them to crush the animal's windpipe.

Heart pounding, Tom feared one of the creatures would spot him. "Do you see those?" he asked the vultures. Gregon and Kizo swiveled their necks to search for what the human talked about. They focused their eyesight on the blinding beasts and saw them taking down bison after bison.

"So that's what killed these red-haired critters," Gregon said, interested in the beast. "We arrived here too late to catch a glimpse of the butchers." Gregon's eyes zoomed in on the white animals. " _Dilapadae!_ " he shrieked deafeningly. "Kid, you best be off, these beasts are unforgiving, and uncontrollable."

Tom watched the great animals claw and bite viciously as they scattered the herd, and singled out the slower and weaker bison. "There is no way I can outrun them, I have nowhere to go!" He started to panic. "Can you carry me?" he yelled at the vultures in the commotion, as the bison wailed and stomped the ground like thunder.

"Our talons are too sharp to lift you without injury, and you are too heavy for us to carry you very far, at least not far enough away to escape them," Gregon screeched. He cocked his head, then blinked once or twice before he took off into the air. The others followed suit, soaring higher and higher into the sky, but Gregon swooped back down in a circle around Tom. "Your best bet would be to run along with the bison southward. Other than that, I don't have any more suggestions. Terrible times are a coming. I'm sorry, kid. I truly am." Gregon flew after the group of vultures that hovered above, waiting for the madness to end and the feast to begin.

Searching the area, Tom saw a lone bison running toward him, with one of the savage predators scrambling after it. His body throbbed, moving at a slow pace, trembling in fear and exhaustion, but he pushed his muscles to their limit as he started to run southward. He realized he could not sprint fast enough to reach the herd, let alone run with them, so he adjusted his course west, toward the forest. He decided to take his chances dying in there rather than in the jaws of a beast. He rushed toward the woodland; the bison galloped not far behind him now, gaining distance faster than he had hoped the animal could move. He did not want the bison anywhere near him, for it would alert the predator to his own presence.

The eaves of the forest drew near. Green sprouted everywhere from north to south. It was a lush land that appeared to be untouched by animals and humans.

The bison caught up to Tom and ran next to him, their steps synchronized as the bison's head slanted toward him. Unprepared, Tom heard a plea of "HELP ME!" from the animal. Stepping in front of him, the bison ran desperately ahead, leaving him in the direct sight of the blinding creature. Tom did not know if the words lived in his imagination, or if they were truly spoken aloud. He raced through the bloodstained grass, the thought slipping from his mind as adrenaline and fear overtook it.

The trees promised security, so close to Tom, almost within touching distance, but the beast was now a mere yard behind him. At the last minute before entering the forest, the bison turned south, picking up its speed. Tom ran so close behind the animal that the bison's left hind leg hit him just below his knee in the shin, which tripped him forward. Falling hard, he reached out his arms to brace the impact.

Snarls and growls rang out over the plains behind him, the guttural sounds echoing across the sky, pounding his eardrums. The white creature's ululation contacted its pack and soon more were answering with calls of their own.

Tom rolled over as fast as he could. He spied that the beast ceased its advance at the edge of the woodland; it paced back and forth along the border, crying out every once in a while, but making no attempt to pass in. Soon three other white beasts arrived, carrying the flesh of recently caught prey. The four predators gathered around each other and howled their displeasure to the heavens. Something prevented their crossing into the forest to tear him to shreds, but for some reason, he had made it through safely.

His heart thudded as if trying to break through his chest.

The trees groaned from the ululations that flew with the wind, and reacting to the annoyance, they shut out the noise, covering the edge of the land by sprouting new bushes and plants along the border. The small plants grew taller and wider in seconds, and after a few minutes, the beasts vanished, no longer visible to Tom. The thick wall of new brush somehow also blocked out their dreadful screams.

"I made it," Tom muttered. Slowly, his blood settled, though not completely calmed. He clambered to his feet, twisting toward the tangled woodland before him. The smoke trail that he had seen earlier clouded around him; he waved it away with his hands, and it subsided within a couple of feet in front of him. The smoke followed a path along the floor of the forest. "Looks like someone wants me here."

He walked along the trail, and with every step, the smoke remained the same distance in front of him. He followed the smoke and the trail in hopes that they would lead him to food and water, and shelter. He had never been so sore, or so famished in a dream before, and Tom started to have his doubts about his initial conclusion.

He could still see some of the sky above the canopy of the forest, and he noticed that the large Golden Sun started to sink behind the mountains in front of him. The light quickly fell with it. The dense forest grew dimmer, and queer sounds followed, echoing in the darkness. Fear kept him awake and alert for hours following the path in the gloom, but abruptly his depleted body could stand no longer. He stopped for the night beside the path, between three ancient, massive redwood trees. The smoke lingered along the trail, and waited there for him to take his next step.

Tom sat down, enervated and bewildered. His unanswered questions had worn him out. As the light disappeared entirely, he fell asleep undisturbed by the noisiness of the night.

Tom awoke to a dim light. Groggy, his blood circulated as if drugged. His head buzzed, and he waited a few moments until it cleared. Using the nearest giant tree for support, he climbed to his feet and staggered, trying to balance himself. The other two trees that he had fallen asleep next to had vanished. He examined his surroundings closely, recalling what he could before weariness had overtaken him the previous night.

Nothing looked the same. The bushes and flowers that grew next to him had disappeared, and the density of the trees shaded much less. A few redwood trees, like the one he stood next to, grew here and there, and as he turned, he saw the slope of one of the mountains. On the previous day, the mountains had been a great distance to the west, and once he determined the impossibility that he had traveled such a length on his own, the realization struck him that something mystical must have happened during the night.

The land near the mountainside cooled the blood more, but Tom remained warm and comfortable enough in his beige long-sleeved shirt and dark-brown pants, both of which were made from thick linen. The dirt footpath lay close by, so he made his way toward it, where he saw that the smoke lingered a short distance away. He took a step forward, and just as on the previous day, the smoke remained a steady few strides in front of him, unreachable.

Traveling along the path, Tom headed up the slanting surface of the mountain's base while he followed the elusive smoke that continued to lead the way. Hours went by before he stopped to take his first rest, and conveniently, the trail had led him next to a small, clear stream, shadowed by three different berry bushes. The day had become exceedingly warm and bright, and when he turned back to the east, he saw that again two suns smiled at him from the sky. There was something wrong with that picture, but he could not place what it was exactly. The larger Golden Sun crept over the horizon to cook the mountain.

Tom rested a few more times during the course of the day, staying near the creek all the while. Anxiety dwelled in his heart. He grew uneasy about how comfortable his journey had been since he entered the forest. The howls and other noises in the distance did nothing to calm his nerves. The blinding white creatures from the red plains never escaped his mind, and always he felt threatened that they tracked his trail. The day passed at a sluggish pace, as he watched the suns slowly shift above, until at last, they hid behind the mountain and another cold night swept in.

For four days, Tom only saw trees burdened with snow, the smoke trail, and three squirrels that seemed to be keeping a peculiarly close eye on him. Every morning he woke up in a different location from where he had fallen asleep, yet always near a giant redwood, and a creek with something fresh to eat at hand. Although he wore the same delicate clothing, the snow never became too wet, and the wind never unbearably cold, for by some great grace he was kept warm, almost as though a blanket shrouded him day and night.

His memory did not return in those four days, but progressively worsening, a fact he was not thrilled about. He wished he could summon all the images of his past but nothing came when he tried. The only hope he carried was to find what lay at the smoke's origin, and with some luck, answers.

Hiding among the treetops, the squirrels kept a vigilant watch over Tom, who continued to be utterly baffled by the passing days. He never could guess where he would end up in the morning, but he maintained a constant pace while he chased after the smoke. Traces of acorn shells often appeared on the ground, reminding him that he did not travel alone in the woodland. The journey took him around the middle height of the mountainside, below the major snow line, where oaks dominated the land. Resting shortly from time to time, his tired legs struggled in exhaustion, and began to spontaneously cramp; with the pain, he slowed for more breaks on the slope.

The trail of smoke had led him into a desolate area, devoid of life other than the snow-drenched trees and the mischievous squirrels that followed him.

For a few hours in the morning on the fourth sunrise, Tom stumbled down the hillside in a fresh, knee-deep coat of white. The suns were high when finally he came to patches of bare grassy areas. Snow often fell on his shoulders from the branches of trees. He observed the sky to see if the clouds would decide to pour on him again, but instead of flakes falling from above, he spotted a squirrel springing from branch to branch. With every jump and landing of the squirrel, the impact made the heavily packed snow drop to the ground.

"What the—" Tom cried out, as more snow fell on his head. He wiped his face clean and squinted at the squirrel while the animal made its way down the hill. Watching the rodent, he noticed in the distance that a chimney emitted smoke, covering parts of the sky in a blanket while what lay before him dissipated, allowing him to see a clear path of dirt that led down the hillside. He examined the sky again and watched a few clouds pass over him; he also made out a speck up near the clouds, which at first he believed it to be one of the vultures, though with a longer examination it shaped into a smaller bird.

Tom heard more jumping from above. Soon he saw another one of the squirrels darting by, sometimes gliding from tree to tree to soar over a gap. Predicting that the third squirrel must not be far behind, he peered around, searching for it until an acorn hit his forehead.

Above, the squirrel was taunting him to follow.

But Tom did not immediately pursue, for he noticed a group of white ibex down the hillside. The animals congregated in an open area of grass, and the largest one stayed centered within the group, raising its head every so often to ensure the safety of the herd. The buck boasted horns as tall as its body, at about four feet, and thickly protruded out of its skull, then narrowed to a fine tip, curving backwards past its midsection. The herd stood on the _qui vive_ , with the awareness of something Tom had not the perception to notice.

Then, all of a sudden, Tom caught a glimpse of the beginnings of a chase, as some other animal started a commotion to set the group off running down the slope. Snow flew into the air and clouded his view of the scene, yet he could spot figures weaving through the mist.

He observed that the bulk of the herd sprinted to the right while two stragglers, a mother and her offspring, veered off to the left, panicking in the tumult. As the snow dissipated and settled on to the ground once more, Tom watched a large cat seize the smaller ibex from behind, jumping onto its back and bringing it down. He guessed that the ibex must have been a kid since it bore short horns, and the speckled beard that hung scantly thin at its chin gave away its age.

At that moment, Tom wondered why he remembered that. The little fact must have been something he saw once, and he pictured a big flat box with ever-changing photographs. A strange feeling climbed steadily up his back and lingered around his neck for a few seconds in a chill. He shuddered.

The cat lugged the ibex up the slope.

Tom thought he had been furtive in choosing his position to view the scene, but when the felid approached him on the hillside, it released the goat and rested for a second, spotting him instantly. He made eye contact with the enormous cat: a magnificent light gray snow leopard with faint lime-green eyes. An assortment of spots mottled the animal. The cat blinked, then with its powerful jaws, gripped its prey and began to yank it up the mountain once more.

The moment left Tom's body aquiver with fear, for the carnivore stood so close, and could easily hunt him down if it desired. The cat had moved about the mountain noiselessly, its steps stealthily perfect. He feared its masterful nimbleness, for he guessed it could pounce on him in an instant and he would be dead before his muscles even twitched in terror. Now, his feet would not move, stuck in the snow, so gripped with horror that he did not even dare to blink.

The squirrel above dropped another acorn on Tom's head; then it took off down the hillside after the others. Tom advanced down the trail, moving with caution, for other hidden predators probably spied on him, and he did not want to be caught off guard twice in one day.

With each step Tom took, the snow melted away, showing more of the forest's grassy floor. He had only made it thirty feet before his fear caught up with him again; he imagined the beasts from a few days ago that gutted animals just to gut them. In a panic, he took off sprinting down the mountain.

The trees thinned out around him until Tom came to a clearing where a log house stood in its center. Black smoke puffed out of the red brick chimney, but ceased as soon as he approached. The wood of the cottage—faded due to the many snowfalls and storms—moaned in the breeze. The abode, built in a square design with an A-frame roof, had very few windows and looked abandoned. A pile of wood leaned against the cabin, stacked near the entrance, where he saw the three squirrels run through the slightly cracked doorway.

Tom attempted to open the door quietly, but the hinges creaked loudly. The door was heavy, dark oak about five inches thick. He walked over the threshold, caution in each step.

The only visible light inside the room came from a few candles. Once his eyes adjusted, he spied another source of light, a great dusky stone fireplace on the wall to his right; but it did not burn with an ordinary flame. Blue, green, and brown light attracted the eye toward the hearth. The colors reminded him of the forest clearing outside, with the trees and dirt overpowered by the dazzling blue sky. Nothing furnished the room besides a bare coffee table by the fireplace, built out of the same oak as the door.

"Hello?" Tom shouted nervously, afraid of what might live in such a dark place.

"In the back . . . come back here, through the corridor," a voice replied. Though it had only been a few days, Tom had almost forgotten what it was like to speak with another person. "You shouldn't be afraid, Tom. Come back here, it's all right."

Tom saw the hallway to the back of the cottage, but debated with himself, unsure whether or not to trust the voice. Finally, deciding that he had nowhere else to go, he made his way down the long hall. Shrouded in complete darkness, he could not see the walls, though he sensed them to be close, almost as if they stood within an inch of his shoulders, but when he reached out his hands, he touched nothing. The room at the end of the hall was like the first one, except with more furniture. A table with short legs stood in the center of the room, and four miniature wooden chairs circled it.

Tom eyed the place with suspicion, primed to run if threatened. He observed the chairs: in three of the four seats sat the squirrels that had followed him through the forest for the past few days. He shook his head in incredulity, for the sight of the squirrels resting in chairs utterly perplexed him. "You . . . you led me here . . . why?" he asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the three.

"Because I asked them to, I told them to lead you here so that we could meet," the same voice spoke, hidden from the light. Tom shifted his eyes to the fourth chair, but was unable to see what sat in the shadows. "Welcome to my abode, I am Anakore'in." A squirrel-sized figure came forth out of the darkness and into the dim lighting that the fire provided. A green, yellowish reptile resembling an iguana crouched in the chair that now skidded across the floor up to the table. Short soft spikes protruded from the back of the creature in a row from its neck to the end of its tail, and swayed side to side while he moved with the chair. Orange eyes peered back at him.

Tom dropped his jaw in astonishment. "What are you?"

"I am a tuatara," the reptile said. Those orange orbs pierced Tom's eyes, and he quivered from the gripping stare.

The three fluffy-tailed squirrels started to talk to one another at a whisper in a language that Tom did not know. The squirrels all differed in appearance: one sported a midnight black coat with long fuzzy ears, and peach outlining its eyes and paws. The second one displayed a chestnut brown coat with two white pinstripes outlined by two black pinstripes that ran the entire length of the rodent. The last squirrel glowed a deep crimson with white ears and white stripes in its bushy tail.

"Oh, don't mind them . . . they won't be a bother to you," Anakore'in said, gazing at Tom with a smile, or at least something that resembled one, for the creature's lips did not part, but they widened oddly, and the corners turned up as if forming a grin.

Queasy, Tom exhaled a burp of gas that burned his throat. He turned away from the table and bent over to heave.

"What ails you, Tom?" Anakore'in questioned worriedly. "Did you eat some rotten berries in the forest? You can't be eating wrinkly and squishy berries, you know."

Tom turned to face the reptile. "No . . . it's not something I ate—it's—it's," he stammered. The room spun around in chaos, and started to go black, but he closed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to regain his focus. "It's just . . . how the hell are you able to talk to me? And how do you know my name?" He wiped his mouth.

"Ah, I see. What do you remember before you arrived here?" Anakore'in responded.

"Not much . . . I remember the last four sunrises, watching two suns drift in the sky instead of one. I remember talking to vultures, and seeing the smoke and the squirrels, and following them here. I also remember falling asleep somewhere and waking up in a new spot every day." Tom recalled all of this, dwelling on the fear that had consumed him the last few days. "I can vaguely remember who I am, and I can talk just fine, but I don't know much else. Yet something I know to be true is that animals don't speak."

"Yes, well, I can explain that. Have a seat, we have much to discuss," Anakore'in said, and his quasi-smile disappeared, replaced with a more serious expression.

#

### Strange Company Gets Stranger. The Long, but Sufficiently Entertaining Story.

### A Straying Memory.

Wondering if he was dreaming the longest, most fantastical dream possible, Tom intently gave Anakore'in his full attention, hoping to learn the answer. He made sure not to be distracted by the squirrels' rambunctious movements, and their guffawing that tended to come during silent intervals when Anakore'in took a breath.

"So, do you remember where you are from?" Anakore'in asked, patiently waiting for Tom to gather his thoughts.

"I remember . . . the Bay Area . . . and towers that scraped the sky . . . but it's all clouded . . ." Tom responded, hanging his head. "But I also know this isn't where I'm supposed to be, and I've walked and slept for too long for this to be in my head. At least I think. So where am I, is this a dream?" Tom looked the reptile straight in its bulbous eyes. "Because the funny thing is, four days ago, I was told that I was on the edge of Hell, and I don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean, but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be a field."

"Indeed, somehow you were on the edge of Hell, but now you are in my forest, the forest of Lyree Plyth," Anakore'in answered.

"And just how did I end up here?" he questioned, anger rising in his blood.

"You are here because you got lost. You weren't meant to end up in Salenk—sadly that fault lies on me. You were supposed to meet someone else, but I saved you." Anakore'in cocked his reptilian head in a strange manner that only a lizard could do. "Do you mind if I tell you a story while you are here?" he asked.

The queer question bamboozled Tom. "No, I don't want to hear a story, unless it's the story of how I got here!" Tom had remained standing since he entered the space, and now he loomed over the table, scowling at the reptile. It was easy not to be afraid of such a small thing.

"My young man," he said in a soothing voice, "in fact that is exactly what the story is about. But if you don't mind, I have to start at the beginning."

"I don't care where you start as long as you tell me why you brought me here." Tom lowered his voice.

"Excellent! Are you hungry or thirsty? Squirrels can compile lovely sandwiches," Anakore'in offered.

Tom shook his head no. He was anxious to finally receive at least a few answers to the multitude of questions buzzing in his ears.

"Would you like a chair? My story is quite good, and any story that is worth telling, is quite long."

Tom finally humored the reptile with a yes. "I will take some water if you have some, preferably bottled if possible." Why did he say that? For some unknown reason he yearned for cold refrigerated bottles of water that he remembered buying and drinking in bulk.

"Of course we have water! It's the finest liquid in the world, and comes right out of my own tap!" Anakore'in gave a spirited laugh. "It's the freshness of the snowmelt, I say." The reptile winked at the red squirrel, and it hurriedly ran out of the room, down the dark corridor. It soon returned carrying a cup equal to its own size, splashing as the rodent carefully stepped across the room. He lifted the glass up in the air with his tiny forepaws that shook under such strain.

Tom reached down carefully; he did not want to injure the animal. It returned to its seat, and after a few moments of squirrel chatter, the other two ran out of the room.

Tom drank the brilliantly clear water, finishing it in only a few gulps. He nodded to the red squirrel and the reptile. "It is as you claim. I've never had water like it," Tom said with a beatific smile, though a strange aftertaste lingered in his mouth.

"Of course you haven't, it's special only to this region. Are you sure you don't want something to eat, Tom?"

"No, I would rather hear what you have to say first. How do you know my name?" he asked. A warning in his mind urged him to leave, but he ignored it.

Anakore'in disregarded Tom's question, as the two squirrels scooted a child-sized wooden chair into the room and placed it in front of the table. Tom sat gingerly, but it was sturdy and held his weight. The two handy helpers returned to their seats and began to jabber away in a foreign tongue that Tom did not understand.

"I know all who enter my domain, Tom. I would like to begin my tale now, if you please."

Tom shrugged.

The reptile nestled into a more comfortable position in his chair. "When Leterra was in its infancy," Anakore'in began.

"Leterra?" Tom interrupted.

"Leterra is the planet we call home, the planet we are currently residing on."

Tom rolled his eyes. The word was as foreign to him as talking to animals. No, the name that was at the edge of his tongue had only one syllable . . . but he could not release it into the air and it lay stuck in his mouth.

"When it was a child among the stars, eons ago, there was little life on the planet, and just like all new livable homes, it was mostly empty, unfurnished. The first sentient life lived somewhat during this time, the Eratuu, a tribe of trolls."

"Trolls . . ." The word sparked a memory and he grew excited. "They live under bridges, don't they?"

Anakore'in frowned. "No, not that I'm aware of. Just listen and I will tell you."

Tom said no more.

"Perhaps I should start somewhere less confusing," Anakore'in said, a tad hostile. "About four millennia ago I looked much like you. I mean I was human. During those times, I was a reputable archeologist. I had every known award from Hensley, the school I attended. I was fascinated by the early species, and I had just received a two-year grant to begin a project with a few other well-known colleagues in my field. We were excavating newly discovered temple ruins on an island off the southeastern coast of Gillia, the continent we're standing on. We found the temple of the Sha'nu, a race of elves we hypothesized civilization spawned from, the first race on Leterra."

"You just told me that trolls were first," Tom interjected, "and now you are saying elves came first."

"Pay attention. I said it was a hypothesis I had, I didn't say it was proven as a fact," Anakore'in defended.

Tom shot him a displeased look. He just wanted the dream to end, but no matter how many times he pinched himself, he did not wake. He nodded slowly. "Go on."

Impatient, Anakore'in drew in a quick breath and continued, "For months we searched the temple and found little to tell us about them, only that they were at war with another race on the mainland. By the chaotic markings throughout the temple we deciphered that the Eratuu were the other race, bloodthirsty trolls who attacked the Sha'nu on sight, devouring their bodies like wolves gorging on a lamb. The trolls built simplistic rafts to raid the island of the Sha'nu, and when they arrived, they began to pillage outlying towns until they burned the landscape into ash.

"The Sha'nu apparently had one last defense against the outnumbering invaders, but the writing ended at the beginning of the last battle between the two races. We concluded that the trolls obliterated the elves before they could implement what we called their Final Defense." The reptile sighed, and his body shook silently in the chair.

"Did you ever find out what their last defense was supposed to be?"

The reptile gazed at Tom. "I'll get to that," he said hastily. "After two long years of searching the ruins and coming up empty, a close friend of mine stumbled upon a hidden room. In that room he found a book, a book that we never should have touched." Agitated, the reptile paused, staring at the table.

"And?" Tom urged.

"What?" Anakore'in said, addled.

"The story . . . you said your friend found some sort of book."

"What story? Oh, yes, the book . . . let me see," the reptile said in concentration. "Right, now I remember . . . well, at first no one knew what to make of the text, for the language was different from the rest of the writing on the walls in the temple. It was a completely obscure language and we had no way to decipher it. So, my friend called a meeting of the greatest linguistic anthropologists from around the continent. We let their skillful minds try to decode the language, but they made little ground, and after five fervent, yet arduous orb . . . months of little sleep, we were about to give up." Anakore'in's voice weakened with his last few words. His skin began to suddenly tighten, making a crackling sound as it shriveled.

"Are you all right? Your skin is, uh . . . withering," Tom said with worry.

"I'll be fine; I just need to drink my tea to relax. Relax, ha!" the reptile murmured in pain. Anakore'in unrolled his tongue, reaching to the table where a cup of hot tea steamed. The ebony tongue lolled in the cup, absorbing the liquid like the tendrils of a mop cleaning a spill. From the creature's mouth dripped black saliva that resembled ink. It fell on the floor and splotched the wood.

The magnificent tongue was soft and squishy like any ordinary tongue, but the dark oil created a dim aura around its surface. Rolling his tongue back into his mouth, Anakore'in closed his lips, leaving a trail of black residue on the table. Droplets continued to fall from the creases of his lips, splashing onto the floor and chair. Almost drooling, he licked his mouth to stop the overflowing saliva.

"Ah," the reptile sighed in relief. "Yes, much better." His skin loosened, relaxing. "Shall I continue?"

Bemused, Tom just gaped at the reptile.

"I'll take your silence as a yes . . . At the end of the fifth month . . ." The reptile hesitated for a second. "Yes, month . . . one of the linguists deciphered the last block of text on the walls in the secret room where the book was first located. It read that the book was actually supposed to be a part of the Sha'nu's Final Defense, just as we originally thought. But for some unknown reason, what they had planned never worked. That is where the writing ended and where the trail came to a close as well. We knew that we had found at least a piece of the Final Defense; we just didn't know what to make of it. It was imagined the lost ancient text would lead us to another location where the real Final Defense awaited to be discovered. But sadly, we had no way of ever decoding the book.

"We were stuck . . . until something happened, something unpredictable. It was so absurd, so unimaginable . . . it left me this scar in the end." Anakore'in lifted up his front right appendage, and Tom eyed the outline of what appeared to be a burn mark. The sun-shaped scar glowed in the faint lighting. "You see, my linguist colleague, the one who had been working hardest on deciphering the lost book, started to talk in a completely unknown language. A language never before heard by any ear in the world. And between you and me, I thought he had gone mad." Anakore'in paused to take in a lengthy breath.

"I thought that staring at the incomprehensible lines for hours a day must have driven him insane. When we asked him what he was saying, all he could tell us was that he didn't know either." The reptile chortled sonorously, the vibration shook Tom's chair, unnerving him.

"Then after three days of nonsensical flummery," the reptile pressed on, "the rest of my colleagues and I began to understand his utterances, and soon we were all conversing in the new elfish tongue, but none of us were able to translate it back into any of the common tongues. Not even the Sha'nu's actual language." Anakore'in paused again to drink from the teacup on the table before him. His skin had started to shrink once more, signaling that he must begin his unfamiliar requirement to relax.

Unleashing his inky, tentacle-like tongue from his mouth and immersing it into the tea, he soaked up almost all of the oily liquid. As though a normal daily routine, the reptile carried on his unusual process of draining the brimming teacup dry. He paid little attention to Tom's expressions of disgust. "No one was able to write the language, either, though symbols appeared in our minds. Yet, something prevented us from putting the pen to the scroll. What we saw wasn't what we wrote. We studied the book for a few more weeks, but the harder we tried to understand the text, the less we comprehended. In the end, it was proving to be futile.

"We came close to giving up. On the brink of closing down the research project, another event happened that we did not foresee, and this time the scale was worldwide. We learned that every person, animal, and insect that appeared to possess half a mind started speaking the same language. Within a few months, you didn't even need half a mind. Across the corners of the globe, everything on Leterra was able to communicate with each other by the means of a universal tongue. It was the birth of World." Anakore'in shivered. He retold the events as if they happened only a few days ago. Nervously, he started to rock from side to side like a rolling pin. "Then within a cycle—er—a year, yes . . . a year. No one remembered how to speak their native languages; they had been extirpated throughout the entirety of the continent."

Tom paid close attention, but a headache was weakening his concentration. The story shocked him, though, or at least the parts he understood. A common tongue that killed other languages, he did not believe such a ridiculous plot twist. He balked at the idea of one language throughout the world . . . but then again it was a dream.

Something hid within the reptile's eyes, a hint of truth that Tom did not want to acknowledge. _When will this dream end?_ He sighed; it dragged on, far exceeding any conceivable point that his subconscious might be trying to convey. He wished more than anything to wake up and remember who he was.

His headache became severe, especially above his temples and his eyes, his veins pumping as though they would burst at any second. "My head is starting to ache, do you have anything for the pain?" Tom asked as politely as he could.

"The water will be the best thing for you; it will help you flush out all of your ailments," the reptile informed him. Within seconds, the cup he held brimmed with water again. He drank the water in a heartbeat, and the pain slightly subsided, but it did not disappear altogether. After a few moments, the pressure started to build at a slow pace once again.

To show that he was all right, Tom asked, "If World killed the other languages, then how come I can't understand what they are saying?" He pointed to the three squirrels.

"Oh, well, because I am teaching them my old tongue. I've been able to relearn some of my original language from what I believe to be the single surviving guide. Since everyone spoke the same language, and no one could ever learn a different one, all of the books were disposed of," Anakore'in reported. "The mounds of books burned as fiercely as the Golden Sun. And now written language has all but been extinguished, as only a few know how to read, let alone write."

Tom shook his head. What Anakore'in said did not add up. "If no one can learn a new language, then how are you and the squirrels able to learn one?" His neck had started to throb along with his head. Pressure tensed all the muscles in his body and knots formed in his shoulders.

"We've been practicing a very long time. And trust me, we haven't made any headway in at least thirty cy—years," Anakore'in replied. "Most of what they say is just gibberish," he added.

The confusion of the reptile's words started to add to Tom's pain. The fantastical dream was quickly becoming the worst torture he had ever felt. "Your scar . . . what about your scar?" Tom asked, though he was unsure why he was so interested. He was compelled.

Anakore'in glanced at the scar on his arm. "Yes . . . so we first thought that World was what the Sha'nu desired. We thought that they aimed to communicate with the savage trolls, and that their failure was due to a lack of time for the airborne agent to take effect. But we soon learned the truth. After World had spread, no one could read or write it, which posed a major problem. Until the linguist, who had been ardently examining the book, miraculously learned to understand a few words in the ancient writing." He stopped, and Tom wondered if the reptile was reliving ancient memories.

The huge eyes of the squirrels begged the reptile to continue.

Anakore'in gave in. "The linguist came to the rest of us working on the project, asking if we could do anything unusual. Most of us scratched our heads in bewilderment when we saw what he could do; somehow, he was able to change the world around him, create things out of nothing, which he did easiest when upset. Sadly, I found this out in a way, a way I wish not to remember, but this permanent reminder refuses to let me forget. One day, when he was most upset at us for not understanding, he created a small, marble-sized ball of flame between his hands and hurled it at me with precision." Anakore'in shuddered. "And that was only the beginning."

Tom slouched in disbelief. He imagined all the possibilities how Anakore'in had actually received the scar; the most likely scenario: a preying bird tried to snatch the reptile from the ground and failed.

"Before long," the reptile continued, "the twelve of us who worked on the project were all able to mimic what my colleague did, with his aid, which we collectively forced him to give us. We surmised that this was what the Sha'nu must have been trying to create before the bloodthirsty trolls raided and destroyed their entire homeland, casting them into oblivion." The reptile's face darkened, as he unraveled his tongue to drink from the teacup that constantly replenished itself.

Tom's eyes widened. "So you can create fire in your hand?"

"And much more, but that was a long time ago," Anakore'in said in an odd manner, with his tongue still in the tea. He retracted it back into his mouth. "When I used to be human, but it has been ages since I could do anything of the sort. It was the ancient words that allowed me to take this form, you know." He spoke as if Tom should have guessed. "We concluded that the book was a guide to the new language, and when spoken in complex phrases it can change elements of the world in a specific way. It was the birth of _heka_ , better known as magic."

"How come you changed yourself into a reptile?" Tom questioned.

This digression must have been dull for the squirrels, as they made a few high-pitched giggles, then scurried off into the darkness of the corridor.

"At first I did it to adapt to the island I had been studying on, but now I find it most comfortable. At least for the last six hundred years or so." The reptile chuckled to himself. "And now, sadly, I am unable to change back."

The glum face of the reptile disheartened Tom; he had pity for the poor creature, yet at the same time, he did not believe it to be true. "Were they also humans?" Tom directed his gaze to the squirrels that came rushing into the room, each holding an acorn. They placed themselves in their seats once more, now nibbling on their snacks.

The palpable sorrow of the reptile filled the room with gloom, but he smiled faintly. "No, they are not human; they were born as squirrels and they will die as squirrels. Most don't have the ability to change their bodies as I could, as almost all actually die as a result of trying to harness magic. We did not know that at the time, and the twelve of us tried to teach the people of Leterra how to understand the complexity of the language, but the people retained little, and only a small portion were able to read and write the simplest, most common words for communication. The rest live without such skills. Only the twelve of us were originally able to cast spells." The reptile paused again to absorb the tea as his skin tightened.

The strange high-pitch crinkling made Tom cringe, and his headache became unbearable. He asked for another glass of water, which he received instantly and gulped down. His pain dulled slightly, but not as much as it previously had, and he had an even more difficult time concentrating. He could hear the gnawing of the squirrels and the touch of the wind outside; it was as if all sounds had been amplified.

The words spell and magic finally clicked in Tom's head when he focused on Anakore'in's last words. Tom could not believe how elaborate the creature's tale was.

Then, quite suddenly, he had trouble recalling the last few days, the only memories he had been certain about since he awoke in the red grass. He remembered conversing with vultures and the absurdity of the scene, but the memory was now hazy. He could not recall what they spoke about, or why he would be talking to birds in the first place. The trail and the smoke were both blurry to a similar degree; in fact, his whole journey began to lose its clarity. Slowly, he forgot the notion of dreaming; his senses pulled him into this living reality, one that he did not question.

Anakore'in pressed on as though he did not notice Tom rubbing his temples. Tom drank another glass of water, which helped him to pay attention. "My linguist colleague had recently grown very restless with the government in his country because its leaders wouldn't do anything for the slave population. Furious, he traveled back to his homeland, taking the book with him, stealing it.

"When we found that he had taken the book, it was too late, he was already using it to harm others, and within a few short weeks, he, along with his slave rebellion, overthrew the government of his country." Anakore'in stopped abruptly, waiting for a reaction.

"What does any of this have to do with me?" was all Tom gave him.

"Nothing, my young man, nothing at all." The reptile smiled, dark and perilous. "But if you listen closely, you will be rescued."

"Rescued?" Tom squinted at the reptile. "From what?"

"Your past life, Tom. Listen and you will understand in time."

Irritated, Tom held his tongue in check. The world was spinning, and all he could do was listen, too disoriented to argue with the reptile.

Anakore'in went on, "The rest of us had agreed not to use this power to harm another, whether for good or for evil. As you may well know, good intentions can lead to terrible things. We tried desperately to retrieve the text, but we only gathered fragmented copies.

"The country elected the linguist as their new King shortly after he conquered the old government, freeing the slaves from their imprisonment. We had become powerless to stop his wrath." Anakore'in shifted his gaze down to his teacup and the table.

The furry black squirrel piped up, "Did you get the book back?" Its sharp squeaky voice pierced Tom's ears.

"Sadly, no, and what came next was worse than The Cataclysmic Flood that had hit sixteen hundred and sixty-eight cy—oh dear, how terrible I am for my faulty memory; years, it was years earlier, when the flood left Gillia the sole continent of Leterra," Anakore'in said carefully.

Tom faintly understood what he meant, though he did not know how this was possible, for the words Cataclysmic Flood seemed new to his mind, but at the same time they were not. He had learned about the historical event as a child; it was the worldwide flood that had changed the Celestial Era to the Flood Epoch. _But what does that mean?_ Tom mulled over the possibilities.

In the hazy cloud that was now his memory, he remembered Leterra, it was not the world with the Bay Area where one sun ruled, and it was not his home, or was it? He became confused at the thought. He remembered Gillia, or at least the word. "And Gillia is the continent we are on now?" he asked shyly, for he was unsure whether or not the reptile had already told him this point.

"That's right, Tom. You are starting to remember now!" Anakore'in said joyously with a wide reptilian smile across his green face. "Soon your memory will be as clear as that water glass, much better than mine, I can tell you that!"

"What happened? What happened next?" shouted the red squirrel, who was all agog to hear what was bigger than the flood that submerged the world's continents. Tom also became eager to know what happened next, even with his splitting headache, which he tried to battle by drinking a full cup of water every few minutes. His bladder swelled, but he wanted to stay in the room where he felt safest.

The reptile complied with the group's demand. "The nations of Gillia broke out in war, all forty-six of them. Their lustful greed to possess the power that my linguist colleague wielded drove the world to its doom. We tried to get back the stolen text, but our every attempt failed. And to make things even worse, some of the book's knowledge spread like wildfire throughout the continent, as the world's leaders learned bits of its power, decimating each other's armies. It was utter chaos . . .

"Little by little, more people mastered what the twelve of us had grown to understand. They learned how to manipulate the language and feed into its unknown energy." He paused as Tom took a sip from his water glass.

Tom slowed the pace at which he drank since he urgently had to piss, but despite his need to relieve himself, he held it in. Usually when he had to pee in a dream, he woke up and went to the bathroom, but this dream would not let him out of its entrapment.

"Darkness descended over Gillia, and blood spilled across its soil, staining some areas forever. The Age of Extermination was upon us," Anakore'in whispered as a draft blew through the domicile from an unseen window. The draft extinguished the slow burning fire and the area became dark and chilly. Tom's extremities began to freeze in place, no longer able to move at will. He started to panic from the lack of feeling while his body turned an icicle blue.

The reptile kept talking in the blackness, shrouded in the warmth of magic. The squirrels had thick furry coats, and the severe cold apparently did not bother them, but Tom became encased in a thin layer of ice. "Thirty-nine of the forty-six countries were wiped out. Capital cities were razed and burned off the map entirely. All that remains of the great civilizations are scattered piles of rubble, if that. Most have been replaced with farmlands, or the countryside has reclaimed what it once had before the Celestial Era and technology's reign." Anakore'in finally noticed the darkness.

"Ah, yes, the day's end comes as the Golden Sun goes to rest. The mountains are a bad place to be when the suns settle over the water, especially for an unadapted human," the reptile said. "Mmhm, I see that you are very much frozen."

Tom made no reply, his mouth encased in ice.

"Yes, indeed," Anakore'in whispered, "you'll have to excuse my behavior, for I have not had company for a very long time. I forget that not everyone is adjusted to the extreme cold. I think I might have a cure, though, yes indeed, I think I do." He slid from his chair toward the fireplace, murmuring to himself. The breeze ceased immediately.

Anakore'in extended his tongue into the sable void that no human eyes could penetrate, letting his inky saliva drop into the abyss of the fireplace. Taking a step back, he aligned his small green body, straightening his tail as he inhaled a deep breath. His lungs expanded for a brief second. The reptile exhaled, letting out a small ball of flame, no larger than an eyeball, which was followed by a trail of fire like a comet in the night sky. Instantly the fire returned, burning dimly the same three brilliant colors it had before. The blaze provided as much light as a few large candles. He then sauntered down the hallway to light the other fireplace, as the fine coating of ice began to melt off Tom's body.

Returning to his seat, Anakore'in turned and stared at Tom. "I'm dreadfully sorry about that. If you want, I can have a nice hot cup of tea brewed." He eyed his teacup. "It's quite refreshing and warms the stomach like a good liquor." The reptile repeated his drinking routine, soaking up the peculiar liquid.

The ice was already gone around most of Tom's body except for his legs. He spied the cup. "I think I'll pass this time around," he muttered, exhausted from the day. The pain pumping through the veins in his head was extreme, and now his bladder ached. Tom could not remember anything about his encounter with the vultures now, and in fact, that whole day was lost. What stuck out was the tale he was currently drawn into with the strange reptile.

"If you want, I can continue this tale at a later time," Anakore'in offered, blinking sleepily.

Tom yearned for sleep, and his clouded memory made him want it more. The thought of rest echoed a comfort that made him wish for a nice soft bed to lie down in. Yet, something inside him made him say, "No, keep going."

"Sure, sure, I won't refuse . . . In the Age of Extermination, very few soldiers from any country survived, and those that did went home to poverty and famine. I had stood back and watched the entire onslaught." Anakore'in's eyes watered with the inky liquid, and the soft spikes along his back trembled.

The reptile's speech had started to slow down. Tom started to bounce a little in his chair to distract himself from the pressure on his bladder. It was folly to hold in his urine, but he guessed that the story would be over soon, so he remained seated.

"The last great battle came before the walls of Heaven . . ." Anakore'in yawned abruptly and shut his eyes. Tom thought this to be the opportune time to go to the bathroom. However, when he rose from his chair there was a screech, which instantly stirred the reptile. "Time is catching up with me, I fear," he mumbled. "Where was I?

"Oh, yes. The armies of the continent had all equally lost to one another. Death swallowed the world's populace in one massacre after another; the dominant races were on the verge of extinction. Neetchae and his elf clans had almost been obliterated; Anu and his Kingdom of Fic lay decimated; and Banis retreated back to Le'Adra with less than fifty of his soldiers. Olodulah and his giants of Turnola returned to their homeland with even fewer, but Diablo and his _Noklathar_ were wounded deepest, with only a handful left.

"What remained of the dwarves sealed themselves in the mountains completely, letting no one in or out. The winged _Vaenu_ crammed themselves on an island lake, while the trolls clung to their snowy tops in solace. The streets of the cities were bare and empty; blood stained the fields and hillsides, roads and walls, and piles of bodies stretched across the continent. Mouths hung open from the screams they were crying when they died. It was utter havoc . . ." Anakore'in trailed off.

The squirrels were still filled with alacrity and excitement; their eyes were fully open while they stared at Anakore'in, expecting a great ending to the tale. But the reptile slowly, yet inevitably drifted off to sleep, his eyes closed completely. He still murmured in his slumber, but his words did not connect with the story, so Tom figured it was meaningless.

Tom did not think that was the end of the story, but he had to pee so badly that he did not mind postponing it for a while. "Bathroom . . ." he half-coughed in pain. The squirrels had noticed him squirming in his chair some time ago, and in response to his urgent cry, the red one quickly ran to the fireplace where a bundle of long candles were stacked neatly against it. It grasped a single stick and extended it into the wild flames; the wick burned the same colors as the ones in the fireplace. After setting the candle in a brass holder, the squirrel motioned Tom to follow as it went into the corridor. They were halfway through when the rodent halted in front of a door, which Tom had not seen on the way in, but then he could not see much in the hall, even with the burning candle illuminating the way.

"Thank you," Tom stuttered. The animal nodded, then ran away, leaving the light at the door. He picked it up off the floor and stepped into the dark room. He searched for a light switch instinctively, and was quite shocked to find one. He flipped it. An electric light in the middle of the room flickered on. He stood, flabbergasted, as the entire house appeared to have no electricity: there were no power lines outside that could be seen. After closing the door he spotted a porcelain toilet with three different sized seats, all on separate hinges; he lifted them, dropped his pants and released a flood of urine into the bowl. If this were a dream, he knew he just soaked his sheets, but there was nothing to be done about it. He could not wake.

He flushed the toilet, and went to the sink; a mirror hung above it. Tom stopped and stared at himself. His dark brown eyes disturbed him, though he could not say why, but he got the feeling he had never seen through them before. Extremely tired, he ignored the odd sensation, picked up the candle, shut off the light, and went back to the room where Anakore'in slept soundlessly.

"Anakore'in?" Tom said softly. "Hey, wake up." He watched the reptile's lids slightly stir, but they did not open. He examined the room. The rodents had disappeared, and he did not see a cot or any bedding, so he roamed about the house; his feet disturbed the hardwood floor and made harsh noises as he went. Anakore'in muttered something he did not catch. He was just about to collapse next to the table for the night, but heard a creak and turned around to see a staircase forming where a bare wall once stood; he watched amazed as the dark wood molded into steps and walls of a hallway.

Tom walked in front of the finished stairway and gaped for a brief moment; then he wandered up them to reach the top where he gazed upon another black hallway. Two doors faced each other in silence at the end of it. Opening the door to his right, he walked through the entrance while pine needles inexplicably fell atop his head and shoulders. He brushed them off. The room was the same size as the other two rooms on the lower level, but instead of a fireplace and a table, a single bed lay in the corner away from the door.

The mattress was centered on an old oak frame, topped by a simple brown comforter, but the bed looked inviting to Tom's dreary eyes. His headache throbbed, but he did not have any water to combat it, so instead he climbed onto the bed and wrapped himself in the comforter and blankets, hoping that sleep would calm the furious attack upon his mind. He began to fall away from the tangible world and into the world of dreams. He tried to recover his memories of the last few days, but none existed, so he then tried to go even further back in his history, yet he drew nothing but a blank.

He remembered Anakore'in's story distinctly, yet he could not think of one past event, for they were all out of reach. He wanted to remember, but the harder he tried to concentrate, the more his head pulsed with pain. Sleep took him. Then he no longer thought of his lost memories; they had vanished into the blackness of the night, and in their place, something new crept from the shadow and filled the vacancy.

#

### The Conclusion to The Long, but

### Sufficiently Entertaining Story.

### Gifts for The Road. A Swift Friend Arises.

Sunshine beamed through an unshaded window and hit Tom in the face, stirring him from the deep slumber that had entranced him with dreams of wild adventures, which he could not remember as he came to. The sunlight speared his eyes, as he tried to pry them open, but the rays were too brilliant, so he let them shut. The room grew darker as a cloud rolled past in the morning sky.

Tom opened his eyes cautiously and spotted a small reptile sound asleep on his chest. Black drool streamed to the blankets and floor in a slow, steady flow. Tom twitched in fear, but settled once the day before started to pour into his mind in a stream of fuzzy images. Clearing his dry throat, he whispered, "Good morning?" His voice was raspy and sore.

The sable oily current ceased as the reptile sucked in his saliva. "Yes, an excellent morning insooth," Anakore'in replied when he opened his lids to stare back at Tom.

The word insooth unsettled Tom briefly, not recognizing its meaning, but then it became a part of his vocabulary, remembering it to mean indeed. For a moment, he eyed the reptile, greatly puzzled by the strange creature resting atop his stomach. He waited for the thing to speak again. "Oh, yes, I was waiting for you to wake earlier this morning; I must have fallen asleep. It is quite boring to wait for people to wake, you know, but I did not want to be rude. I didn't get to finish the tale last night, and it is quite important. Do you mind if I do so now?"

Tom had a strange feeling skulking around in his mind, edging closer to his forethoughts; he sensed a change, as though a part of him had been lost, but he could not account for what part it might be. As his memory of yesterday formed, he nodded at the creature whose name he remembered as Anakore'in. It was still early, too early for him to be awake, but it would be impossible to go back to sleep now, for two suns shined brightly in his face, and the freakish lizard sitting atop his chest did not help much either. For a moment he dwelled on the notion of two suns, and for the briefest second the idea sounded unnatural, but as quick as the thought had come, it vanished. Two suns became normal.

"Do you remember where I was last? I seem to have forgotten," Anakore'in said.

Tom shrugged. He vaguely remembered that the animal had told him a story, though as he focused, memories of his surrounding came forth, along with snippets of his hospitable host. "I remember something about the destruction of all the world's armies." A yawn struck him, and his eyes watered.

Tom ruminated on how he arrived at the cabin, and at that moment his head burst with flashes of old familiar faces, lost steps, and moments of his own history. The thoughts ran through his mind as though they were new to him, not his own memories, but they were; he could see them as clear as freshwater in the calm Lasol River. He had lived them. All of them.

His thoughts scattered as the lizard continued, "Oh, quite right you are! Now let me see, I said that . . . yes, and I said that too, ah ha! I've got it!" the reptile shouted into Tom's morning-sensitive ears. "So, the Age of Extermination lasted over two hundred cycles. Wait I meant years, no wait, I didn't. I meant cycles. Yes, two hundred and seventeen cycles to be precise. There was no one left to go to war, and the Era of Ruin began."

The word "cycle" hit Tom's ear, it was rough and unnatural, and he automatically translated the word into "years," then back again. Cycles, years, cycles, years. The words rotated between one another until cycles stuck in his thoughts, and he no longer recalled the word "year."

Anakore'in had paused for a brief second to clear his throat while Tom dwelled on the once seemingly unfamiliar word that now was all he knew to be correct. "Toward the beginning of the Era, the Kings of the world—by some untold, or perhaps forgotten means—replenished their armies anew, and began warring with one another to claim Gillia for their own once more. Anu, the King of Fic, and a most powerful warlock, had mastered the ancient phrasings of World, and devised a spell so powerful and uncontrollable that he could destroy all the nations of the world.

"But to master the spell, Anu needed help from a great many other warlocks. Together, locked in a high round tower within the city of Dae'Ra, they began to chant the spell, which would have caused another cataclysmic ending," Anakore'in said. All of a sudden, Tom knew the details of the story, as he remembered hearing it as a small child. His youthful ears must have heard it a thousand times, and every time was as special and thrilling as the first. Now though, he lost interest in the old legend, and began to fade into sleep. The reptile noticed and suddenly lashed Tom's cheek with his tongue.

Startled, Tom stirred from his doze, ready to listen attentively to the reptile once again. He rubbed his stinging cheek, but the pain quickly dissipated.

"Maybe some breakfast will wake you. You didn't eat last night and must be famished. Do you have a predilection for anything in the morning?" Anakore'in moved his tongue around in his mouth, spilling oil onto the sheets.

"Warm grits will suffice," Tom answered after he made a loud, roaring yawn. He had taken a liking to grits on his patrols, especially when sprinkled with any kind of cheese.

"Don't be foolish, young Tom, I have the very best cooks around! We shall put them to good use!" Anakore'in laughed. "I'll have some walnut cakes whipped up for us." He whistled in a low, smooth tone. "To the kitchen, come now," he shouted as he jumped off Tom and ran out the open door. When Tom passed over the door's threshold, he noticed that the hallway arrangement differed from his memory, for the stairwell now faced his right, not his left. He scratched his stubble, flummoxed, because he was sure he had entered the room from the left. Although confused, he followed down the steps, where he entered into a spacious kitchen.

The three squirrels from the night before busily worked on the breakfast meal. All of the kitchen equipment sat low to the ground, easily accessible for their little arms. The electric burners were a few inches from the floor, separate from the stove, which was stacked and raised much higher than the rest of the appliances. They also handled the dishes with ease, even though their paws were tiny, and the pans were larger than their bodies. The skillets were lightweight and designed for them. The three poured batter into the pans, and flipped the cakes high into the sky; it was quite a spectacle to behold. They served him an assortment of fresh berries as he sat down, and decanted orange juice from a large container into a good-sized cup.

"Thank you," Tom said to the squirrels that climbed and scampered about the room. They served him a tall stack of cakes, topped with dark syrup and more berries. He peered around the room with awe at the strange sight. It all looked unreal. "How do you manage electricity here? It's such a rarity even in the bigger cities."

"Wind generators draw from the fierce storms that blow in from the mountains. Old as they are, they have never failed me," Anakore'in happily answered.

Tom almost did not believe the reptile, yet it was hard to argue with what he saw before him. He paid the peculiarity no more mind and tackled the heap of walnut cakes, swallowing huge bites whole. He had a ravenous appetite that felt as if it would never be satisfied. Nothing but berries and water came to his mind, as he could not remember the last time he had consumed anything substantial.

Anakore'in ate the berries, and nibbled on a few cakes, which allowed Tom to notice the creature's unusual double row of top teeth, and single row of bottom teeth. Bothered by Anakore'in's audible eating, Tom tried to ignore it by prompting him to continue with the tale.

The reptile started the story where he had left off. "The greatest of the paladins, Thalreon, decided to battle through the gates of Dae'Ra, and end Anu's plan to decimate all who opposed Fic." The reptile paused while he snatched an escaping blackberry that rolled past his teacup.

"As a paladin, Thalreon was also talented and well learned in the ways of magic. He used this to his advantage, killing all of Anu's warlock minions until he came face to face with Anu. The great warlock countered Thalreon's attempts to slay him with magic, dueling for many long hours, but the great warlock could not deflect the edge of a blade so well. Thalreon's sword penetrated Anu's neck with one mortal strike, decapitating the great warlock. The spell was broken with his death.

"Thalreon also perished in his attempt to escape Dae'Ra. An overwhelming force of city guards arrived too late to save their King, but they managed to defeat the paladin after an hour of hard-fought combat. The country of Fic became leaderless and fractured, making it easy for Neetchae, the Elf Lord, to attack. His small army swarmed the city gates, where they eradicated Fic's arms, and sent the country's civilians fleeing into the North. War continued for over fifteen hundred cycles after Anu's death, until yet again the populace of Gillia was nothing, and all of the armies of the world were gone, ushering in the Era of Armistice, over two thousand cycles ago," Anakore'in said. At last, he had finished his epic tale.

"Yes, yes, the Era of our current circuits," Tom said with a mouth full. "I have never heard this version before. The one I know, Anu dies out on the battle field facing the elves, not by The Last Paladin."

"You've never heard it because the writers of the ages changed it, to make Anu more glorious and tarnish Thalreon's name."

"Now why would the writers of history change the story?" Tom asked, very interested. It sounded preposterous.

"They did it for the same reasons that they extirpated The Guild of The Paladins—they didn't want any more heroics, any more potential leaders of another cause. Thalreon wasn't aligned with anyone from the North or South. He was for peace, and no one wanted peace to be remembered," Anakore'in explained, emphasizing his last words.

"I see . . . and how do you know this _original_ version?" Tom questioned suspiciously. He did not like what he was hearing.

"I was there during those circuits. If there is a story to be told, then I've probably seen it, or knew someone who saw it. I've had my ears in every war since the Age of Extermination began. But enough of that, how are the cakes?" Anakore'in asked enthusiastically. He gobbled up some more red berries.

Tom wanted to know more, but decided not to contest the ancient reptile's account. One thing he remembered with accuracy was the creature's age, well past four thousand cycles, so perhaps he was correct. "Delectable," Tom said. "I quite enjoyed them. I don't think I've ever had cakes like these before, it was more than pleasing, and your kindness has been well beyond any manner of hospitality." His smile showed red and black teeth, stained from the berries.

"No, it was no trouble. It is very seldom I see strangers come this way. I do enjoy telling a good story to fresh ears." Anakore'in sipped his tea slowly, instead of soaking it up like he had done the night before.

"I was glad to hear it. I used to study history; I was going to be a teacher, but during my last cycle of schooling, King Alexandroz finally banned the learning of history in Bedal and Quelthol, the last two cities of the North to teach it." Tom laughed in reflection. "It's funny, after school, before I got involved with mercenary work, I thought about being a politician, seeing as I could read and write, but the wages of a mercenary almost tripled a governor's salary, though it's always been a mystery to me as to why. Well anyway, my wife and I wanted to start a family soon, so I took the first opening I could get, since I could retire fairly early. But I'm blathering . . ." He paused and reminisced on his circuits in school and his wife's urging to settle down. "I haven't had someone tell me a tale quite like that for over ten cycles. It was quite refreshing, especially with your alternate ending."

Anakore'in did not respond to Tom's last remark, but instead started to investigate his memory. "So tell me about yourself, Tom. You mentioned that you are a mercenary, where are you from? And what brings you all the way west to the central coast?" The reptile still leisurely drank his revitalizing elixir. "It's some distance out of the way from anywhere else," he stated loudly, in a jovial, high voice.

Tom could not recall any of what he had told Anakore'in the circuit before. Truly, he could not even recall the reptile's long tale, for no words resided in his mind of its detail, only that it had been spoken, and that for some reason he remembered enjoying it to a high degree. "Yes, it is some distance from where I am supposed to be. I'm a mercenary in The Hill Glutter Brigade, out of Bedal, though it's not much of a brigade these circuits, nowhere near the size of 30,000; our twenty-five men are more the size of a squadron. We normally patrol the northeast for country brigands and road thieves. Every once in a while, we're hired to go as far as the border of Virra to fight off small raiding parties."

"Northern mercenaries, eh? But Bedal is a conquered city, incorporated two hundred cycles ago," Anakore'in said, seemingly surprised to hear of northern mercenaries.

"True enough, yet there are too few of us beyond The Sepris Mountains willing to join the military, and most still think of us as foreigners," Tom answered. "So they pay us a little more as an incentive."

"Ah, I do suppose few travel beyond The Spinebreakers, only one decent pass. So what were you doing so far south?"

"We were hired as a scouting party, sent to look for suspicious Southerners on the Northern side of The Devides. I think we entered into a blizzard and I got lost, though my memory is still somewhat hazy," Tom replied as he gazed at the table, dwelling on his last memories before and after the storm. A gap existed between the two. Something terrible must have happened to make him forget, and a storm seemed reasonable enough. He focused long and hard, searching for a clue. After a few quiet moments passed, he gave up trying to recollect, drawing only empty conclusions.

His mind shifted to what happened before the storm hit. He had been traveling with seventeen other Scouts, five Rangers, a Cleric, and Master-Ranger Kornelius who was in charge of the Brigade. No time existed before the white fog that must have been the storm. He could not remember how long the Brigade scouted The Bordergrounds, it could have been anywhere between a couple orbits or only a few circuits, there was no way to tell for sure. He recalled that they were tracking a band of Southerners deep in the snowlands, but never managed to catch them.

Then a dark feeling jolted Tom. Something strange about the reptile gave him the impression that this was not their first encounter. "Have we met before?"

"There are few living tocircuit whom I've had contact with during this era, and no, I'm afraid you are not one of them. Why?"

Tom stared hard at the reptile. He remembered a shadowy figure in a storm, a figure that had given off the same presence as the green lizard before him. "I—I just thought we might have."

"Impossible," Anakore'in brushed the idea aside. "Lost in The Devides, eh?" he said with pity, changing the subject. "Well, I guess you'll be needing to get yourself home, now won't you?" He did not wait for Tom's reply. "Follow me outside, Tom." The reptile half-hopped, half-ran from his seat to a doorway near them, and Tom stood up to follow. "So what did you leave back home, Tom? You mentioned a wife, any children?" he asked as they traveled through the doorway that Tom had opened.

For a moment, Tom could not remember how the reptile knew his name, but then he guessed that he had told it to the animal the previous night, which still blurred in his memory. "Yes, two girls, my sweet darlings they are," he responded, shutting the door behind them. "I'll be happy to return home and hold my little girls in my arms." He wore a warm smile.

Anakore'in smiled back at him. "I'm sure your family is awaiting your arrival. However, I must warn you, Tom, I've had reports that there are troops assembling on the Northern border, preparing for war," Anakore'in divulged his intelligence. "It seems that Alexandroz is scheming for the destruction of the South."

"I don't see how that is possible, I just passed through the northwestern border but a few circuits ago; there is nothing there. And if I remember correctly, Alexandroz announced that the Empyreans would never go to war again, except to defend the Northern lands. I have to say your information is flawed," Tom stated stiffly. "How do you know this to be true?"

Anakore'in stopped a little ways from the door; they stood on a cemented patio under the cover that extended from the roof of the house. "Well, you are right, I don't know for sure, but the increased frequency of their patrols, patrols like yours, says something to me. I was hoping that you could assist me in finding out the truth?"

"How do you want me to help?" Tom asked impatiently.

"I was hoping that on your way back to your family in Bedal you might deliver a letter for me, to one of my close friends in Heaven. That is, of course, assuming it isn't too much of a bother," the reptile said with hope and desperation in his voice. "If you stumble upon the army that I think is there, then will you inform my friend, so that they might have time to travel here if they so wish. Please, I have no other means of communication right now."

"I may well deliver your letter, if you can answer me a question." Tom leaned against one of the poles that helped hold up the roof.

"That is?"

"Tell me why an a ancient recluse like yourself knows so much about the tidings of war, but chooses to live in seclusion when instead you could be on a council to help prevent bloodshed from happening?" Tom's open suspicion showed in his squinting eyes. The reptile was up to no good.

Anakore'in began to blink. "I was involved in warfare for so long that eventually I had to leave to find solace. Here there is tranquility where I can practice my faith, and be at leisure. I have been on many a council that decided the fate of many a people, but that time has gone into the past. These are my final cycles, and I have chosen to live them in quiet. I only wish to warn my friend."

"I see . . ." Tom said, "well, if it is only a letter to be delivered, then I shall see to it that it is received. The quickest land route to Bedal is through Heaven, and besides I was going to stop there to pick up a gift for my girls. I have yet to see the capital." He nodded an apology, regretting the sharpness with which he had asked the question. He did not think about the poor creature dying, they had only just met, and he had learned long ago that creatures who possess the skill of magic can sometimes live the course of many, many lives, seemingly without age, or the threat of eternal rest.

Anakore'in smiled. "Don't worry about the end of my life, young man, I've lived longer than anything should choose to live," he said with a happy glint in his eye. "I have already prepared for your departure. I have a few items that I thought you might need on your journey home. Follow me."

The two went around the patio to where a pile of logs leaned against the abode. "Thank you for your help, young man, I have a hard time sending letters that far north unless it is migration season for birds, then I can send them with relative ease," the reptile raised his voice in the wind.

"I don't mind at all. I don't see how I could ever turn down helping an elder, especially one who displays such hospitality." Tom was always ready to aid someone in need. At least as long as death did not threaten, as danger often deterred any brave actions.

Around the corner, the two came to a table with an assortment of provisions. Gazing at the tabletop with wonder, Tom did not believe what was placed before him. "What kind of preparations did you make?" he asked when he spied the single-edged shortsword.

"The necessary ones," Anakore'in said, grinning with satisfaction. "Ones to better aid your journey and ensure that it is safe and without delay."

"How did you know I would need all this?"

"I surmised it out last night, though you probably don't remember. You were in bad shape," Anakore'in spoke more softly as the wind faded.

"I don't think you have to worry about safety, unless it's from the storms that blow through the mountains," Tom stated. He stared at the weapons and garments spread out on the table. "If anything is askew in the North, I hope that I reach your friend in time. I can only travel so fast on foot."

"Ah yes, well, you can never be too cautious, now can you? As for traveling, I have something that will help. The quick pace of an acquaintance of mine has agreed to assist us in making your trip a hasty one." Anakore'in formed his reptilian lips together and blew a piercing whistle. The reptile surveyed the entire mountainscape, peering out across the deserted land, especially scanning the perimeter that the trees made near the cabin.

An animal appeared out of the thick forest brush. The beast's hooves glided across the partially snow-covered ground. The pony-sized animal reached them within seconds after emerging from the woodlands, standing tall and slim.

The animal's pure-white fur glowed like a morning's snowfall, before the taint of muddy boots defile the ground. It was covered in white from head to toe, except for the deep crimson on the animal's chest and underbelly, and the sable that surrounded its mouth and eyes. Great wings protruded near where its neck met its back; they shined as brightly as the suns above. Extending behind the creature, a red, thistle-covered tail whipped back and forth like a fish cutting through an upstream current. Two long, skinny black horns jutted toward the sky atop the animal's head.

"Bravis!" Anakore'in announced. "How are you? I hope your trip went well."

"It was fine, Guardian of the Timber. Is this the subject you wish me to carry to Heaven?" With two brilliant indigo orbs, the animal scrutinized Tom. The animal stretched out its great wings that had been folded.

"Yes, this is Tom," Anakore'in said, looking up at Tom's slender body. "Tom, this is Bravis," Anakore'in introduced them.

"What is this beast?" Tom stared into the animal's shadowed eyes. Bravis, who reached at least fourteen hands at his withers, met his gaze. The animal ground its teeth as it flexed its muscles in a show of strength.

"Bravis is no beast!" Anakore'in said, roused to annoyance. "He is a gyrran, autochthonous to these mountains, and one of the last of his species. Hunted for their rare pelts, Bravis and his kind are nearly extinct now."

"My sister and I are all that remain within the timberlands, protected by the Guardian. We are unsure that we are the last, there may still be some of my kind in the southern mountains of Lyree Plyth; my sister has gone there to investigate while I help you reach your homeland," Bravis said. Despite the animal's sanguine tone, he wore a look of loneliness on his face, and sadness troubled his eyes.

Tom scanned the creature up and down. "So what exactly is a gyrran? You look very peculiar."

"What do you mean, what is a gyrran? A gyrran is a gyrran," Anakore'in said lamely. "What else could he be?"

"Frankly, he looks like an undersized horse with horns and wings, but again that's just me." Tom snorted with laughter, but he alone laughed. No one else found the joke humorous.

"An undersized horse he is not." The reptile chuckled. "He is the evolution of the gazelle that used to roam these hills, and during the harsh winters they had a need to fly to catch some of the cold weather seabirds off of the tall cliffs along the coastline. Their tails evolved, allowing them to hunt schools of fish in the waters when there was nothing left on land or sky. Simply put: he is a swimmer, a most excellent flier, and a harrier; when Bravis reaches maturity nothing will be swifter on land over long distances," Anakore'in praised the gyrran's qualities, on the edge of boastful, as if they were his own.

"I see," Tom said. He took a few steps toward the animal. Bravis showed his clenched teeth in aggression, blowing air out his nostrils. "He seems angry." He stopped in his tracks.

"You just called him an undersized horse, what do you expect?" Anakore'in chuckled again, with a wide grin across his reptilian lips.

"You also keep talking about me as if I don't understand every word you are saying, instead of directly talking to me," Bravis uttered. He glared into Tom's eyes, thrashing his tail side to side.

"Settle down, my young Bravis, he meant no harm, no harm at all." Anakore'in looked up at Tom. "His young blood suffers from feistiness, as all adolescents do," he said in a calm voice. "Not two cycles have passed for this one. Sometimes aggression courses through his veins like a frenzied boar rampaging across the plains." The reptile patted the back of the gyrran's front left leg with his tail. "But most of the time he is as calm as a pond." He shifted his eyes to the bright blue firmament above. "It will soon be midcircuit. You best be getting on, the circuit is long, but the night is harsh in the mountains. If you leave now you'll make it to the coast, and will not suffer its deadly grasp."

"Right . . ." Tom mumbled. He strolled back to the table where his supplies were scattered across its top. Tom wore a ragged beige long-sleeved shirt and brown pants that he did not remember; the reptile must have replaced his standard issued clothes in the night. His travel pack was nowhere within sight, probably lost, and without it he did not have a change. The clothes smelled ripe, as if he had been traveling in them for circuits. If only the reptile had washed them beforehand, fresh clothes would have been pleasant, but Tom gave the reptile no grief about his hospitality.

Fingering the items, he came to a thin, mud-colored gambeson made from linen, and a bronze mail hauberk. Stripping off his tattered shirt, he slipped into the padded cloth, then donned the chest piece. He then fixed his eyes on a pair of bronze chausses, which he equipped over his short, lightweight pants. There was also a pair of shin-length breeches, a thick girdle, and a jerkin, all fashioned from dark brown leather that bordered on the edge of black. Beside the garments lay a curved dagger in a tan leather sheath, which he wrapped around his ankle, tying the ends in small, complex knots. He did the same with the shortsword, tying the sheath to his belt. A mahogany cloak waited for him, hung over a corner of the table, and with agile fingers he tossed it over his back and pinned it with a tree-shaped brooch. The clothes were heavy upon him, for he was not used to such a burdensome weight.

He packed his old shirt and the rest of the supplies and weapons on the calmed, ponylike creature, who now waited patiently under the intensity of the snow-melting suns. Tom swung a short, recurved bow around his shoulders, along with a leather quiver filled with twenty or so metallic-tipped arrows. He sighed, slightly disappointed that the bow did not have a protective case like the standard issued Scouts Bow, but he was not going to complain about such a generous gift. He mounted the winged animal, throwing one leg over the creature's back, and settled on the crest where the base of the wings protruded.

Peering about the forest for a path, Tom asked the reptile, "In what direction do we follow, I'm all turned around in here?" This was unusual for a Scout.

"Oh . . . yes . . . that's right, of course," Anakore'in said. Then he started speaking in a low susurration so quiet it was all but inaudible to Tom. A creak came from the timber straight ahead, as the thick trees groaned in the rising breeze. They began to separate until a path showed visible between them. "There," the reptile said, "it is time." He nodded toward the gyrran. "Trust in Bravis, Tom. He knows his way around these mountains."

The animal took off trotting before Tom's lips could mouth a goodbye. He looked back and waved his farewell. He swiveled back to the grassy path that stretched ahead of them into the forest beyond.

"So you know the way out of these mountains?" Tom inquired, bending over, holding the gyrran's neck tightly.

"I've been to the other side of these mountains on many occasions," Bravis uttered solemnly. "The ride may be harsh if the weather turns against us."

From then on, they rode in silence. Indeed the weather did turn against them, as snow poured in thick layers, a heavy burden for the mountainside. Bravis stopped, alarmed by a deep rumble far up the slope. A moment later, the gyrran bounded downhill with a burst of speed, screaming, "Avalanche!"

Tom clung to the gyrran's neck, shouting, "Can't you fly?"

"Too young," Bravis panted. "Hang on!"

#

### My Annals: On the Promise of our Savior

History has been banned for centuries upon centuries. Now writing falls only unto those of the cloth. Yet I, yes, I have been recording history since. Alone in the dark under dim candlelight. Nothing but silence around me. But who am I, you ask? No—no man of the cloth. The servant of servants to the Lord of lords. Yes, that is who I am. My name you want to know? If you were to ask me for my real name, I would regretfully answer you falsely. It is not in my nature to conceal the truth by lying, but where has my name gone . . . it has been lost in time.

I was a slave once. Treated no better than a cow by my own kind, herded around like cattle, I was. Did they boast any more intellect than myself? No. Yet, I was a different species to them. Not human. Degenerate. Inhospitable to reason. Sadly, my intelligence did not get me very far, as I was unable to prevent myself from being captured, nor could I deny the torture that was wrought upon me during my enslavement. What can intelligence do against undeniable might? . . . I would tell you how it occurred, how I lost my identity, but I cannot recall it now. You might think that it is impossible to forget something like that. I do. But that does not change the result.

You still want a name? So do I . . . I have no recollection of the name my mother gave me. It is gone like the clouds of yestercircuit, and only a new name can form in clouds of tomorrow. I want a new name. I want a name of a historian. I have given myself such, one that reveals my true character. My keen eyes watch all things that pass, like Ian Bertabili, the most legendary of all ancient Annals Keepers. My intent ears let nothing pass them by without proper care, as they are more powerful than Zolu Azikwe's, Annals Keeper second only to Ian. In order to become the greatest historian, I have written on many events that I have seen, and though it is not permitted, I will continue to do so regardless. Few others know fragments of the events that I am about to detail. No text survives from someone who was alive during the age, but my mind prevails, and so, it comes to me, the only one who knows the truth.

I will tell you what I know. Let me begin with the name I bear now.

It is true—I have never been a brute by any measure, and in those circuits, the circuits when men were property to other men, it was no different. I was weak and insignificant, even when compared to the other slaves. So I became what I was. What I hated being most. Out of my frailness came the only name that I can remember ever having. I became known as Feeble . . .

I have remembered this name for all these long cycles. It was the Age of Purpose, now over four thousand cycles ago, and the world was somewhat at peace. Yet, I was chained, cruelly bound to labor. My name, you ask . . . where did it come from? Did I not just tell you? It was a reflection of the image everyone saw. A nickname at first. I was unable to do as many tasks as the other prisoners, carrying the heavy loads of boulders and stones. I remember we were building a great citadel for our master, forced to wear shackles that bound us and bruised our ankles. Then an illness took me. My sunbathed skin turned to milk, and I spent endless circuits wishing I were dead. Rest did not exist for us. I knew death would come soon, because it had been sequences since the sickness had gotten a foothold. I felt the edge of life. My fingers crept into the side of darkness to touch its palpability. It was then that my name was sealed, inscribed in the stone I could not lift.

You ask how have I lived over four thousand cycles? That is a question best answered at length in another entry. For now I am here to write the history of our Savior, Alexandroz, and his promise to us, his people.

The Age of Purpose was a time when slaves were creating monuments of their masters. These monuments were built to honor great men across the continent, the founders of an age after the death of technology. The builders of tomorrow, some called them. These men were said to be even greater than those in the Age of Restoration, over three hundred cycles ere my time, ere the Age of Purpose. Cities flourished during their reign in the Age of Purpose. Rising high above the ground, some even reached into the clouds again, as they did in the Celestial Era, when technology users warmed the planet and caused The Cataclysmic Flood . . .

So many events . . . my thoughts have become scattered . . . I have written on the other Ages elsewhere, and I will write more in due time . . . I must not let my mind stroll through the woods, as the saying goes.

I must return to the Age of Purpose. Most diseases were obliterated, completely cured by new herbal remedies, straying from the technological cures of the time ere The Cataclysmic Flood. But treatments were not administrated to slaves like me. And though it seemed like man was becoming invincible once more, without technology spreading its infestation upon the world, I was descending into the pit of the abyss . . . Yes, the world was a pile of wealth again. Many men did not know what to do with their time or affluence, and so they began to wander aimlessly about the fields, the forests, the beaches, and the mountains. They were looking for something. Or maybe someone . . .

I must say that I feel the rest of my enslavement is not worth detailing, for it has no real relevance to this account of history, but my freedom, on the other hand, that is different. It has cause. It has purpose. I will share it because it is what I know best. This is the truth.

A scholar of my country uncovered a book, buried in an ancient tomb. He found the knowledge to free the people of my country, like me, the slaves. No one knew how, including myself, but then no one asked how, when he had the power to abolish slavery. With this power, he became more than a man. He became our Savior. An idol for us all . . . You know the other stories surrounding our Savior, his descent from Empyrenalis, so I have no need to detail that here.

What you may not know is the story behind the story. You want more? I have much to write, though such a limited supply to write on . . .

Continue I shall. With his gift to perform miracles, and lift the burdens from the broken back, as the saying goes, we, the slaves rallied behind him and his promise of freedom. Often I find myself thinking he was what the wandering men were searching so long for. In fact, I know he was, my conscience tells me so. Perhaps they wanted to stop him from gaining power like he did. Or maybe they wanted to turn him to their evil ways. This is still veiled to me . . .

When I first heard of the Slave's Liberation Movement, and of this Savior of justice, Alexandroz, I, like the rest, did not believe in his power. However, incredulous as I was, it was not long ere the SLM reached my doorstep.

Crippled and bedfast, I was touching death at the time. It grasped my wrists and pulled on me for orbits, until Alexandroz appeared from out of the realm of light. With a lay of his hand, Death released me, and the clutches of the sickness left me without disability, as our Savior blest me with a miracle. In return, he asked me for my support, which I reverently gave. It was not a duty I felt, but an honor and a privilege to assist him.

It was the beginning of the rebellion in our country, a war we won in a few short sequences. He had arrived at my town with an army of workers, who soon swept across the farmlands, and fought in the endless kilometers of fields, where government troops desperately tried to stop them. Outside my very window, I stared and watched the battle being waged. I saw firsthand the strength that Alexandroz wielded. I watched him tear the armies asunder in less than an hour. No one could challenge him. He, who is the True Savior, is the Lord of wind and water, of rock and fire—the Lord and Master of life itself.

He made me part of his new cabinet. "You have a trusting face," said our Savior. "I need a trusting face." I finally had purpose, with a position of significance, of true importance to my country. A slave no more. And ere the great armies of the state could strike the slaves down in our country, they suffered against our Savior's hand. My people were all free.

When Alexandroz rebuilt our Nation after our independence, he knew other World Leaders would try to attain the secret to power like his, a secret that perhaps only I now know. He knew they would fall into corruption, into greed and hatred, and would handle such power in ignorance. He knew, our Savior, he knew they would not be able to control such power as he wielded, only using it in a dire time of peril. They would use it for terror and destruction. So Alexandroz hid the book away from his enemies, not wanting anyone to find it.

He was right about our enemies. But what he did not know was that I would be the traitor, the one to give the World Leaders what they so dearly wanted. During this era, my mind was weak and easily swayed. Many men approached me with offers . . . with promises. I succumbed. I searched and found where the book was concealed. Devoured by my own rapaciousness, I gave them what I managed to mark down ere Alexandroz discovered my treasonous transgression. Scraps, bits and pieces—that was all I gave them. But for my betrayal of our Savior, and of my Kingdom, I was forsaken and punished. Being our Savior, Alexandroz feared not what they would do to our Nation, for they could never learn what he knew. No, what he feared was the annihilation of all the rest.

Once I handed the information to the World Leaders, the hammer fell, as the saying goes, and war was waged betwixt once peaceful countries. What I gave the World Leaders brought havoc upon countries that did not know about this power because I did not share it with them. Those who did not possess the knowledge fell prey to the fury and might of those who had persuaded me so easily.

Henceforth came the Age of Extermination. Forty-six nations broke out in world war on Gillia, our single remaining continent. Uncounted millions perished. Countries fell to other stronger countries that were then taken over by another, even more powerful country. Each seeking one thing in their pursuit of conquest, the book that Alexandroz had discovered in the tomb deep beneath the surface of the world. This book possessed an ancient elf language that held no barriers. It was universal. It was the language of World. All I know about it is that it has the ability to change the world when it is spoken properly.

I must say that as powerful as our Savior is, he is as kind and forgiving. He allowed me to prove my loyalty to the Throne once more, and he eventually blest me with an everlasting life. Now, nothing but the blade of my Sovereign can strike me down. As I said earlier, I will detail my mortality in another entry. Sometimes, though, I think an unending life is a punishment for my treachery. I have watched countries burn to ashes. I have seen the rubble of city ruins. I have touched thousands of the dead bodies with my fingertips. I have heard the cries of havoc. I have witnessed the destruction firsthand.

Why did I tell you all this just now? I told you so that you may yet understand that when our Savior makes a promise, he keeps it. There are no alternatives. I told you so that you may yet see the danger ahead of us, as well as the light that our Savior brings to his people. In a world of death, truth and faith in our Savior will guide us. It is getting worse. That is why I write this entry, as the remaining countries to the South are becoming more savage, and soon there will be nothing left but a scarce memory. Our country will be all that stands. Plagues have swept through the Southern Nations. They have now begun to attack our borders. In preparation, the army awaits orders, heavily patrolling the fieldlands. Alexandroz says we must be free from our enemies. He has told me that the blame is not to be shouldered by me. He has told me it would have been like this nonetheless. I believe him with my whole heart.

I did not make them turn to the ugliness. I did not swing an axe to behead an ally. I did not transform them into the vileness that is killer and conqueror.

Alexandroz has promised perpetual peace to those of us who devote ourselves to his cause. To cure the plaguing infestation from the world, and purge all who need cleansing. Those of us who do this shall finally be free from the sight of death and decay, and live forever in the Land of Rapture. We shall have eternal freedom in a world where man shall finally rise above killing his neighbor. We shall rid this world of an unnecessary evil that has plagued it for too many millennia.

My Sovereign, our Savior, tells us the end of the conflict, our struggle, is fast approaching. The legions to the South threaten us, but they shall soon see our wrath. For Hallowed is our Savior and true are the faithful. Vale.

7/3/2129: Armistice. My Annals: On The Promise of our Savior by Ian Azikwe

#

### The Devides. An Unexpected Guide.

### A Not So Quiet Morning.

After narrowly escaping the avalanche, the duo suffered the harsh winds of the coastline along Lyree Plyth for three circuits. Eventually they crossed into The Devides: the chain of mountains bisecting the continent of Gillia, keeping the North from the South. Two circuits into The Devides, the duo strained through a never-ending siege of snowfall. The snow packed high above the ground, reaching midway up the animal's taut legs, and with each step, the gyrran fell deeper and deeper.

"Isn't there any way we can speed this up? Can't you fly?" Tom said wearily, looking at the interminable rows upon rows of snowy conifer trees. The path that Anakore'in showed them had long since vanished.

"It is the same since you asked yestercircuit, I cannot take flight yet, for my wings just aren't strong enough. As for moving faster through the snow, my kind is adept, we are able to walk atop the snow," Bravis said quietly in the nerve-chilling weather.

"Then how come you are not doing that, at least?" Tom yelled into the headwind that brutally seared his face. He waited for a reply. "So?" He shivered, his cloak flapping about as wildly as a fish out of water.

"So?" Bravis said. He leapt over a fallen tree, and sank as he landed heavily in the snow.

"So why aren't you doing that?" Tom asked again, annoyed.

"I have yet to master the technique. It takes many cycles of practice to achieve such a skill," Bravis retorted, as he stopped and twisted his neck around to glower at the human who so burdensomely rode atop him in the malevolent climate.

Glaring back at the animal, Tom gave a snort. "Well, now is a fine time to practice," he said while he shifted his gaze toward the darkening sky. The Crimson Sun descended over the mountain's ridge to his left. "We should make camp soon." He scratched his itchy stubble, which continued to sprout despite all his wishes against its growth.

"Insooth," Bravis said in agreement. They had been traveling all circuit, and the weather worsened with every breath.

Bravis tried to get as far as possible up the mountain before the Golden Sun settled in the west; the duo entered a small clearing before the fading light was too weak to make camp. Shivering, Tom dismounted the winged animal and untied an umber-colored pouch in the process. He then untied all of their bags. "I'll go look for dry wood," he said, setting the bags down while Bravis stomped his feet around in a circle, clearing out a hole in the snowpack. Treading through the knee-to-waist-deep powder, Tom desperately gathered any and all wood that had not been soaked in the downpour of white flakes.

He found only mere twigs in the ever-growing darkness that steadily reduced his sight. Lucklessly searching for dry fuel, he grew nervous of going the night without a fire, for the sheer ferocity of the wind scared him; the chill of the darkness, the real threat of the night, crept dangerously upon them. The previous nights had been relatively calm, according to Bravis, as the coastline remained at a constant moderate temperature, and the lower parts of the mountains had been rather snowless and quiet.

Wandering into another small clearing, Tom saw the clear night sky for the first time since he could remember, and above him hung Tal'Eratuu: the Yellow Moon. The giant wheat-colored moon smiled down at him with a warm glow. He looked to the east to find the distant Silver Moon, Bal'Aloa; the smaller moon glared at Tom with a cold glint, as if plotting against him. He shivered.

As he refocused his attention to the snowlands, Tom's eyes went wide with hope when he spotted several fallen trees that grayed with lingering death. "I may yet find dry wood," he whispered to himself, breaking off a branchlet. Placing a few more of the lifeless branches between his forearm and chest, he gathered as much dry wood as he could hold without losing the bundle. Suddenly something caught his attention at the opposite end of the clearing.

Snow fell from the sagging, powder-covered trees, gently blowing away in the gusty wind, and created a flaky mist around the area. Instinctively, Tom dropped the heap of dead wood and reached for the hilt by his waist. He stood primed to face any enemy who thought him folly enough to stray weaponless. He could not recall the last time he used a sword, for his grip struck him as entirely strange as he held the sword's hilt; he felt like a hunter holding a bow who had only killed by the spear, except he had the impression he had never hunted at all. The feeling bordered on eerie. His memories told him that he had hunted all his life, and all his reactions were automatic and trained, yet despite this, it was all unfamiliar territory. His fingers trembled. All he wanted was to turn and run, but he stood regardless, not because of bravery, but because his frozen muscles did not obey him.

The cloud of spray settled, revealing darkness between the trees, and within the darkness, Tom's scanning eyes met two luminous blood-shot orbs. His heart rate shot up and his skin started to burn. He unsheathed his steel a few centimeters in preparation for the worst. Without warning, the terrifying eyes advanced from the surrounding shadow. Fear held him motionless in the snow.

A creature emerged into the double moonlight. It easily stood two heads above Tom's own height. The beastly humanoid stood within four meters from where Tom had thrown down his bundle of dead wood, and there he met the creature's transfixing gaze. He tightened his already painful grip on the sword. Quickly, he searched the creature's body for visible weapons, and sighted a mace fastened to a withered belt, along with several pouches that were decorated with bones.

The dark blue skin of the horrific creature looked nothing like what Tom had ever seen on any type of beast, upright or on four legs, like the blue depths of the ocean before everything blackens. Glistening bleach-white graphics swirled amidst the shadowy blue pigment. It was as if someone painted a portrait on its blue skin with brilliant white dye, which mostly consisted of foreign symbols, though a few of the patterns twirled at random. Ivory tusks projected out from the sides of the creature's mouth, and its long face boasted sharp ears. It appeared to be juvenile, from its unwrinkled skin. Its hair blazed as fiercely as its eyes, streaming to its shoulders in decorative braids. A thick neck supported its head, which attached to narrow shoulders, as the body thinned and tapered, and yet it displayed toned muscles. A brown goat-haired robe draped from its shoulders, but exposed the beast's chest, showing a multitude of wounds and faded scars.

"Hail, human," the creature said with a strange accent, in a deep and powerful bass. "I am Devoto, T'e Healer of T'e Mountain-Troll Tribe, White-Spawn. I sspe'k peace." The creature asserted its presence, unmindfully baring its teeth after it finished speaking. The sharp incisors readied to penetrate the strongest of bone.

Shivering from the frosty cold and quivering from the presence of the gruesome troll, Tom managed to chatter, "Greetings, Devoto, The Healer of The Mountain-Troll Tribe, White-Spawn, I am Tom Navo, mercenary of The Hill Glutter Brigade, out of the Northern city of Bedal. I speak peace, troll of The Devides." Due to the freezing temperature, he stammered here and there.

"I am friend to t'e Nort' and itss allies, Tom Navo, so let uss talk in our armistice." He paused briefly, but then continued, "You dun see many of ure kin travelin' about T'e Devidin' Mountainsss, what brin'ss you to T'e Bordergroundss?" His face showed an expression of incredulity, with a furrowed brow, but inquisitive eyes.

"I was traveling with a scouting party through The Bordergrounds for several sequences when I was separated by a storm. I stumbled upon a cabin to the south where I took up refuge. An elderly man was kind enough, and sheltered me for a night, now I am on my way back to Bedal. I travel with a fauna friend who is accustomed to this climate," Tom said with a hopeful smile.

"Lost are we t'en?" Devoto said. He grimaced when a windblown stick hit him in the side.

"Unguided is all. I think the animal has a fair sense of direction, and can manage well enough in the deep snow," Tom shouted. He sheathed the rest of his steel and took his hand from its hilt.

"I know t'e landss well. T'ere is a secret passs I know not far. I would be proud to guide you to t'e road of Linesway t'at runssss after t'e mountainsss," Devoto spoke slowly. "I too am headin' into t'e Nort', to see T'e Great City of t'e Empyreans." He grinned widely.

"I'm sure my companion wouldn't mind someone with a little more knowledge of the area, but I do not want—"

"T'en we have an accord," Devoto said, cutting off the rest of Tom's words before he could finish with any objection. Another twig hit the troll's bare stomach and bounced off.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Tom acquiesced in the troll's generous offer and nodded complaisantly. He concluded that even if the stranger had ill intentions, he might still be able to use the troll's knowledge of the surrounding area to his benefit, then escape if the situation went awry.

He picked up the dropped wood with the help of the troll, and they managed to stack two large bundles together between their forearms and chests. They made their way back to where Tom had left Bravis by following his chaotic tracks. Falling snow filled many of his footsteps, and it appeared as though not all of the fading imprints were his, for some were larger than the size of his boots.

"So why does Devoto The Healer travel alone?" Tom had been pondering the question since they started heading back to the campsite. His knowledge about trolls was negligible, except for one fact: they never traveled alone. Trolls, notorious mountain hunters, always consisted of parties three to nine, and a single troll was suspicious to say the least.

"I have never been to T'e Marvel City, and t'e opportunity arose by chance for one of my tribessmen to make way t'ere, so I latched on, bein' t'e only true one t'at felt it necesssary to go," Devoto yelled into the defeating headwind while he followed close behind Tom's wild cloak. The wind became savage as it struck them in their faces. It only allowed them to squint now, and to see barely beyond the reach of their hands.

"I've never been inside its walls, but I've heard them described many times. They say that its names do not give it justice," Tom uttered, letting his voice travel with the wind back to Devoto's ears. He eyed every hole that he had made on his search for wood, and tried to follow the path more directly, but he ended up trudging through the snow by memory instead of following his lost and scattered prints.

"So tis animal you trek wit', you say it is agile in t'e mountainsss, yes? Is it one of t'em snowy markhor wit' t'ere spiralin' hornsss?" Devoto asked. Flakes of snow began sticking to his tusks. "T'ey are t'e best t'in' to ride in t'e mountainsss."

"No he isn't a markhor," Tom replied, picturing the longhaired goat-antelope, which he recalled had been hunted to near extinction. "He is an even rarer breed than those. He is a gyrran, some type of adept mountain creature from the woodlands of Lyree Plyth, though I really know little of his kind. He is one of the last of his kin, at least that's what the old man that lodged me said." He batted away the oncoming flakes.

"You've seen t'e landss of Lyree Plyth?" Devoto said with a quiver of fear in his voice.

"That is where the old man lived. I don't know how I managed to get so far south or so far west. I'm not a very good tracker in these mountains, I guess," Tom yelled, as he turned for a break from the wind.

The troll's mouth gaped, his expression filled with terror. "It is legend t'at t'ose landss are cursed by an evil daemon t'at walkss in the shadow of the snow cloudss to sspy on t'ose who dare disturb his woodlandsss. No one walkss freely in t'ose forsaken woodss, not wit'out payin' a mortal price," Devoto said.

"And what price would that be?" For once, Tom was the less frightened one.

"In tales, t'eir livess. For none t'at wander under t'e dark canopy of t'e woodland have ever emerged to say ot'erwisse. I dun know how true t'e myt'os are, but t'at is t'e legend, and I believe it," Devoto said candidly. Despite the cursed freezing wind, the troll appeared to be just fine in his stained robe.

That was not the case for Tom, who shivered, teeth chattering. "Well, I can tell you from my own venture there that the legend is false. I found no evil in that place, no secret daemon walking in my shadows. I am alive, after all," Tom boasted. Defying the troll's legend gave him an odd satisfaction. Then the wind picked up even more, forcing his steps to slow, and each stride became a trial of will. Approaching the camp, he could barely make out the silhouette of the gyrran as the light dwindled.

Bravis spotted Tom nearing the bivouac, and trailing behind him a queer creature of blue complexion with ferocious tusks projecting out in dangerous curves like blades ready to guillotine any enemy injudicious enough to be caught close to them. Clearly alarmed, he prepared to charge by lowering his black horns down so that his neck aligned with his torso.

"Ho!" Tom called. "It's me! Tom!"

"Are you all right?" Bravis shouted, tilting his head to make eye contact with Tom.

"Yes, I'm fine. Do not fear the troll, he has befriended me and has offered to assist us by guiding us out of the mountains." He held the pile of wood tightly to his chest, careful not to let a stick drop before he was close enough to the circle that Bravis had cleared out for a fire pit. "He knows of a secret pass, a shorter route over the snowlands."

Bravis still looked tense, but eventually the gyrran raised his head. He kept his gaze fixed on the troll.

Tom found a place to drop his bundle; Bravis had layered the ground with their pouches and belongings, and had made an annular fire pit out of rocks. The troll did not pay any attention to Bravis, and began to arrange the smaller twigs into a cross pattern within the pit, with each new layer facing the opposite direction to the one before it, then he placed two larger branches on the four corners to support the design.

The sunlight almost completely died into night. Tom began searching through the bags by the wood. "Where is that damn book?" he yelled abruptly. He scoured the open campsite for a book he had found a few circuits ago in one of the bags.

"How should I know?" Bravis retorted. "You should keep that closer to you; you never know when it will come in handy."

"What book do you spe'k of?" Devoto asked, positioning the last stick in place as a support beam for his wooden construction.

"One that will likely save us from this forsaken land that wishes to freeze our bones to shattering icicles. Ah! Found it!" Tom said. With trembling fingers, he raised an extremely weathered book that barely spanned the length of his hand. The rich chocolate leather cover was faded, along with its yellow pages, but a black title ran across the top of the cover: _Heka: Phrases For Survival_.

Tom started glancing through the book, and then without patience, he thumbed furiously to find the correct page with the spell he had seen two nights earlier while browsing over its contents. It contained all of the simplest spells centered on survival, which Anakore'in had deemed necessary for the two to make it over The Devides alive and intact.

Tom had not used the book yet, nor did he practice casting any of the spells, for he was afraid of what might happen if his attempt went terribly wrong. "Are you going to cast a spell?" Bravis asked.

"I am," Tom replied.

"Well, could you do it soon—the blood in my legs slows as you dally," the gyrran said.

"I dally with good reason. Only a select few can wield magic properly: one in a hundred die in their first attempt, nine in ten die during training. When I traveled in the hills with the Brigade, I was glad we had a Cleric with us who could cast survival spells, which proved necessary when trudging through the frigid mountainscape. Now, though, we do not have the comfort of an experienced caster, but rather my shaking hands and trembling mouth, but I know that if I do not try, are deaths are assured when full night strikes."

"Now is a better time to try than when your hands stop working from the evil cold," Bravis encouraged.

"All right. Here we go," Tom said. He found the page at last, and pointed to the top of the sheet where the word _Vursphaera_ was inscribed. "This should get it roaring."

He held out his right hand while he balanced the book in his left, then pointed his arm toward the pit with his palm facing up. Every nerve in his frozen body twitched in fear. "Always afraid," he whispered. "I am not a craven . . ." He took a long breath and began reciting the phrase, " _Pyrosus deo spearsae_." A jet of yellow came from Tom's lips, then red on the second word, and on the last word a bright green flowed forth, forming a small, tri-colored ball of flame, which levitated above his outstretched hand. The same blue, green, and brown burned as dully as Anakore'in's fire. Concentrating hard, he began to sweat from the heat that seared the surface of his fingers, so he switched his focus from the words on the page to the structured pile of wood. Slowly the ball moved in its direction, gradually floating to the fire pit until it hovered, suspended above the awaiting wooden fuel.

The ball dropped in a burst that combusted the pile immediately. The blaze was too luminous for anyone to look at, unless they intended to become blind, which none of the trio did, so they hastily turned away.

Tom shuddered, staggered, and fell.

"Tom!" Bravis yelled, galloping over to his body.

Tom stirred as his body shook. He looked at the fire. "Well, it worked." He gave Bravis a sliver of a smile. "Took quite a bit out of me, but I'm fine, don't worry." He crawled to the pile of bags while Bravis resumed his watch, sitting opposite from the troll.

"Very powerful t'at wass. I been usin' starter rocksss," Devoto said, pointing to a pair of gray stones that hung from his belt. "Ure way much fasster." He chuckled softly after he had taken a seat next to the tri-colored fire.

"Tonight is the first night we've had to test the text," Tom responded to the troll's comment. "And my nerves . . . but I did it." He rummaged through another bag in search of the container of mystery-meat stew that had been their meals the previous nights. His hands still trembled, drained of energy.

"I wish I could read and write," Devoto said in a sorrowful voice.

Tom stared at the troll, as not many cared to learn what the populace called useless skills. He never expected to see a troll crave such knowledge.

With a nod, Devoto took his leave, sauntering to a nearby tree-well where he made a bed large enough for him to lay curled around the pine's base. The warmth of the fire extended a fair distance, but he remained near, just in case the conditions of the night worsened. He wrapped what he could of his vestments around his skin, leaving little of his midnight blue complexion exposed to the air.

After observing the troll make his sleeping trench, and apparently falling asleep, Bravis shifted his gaze to Tom. "I don't trust him, you know," the gyrran whispered.

Tom put the steel container of stew next to the fire's edge and popped off its lid. "I know you don't. But he says he knows the way out of here, the way to the North, and I think we need his help." He frowned, then let out a sigh. "It could take sequences for us to find the way by ourselves, and you know as well as I do that we just don't have the rations to be wandering around this deadly snowpack for that long." He added grimly, "And any game up here will be burrowed."

"Insooth. Still, Anakore'in warned me of trolls. He said they never talk to humans, it's an astonishment that that thing didn't kill you on sight," Bravis remarked in a low voice. "I say we leave in the morning before he stirs, and do so quietly."

"No, we will let him guide us out of the mountains at least, and then if need be, or if your apprehension isn't quelled by that time, then we can discuss it again, but for now we'll stay in his company," Tom said, stirring the now bubbling stew. "I'm much more scared of dying in The Devides than your jittery feelings toward the troll. Dying up here is not how I plan to die. My body will die of old age in a warm bed, wrapped in the arms of my sweet wife. That's how I'll go."

Tom drew the container from the edge, poured half of its contents into another canister dish, and placed it before Bravis. He made sure not to let any of the hunks of meat fall into the dish, for the gyrran preferred raw flesh.

"We shall see," Bravis said. He lowered his head, slurping down the stew and munching on the chunks of potatoes.

Tom grumbled about the noise.

No more words were spoken on the subject of the troll; they finished what was left of the stew in silence, with the whirling air brushing their ears. The wind had begun to die down, making their surroundings a little warmer. The sound of the night's creatures remained quiet in the wind's grace.

Tom shifted his cloak over his body to blanket himself, doubling it as a pillow, curled into a ball next to the fire. Bravis remained where he lay, but dug up more of the snow around him, making a hole large enough for him to reside in for the harsh night.

The presence of the fire shielded them, as the night grew colder. Icicles on the trees grew, and the snow on the ground began to lose air as it turned to firn, before it became cold enough to turn to solid blue ice. The fire kept the blizzard at bay as snow piled higher and higher all around the trio. The force of the storm blew over trees and entombed them in sheets of ice while a fresh coat of white flakes made them invisible.

Even the tallest of the conifer trees that withstood the hurricane wind became coated with snow, under siege in the ruthlessness of the night, and all were half-buried by sunrise until the midmorning heat of the Crimson Sun. The snow's great compactness was the only ally to travelers, which allowed for those foolish enough to trek the mountainscape to escape from sinking too far into the depths of the snowpack.

The morning shine of the Crimson Sun rose to a new dawn as it broke over the horizon; the heat began to sway the cold in its advance until finally the gelid environment gave into the intensity that pressured the night's retreat. The sunbeams started to abate the onslaught of the falling snow, and the night's chill faded into the shadows where it awaited in darkness, ready to creep over the mountainside when its enemy disappeared beyond the horizon, ending another circuit.

Tom wandered in darkness until, with a nudge from Bravis, he quickly stirred awake, instantly ready to ward off an attacker with his shaky bare knuckles. Skyward, the Crimson Sun's rays painfully hit Tom's eyes as Bravis leaned forward to shield him from the severe light.

"I think it's time we were on our way," Bravis said, accompanied by a disgruntled gaze, showing his discontent with the situation Tom had gotten them into. "The Crimson Sun is high enough, there is no use in wasting time."

"You are right about that." Tom yawned. The morning air refreshed his senses. The usual weariness from traveling, along with the exhaustion from the spell, surrendered to a body fully recovered and energized. Looking around, he noticed the buildup of snow around him and their bivouac. "Have you seen the troll?" he asked, alerted by the creature's absence. He saw that the fire still blazed, and he forced its cessation with a muttered spell that he had found on the next page in the book, just after the fire spell. The minor use of magic expended little energy.

"Not since last night, but he was over by that tree there," Bravis said, nodding toward a barely visible treetop to the north of them. Surveying the circle they camped in, they saw that the fire's protection had created a bowl-shaped pit, and the fallen snow now stood well above their heads. "I suppose we should climb out of here and see if he is still alive, though I don't think the tree's branches would have protected him like the fire." The gyrran's tone lacked any sort of compassion for the possible death of the troll.

Tom shot Bravis a look of disbelief, but instead of arguing with his friend, he jumped to his feet and headed for the side of the potlike camp. Trying to climb the slope, he made it mid-way before he slid back down to the level ground. Resting on his knees, he scratched his beard, irritated.

Raising an ear, Bravis turned eastward. Tom began to speak, but Bravis spat out, "Shh!"

Tom waited impatiently for a few seconds, then asked, "Well, what is it?" He waited for a signal to unsheathe his steel. The pair stood in the basin of the bowl while Bravis focused intently on the surrounding area, listening to a bustling movement nearby.

"Footsteps," Bravis concluded. "Big footsteps." He fell silent, but only briefly. "Pack up, we need to leave," he ordered, fear in his speech.

Tom began tossing what was strewn over the floor of the bivouac back into their pouches. Within a few breaths, he was sorted and prepared to escape, or dash into combat, hoping for the former. He bound the sacks to Bravis using the thick cords that Anakore'in had given the duo, knotting the ropes tightly to make sure that if it came to a swift getaway, their supplies would not be scattered and lost.

Bravis nodded northward, signaling the human to attempt an escape in that direction. Tom ran up the nearly vertical enclosure. With all the strength he could muster, he climbed as briskly as his human limits would allow, reaching the crest of the snow on his first attempt, but only after a few long seconds of battling the hill. Rising to his feet, he watched Bravis ascend the upright slope with ease and grace in the snow. He was jealous, but glad to have the gyrran as his companion through the mountains.

Bravis scanned the area, with far superior vision to Tom's human eyes. Tom went to the tree that Bravis had indicated before, searching the tree-well; he saw nothing but smooth, untouched snow. The troll had either been buried alive, or he had moved some time ago when the falling snow was still swift, leaving the flakes to fill in any prints that would have been left behind. Bravis squinted far, then tuned his vision to the nearby trees and snow mounds. His eyes sharpened on a brown, blurred patch that he could not distinguish. "We are not alone," Bravis reported. "It's too blurry to make out, yet it appears to be close, and heading this way."

"How can it be close, but blurry? Is your vision fading, my young partner?" Tom asked, glancing up at him when Bravis dipped his head in the direction of the brown blur.

The winged animal yelped, "Bears!" Three giant brown bears closed fast upon them, running so close it was hard to tell where one form stopped and the other started, making a continuous patch of brown fur. "They carry riders, more trolls!" Bravis exclaimed.

The intruders came upon them all too quickly for the duo to produce any good ideas; Tom unslung the recurved bow and nocked a shaky arrow, ready to fire. Soon they were surrounded. The trolls dismounted the giant beasts in a clatter of grunts and roars. The six quickly encircled the duo. They were the same bluish hue of Devoto, though slightly darker. These trolls also supported much broader shoulders, and projected longer, thicker tusks, wearing faces filled with malice, as if the duo had intruded upon sacred burial land.

Within a mere breath, Devoto came swinging from a branch of a nearby tree, mace in hand, landing in the snow while he threw a blow into the nearest troll's skull. With a swift reaction, the bears roared louder, and swung their mighty paws, clawing the air wildly. The bears went into a frenzy of swings directed at the trio.

Tom ducked and rolled out of the melee, bow in hand and still nocked. He clumsily released the arrow at an oncoming troll. The metallic-tipped arrow penetrated the troll's left forearm, which slowed the troll's movement, but only for a second, before it charged forward at him with a balanced spear. The troll attacked, well practiced with the weapon. Tom blocked the spear with his bow. Yet the bow proved a poor defense against the long, weighted spear, as the troll knocked it from his grip.

Tom's veins gushed with terror. He backed away, inexperienced in combat, something he never wanted to be experienced in. All he could think while the troll stared him down was that he was not supposed to be down here, in this dreadful mountainscape. He was a Scout, trained only to seek, not engage. With trembling fingers, he unsheathed the shortsword that was bound to his hip, pointing the blade at the advancing troll. The troll thrust the bone-slicing spear at his stomach, which he narrowly deflected, giving all his might and speed to the maneuver.

Every thought told him to turn and run, but his muscles failed to respond.

The troll attempted another strike, this time outmatching Tom's speed, and the spearhead sliced through his hauberk into his lower left rib, leaving a superficial cut that made him grimace. The pain slowed his reaction even more, and the troll gave another lunge. Tom managed to parry the attack, but the hilt of his sword slipped from his sweat-soaked fingers in the same movement. The sword flew, flipping up into the air, and within moments, it came down, piercing into the troll's collarbone. The blade sunk deep into the torso of the troll as it easily cut through its bones. The troll fell to the ground with the blade still in his body, blood turning the white snow into dark brandy.

Tom looked beyond the corpse, watching two bears clawing toward Bravis while the third bear and last troll focused on Devoto. His mind told him that now was his opportunity to run, but his eyes never left Bravis. He ran over to the edge where the bears had cornered Bravis, when suddenly the troll shouted, "Our priority iss t'e exile, his companionsss come later." The troll's orders were clear to the bears to refocus their attention to Devoto, and they turned their backs on Bravis, proceeding to swing furious paws at their newly acquired target as they surrounded the troll on all sides.

Bravis glanced back to Tom. He looked for a sign of what to do next, but received no signal. Tom peered back at the winged animal with a distant gaze, his mind running through possible escape routes, but it was useless, he could not outrun a bear. He refocused his attention on attacks that would subdue their opponents, but nothing that promised success came into his thoughts. He watched the three mammoth bears close around Devoto, with the enemy troll raising his hardened mace to strike. Thinking rapidly, he put his hands together, and spoke just above a whisper, " _Pyrosus deo spearsae_."

The same yellow, red, and bright green erupted from Tom's mouth. A swirling ball of blue, green, and brown flame emerged between his separated palms. He focused only on the flame, which severely tested his ability to become numb to the heat of the fire; then he intensified the heat of the burning ball beyond his limits. Filled with adrenaline, he extended his palms outward and drove the firelight at the central colossal beast. The orb of fire shot at the bear, and upon touch, combusted on the beast, the flame spreading faster than a darting shift of an eye. Within moments, the ferocious animal that had swung so violently at them was enveloped by fire.

The invaders closed their eyes at the inferno, only to open them again to see that the bear had been incinerated, now nothing more than scattering ashes, dispersing across the snowlands. Shocked, the bears went from a wild frenzy to a sharp focus. Then shouted, "Split up, I'll kill t'e human." He began to walk toward Tom, the tusked humanoid livid at the loss of his comrades. Veins popped all throughout his body, coursing with ill will.

Reacting to the troll's orders, one of the giant bears bolted for Bravis, who in fear flapped his wings forwards, sending him fluttering back in retreat. But the distance did little as the bear swung its razor-nails, lacerating the gyrran's chest. With a yowl, he beat his wings again, driving himself back a short distance.

The troll stood meters away, giving Tom enough time to conjure a second sphere of flame, and again he concentrated so intensely on Bravis' bear that his surroundings blurred out of focus, leaving only the sight of the mammoth brown blot. The sphere projected toward the bear at a much swifter velocity than before, but once again, combusted upon immediate contact, scorching the animal in mere seconds, like a slight twitch of a finger. Yet, despite the intensity of the flame, the animal did not burst into ashes like the other one had, but instead fell over in a smoldering clump of burnt meat. Relieved, Bravis collapsed in pain.

The remaining troll stood before Tom with a raised arm; it securely gripped a mace, and with death written in his eyes, he stared at Tom, bringing the blow of strength down on the human's skull. But just as the stroke fell, Tom watched another, thinner mace block the attack, and Devoto stretched out a toughened arm while using his other hand to push the adversary to the side.

Caught off balance, the enemy troll fell. Devoto raised his mace high, gazing into the eyes of the attacker for a brief second.

"We will find you in every sshadow you hide ureself in, traitor, t'e exiled are—" Before the enemy troll finished, Devoto swept down a fierce strike that sunk into the defeated troll's brain, spilling blood onto the hardened snow. Pooling, it seeped down into the soil below the layers of white canvas.

It appeared that Devoto somehow had managed to distract and dodge the snarling beast that now raged toward them. Its claws were almost upon them as the bear raced to attack, when suddenly two hind legs kicked its stomach, followed by three strong gusty flaps of Bravis' wings. The gyrran knocked the enormous predator to its side. Devoto leapt with his mace and swung back behind his head. He landed at the bear's chest, and brought his hit exactly down on the skull of the animal with force; it was a precision and swiftness too quick for the bear to attempt any escape or counter.

Standing to his feet, Devoto glanced to the others with grimness. "It iss a dark circuit," he said. It was barely light enough to see them without shadow. The clouds had begun to layer the sky while they fought, and now kept the suns at bay.

"What is the bounty on your head?" Tom asked, not seeking any indulgence in small talk. He pulled out a round tin from a bag, and popped off its top; it was filled with a cream, and he rubbed it on Bravis' wound. He layered his fingers with more of the cream and applied it to his own cut, through the hole in his mail.

"T'eress no bounty, my friend. T'is a trial of revenge, t'ey seek for a comfort in my departure from t'e livin'," Devoto responded, speaking soft and low. He stared at his bloody mace in his clasp, unaffected by the image.

"You are exiled? Why?" Bravis questioned as he sat in the snow.

"Banished for bein' at t'e sside of my leader when he died. T'ey ssay I kill him, but t'iss is a lie t'ey tellss. No one else around, and t'ey put blame on meh, call meh asssassin and traitor, sso now I travel nort' to see T'e Great City," Devoto said with sorrow in his deep voice. Yet, the sadness did not appear to be for his tribesmen, but for something else, something the troll chose to hide.

Tom heard a lie, but he did not think the troll wanted to kill him, and they severely needed a guide. "You saved my life, I saved your life, we all saved each other, so we are all good with each other. Do you think we will be tracked by any more of your tribesmen?" he inquired, worried about furious mammoth beasts that could follow them. His wound burned for a minute or two, but finally the cream started to soothe the gash on his rib. He looked at Bravis and saw that his wound had started to mend as well.

"Maybe. T'ey been trackin' meh for while now, I get t'em every time t'ough. We can make it over t'e pass in a few circuitss, no problem. No more trackin' after t'at," Devoto said with a little more life in him than a few moments ago. He looked up ahead at the grade of the hill; it was steep, dangerous, and layered with snow.

Tom glanced up the hillside as well. The slope looked long and unending to his eyes. "All right then, we shall step lightly and quicken our pace. I don't want to be caught by another pack of snarling beasts," he said loudly. He ran to the dropped bags that must have come loose during the assault. In a hurry, he looped the knots once more, hopefully tighter than last time.

Without warning, the adrenaline that stimulated Tom withdrew. Enervated, he stumbled over, face first into the snow. The troll rushed over to him. He propped the human up against his shoulder. "The magic," Tom whispered. He shut his eyes as Devoto poured water down his throat. Slowly, he revived a little, able to drink for himself. "I didn't know the spell could make me so weak." Devoto lifted him and placed him atop Bravis to get him out of the wet snowpack.

After a short rest, they began their journey up the pass, with Tom riding draped over Bravis. "I have some troubling news, my friend." Bravis waited, worried at what Tom might say. "It appears that my left arm is dead."

"What do you mean your arm is dead?" Bravis asked, perplexed.

"I believe my lack of skill with magic has disabled my nerves. I cannot move it."

Bravis eyed his friend. "Maybe you just need more rest. Stay atop my back for as long as you need, I can manage your weight."

Tom nodded wearily. "Thank you, my friend," he said. Before long, he looked back to where they had left the dead bodies, for a wary feeling crawled up his spine. He spied five large cats sauntering up to the scattered remains; it was a family of tawny pumas searching for food. A mother and her four cubs traveling southward to escape the cold, since the snow conditions of The Bordergrounds worsened. Their fur was long and thick, their paws broad for the hills and snow, and their big round tails trailed behind them slightly curled up. The cubs played as they ate, but they looked starved and weak, happy at their luck to find such prizes to feast upon.

The weather of the high mountains was changing. Although it was summer and usually warmer, The Bordergrounds had become an inhospitable place even during the long circuitlight hours. The lack of food supply in the desolate hills forced the mother from her normal stalking of prey to scavenging for anything she or her cubs could find.

The mother made eye contact with Tom, and from her, he sensed that they were in no danger, for the two bodies of the bears and three trolls made plenty for the large cats, at least until they made it down the slopes and into the grassier plains.

Briefed on the big cats before Tom left Bedal, he remembered the speech about being heedful of them. Though they were scarce, like many of the animals of the snowlands, they could still be supremely dangerous while under the risk of famine. However, now, he felt otherwise, even as he sensed the mother's worry for her cub's survival, and the sadness that burdened her.

Tom twisted back to the troll, who waited for the pair just up the hillside. He, too, had spotted the felids, and there was a consensus among the trio that they were not in any immediate danger, except maybe by an unseen group of tracking trolls.

Bravis hated following the troll, for he attended to Anakore'in's words, and the tusked humanoid was even more of a burden to him now, but Tom persisted that it was best for them. He argued that it remained their only option to survive through the mountain's pass, so Bravis said no more on the subject.

By nightfall Tom had regained little of his strength. Despite the impairment, the trio managed to cover a fair distance up the cruel slope. They settled down in a tree-well, immobile once more, forced by a moonlit blizzard. Dreams came and went as the night lingered on, some delightful, some terrible. But for Tom, all of them revolved around his family. His wife, his two little girls, they always seemed within an arm's reach, yet sadly, the arm never reached them.

#

### Their Faces. Their Love. Their Distance.

It was a child's face before him, round fatty cheeks formed into a rosy smile; they were soft and smooth, blushing in the light of the sunny circuit, as the gleam struck them with elegance, making them glow in an aura of serenity. The dimples in her wide smile were deep, showing a beatific expression, small pearly teeth glistening in the rays of the sun; they shone so brightly that they tended to blind the eye. Golden silk layered her head in effulgent curls that fell down past her shoulders, the gold threads coiling in great loops that gently caressed the sides of her face and neck, and at times, bare shoulders. As Tom looked lovingly into her pale, green eyes that scintillated under the open sky, yearning to be comforted, her beauty repaired his heart.

She was Tom's daughter: his eldest child who loved to smile and laugh, to play and learn; she had her arms outstretched with something in her hand: it was a stuffed speckled bunny, and she clasped it with fragile fingers, as she held it so tight that it might have been a part of her body, an extension of her own hand. She waved it in the sky, swinging its arm with hers, almost violently, in her eagerness at seeing her father's long-awaited arrival, for he finally approached the porch of their house. Her bliss had been deeply hidden, but now at last it was able to be free from the shadows of feeling abandoned by her father.

A few steps behind his older daughter was his youngest, who had more of a milky complexion, and even more of a crimson tint in her cheeks, glowing even in the shade of the covering porch. Her smile was exuberant, filled with merry creases; it was an impossibly broad smile that went from ear to ear, and sported a view of all her bleached teeth, sparkling so radiantly that they could have been mistaken as diamonds when the suns shone so luminously like they did now. Her cherry-blond hair streamed straight and rested just above her shoulders, folded in toward her chin, wrapping her face like a picture frame.

She moved from the porch into the rising sunlight of the Golden Sun, and from her cheery face beamed pure rapture; she was more excited than she had ever been in her life, for she had barely ever seen her father, and desired to be held by him more than anything. More than she wanted the coins he sent back from his travels, or the jewelry that once in a while happened to show up on their porch concealed in a box, usually bracelets or earrings made of silver with citrine or ruby stones; she loved them, and her cobalt eyes popped every time she received a package, but nothing compared to his warmth and his soothing voice that relaxed her into a deep sleep. She took a few more slow steps forward, the heat warmed her body, though she was already warm with joy; she stopped and turned to yell, which sounded like the words, "Mommy! Mommy!" but it may have been, "Daddy! Daddy!" He was not sure, but he was thrilled to hear her voice nonetheless; it was high-pitched, almost a squeal, but it was delightful to hear her voice ringing in his ears; he wanted to hear the words over and over again, but they faded just as soon as they were spoken.

She did not take any more steps, waiting for her mother to appear from the house, as a woman came through a screen door onto the porch; she stood by a pole that held up the ceiling by the stairs. Tom gazed at her, remembering her face, her indelible pulchritude had been stored in his mind, but now it was in front of his eyes; it was the same beauty that had always astonished him, yet now there were one or two slight wrinkles in her brow, but it did not lessen his attraction. The dimples in her euphoric smile were like those of their children. He could not wait to press his lips upon hers, and swing his arms around her body to feel the warmth he yearned for in the cold of the mountains.

His wife's rich chestnut hair flowed down the crest of her back in windy locks, her bouffant bangs were styled up and back in a small lump, as the sides of her curls clung to her face, lightly grazing her sunbathed skin; she brushed her locks back with her fingers behind her ears to the left, allowing the rose of her cheeks to shine like their children's. Blue orbs stared at his clean-shaven face with an accumulative love that had been built over their lifetime, ever since they were children playing in the town square, and running through the gardens, or climbing up the hills and rolling down them like barrels in races. Droplets began to cascade from them, falling to the dirt-covered steps of the porch, as they swelled and reddened, but the tears were filled with relief from the sorrow and melancholy that had left an extensive void in her heart. Blood coursed in hot floods of attraction and surging love, as the pining for her husband ceased; his flesh and her flesh were in sight of each other, they touched in a passionate embrace before they were within meters of each other.

Tom's family stood before him now, it had been so long since he had been in the comfort of his own home, where he could witness his children grow, and help them learn and mature; he wanted nothing more than to work around town and stay in their vicinity for the rest of his life. Coveting for the intimacy with his wife that had extinguished long ago from their separation, he wished to rekindle what they once had, and desired to romance her, sweeping her from her stance after the children had been tucked into their beds and read to, carrying her off to their bedroom. He longed for her sounds of passion, for her titillating caress that made his heart play a wild song, one his body danced to, and as her heart joined his with a tune of love, their melodies melding into an intricate ballad of harmony.

He walked toward his children and his wife, every step closer to their warmth, but in the sky above them storm clouds were rolling in. Lightning struck the ground, and thunder crashed as a wind blew in hard with the coming storm. Sprinkling rain turned to pounding droplets that drowned the ground as the circuit was swept into darkness. Tom yelled for his family to run inside the house and take shelter, as he made for the front door.

The dirt pathway that led to the house quickly turned to a slippery mess, and then a watery mudflow; he slid and tumbled to the ground, and his face met the muck. The path slanted, and the muddy stream began to carry him away, down the slope; he reached for the lawn around the path, but it had turned into a mire of saturated grass that was easily plucked from the soil. Tom watched his family slip farther away from his outstretched hands, as he frantically tried to cling to anything with roots deep enough to sustain his weight; there was a shrub at the end of the path where the trail opened up to the greater hillside, he reached to snag it, but his fingers only managed to pull a few stems that broke off. He had been bereaved of his family for cycles, and now, as the river swept him away, they were out of sight once more.

#

### A Soaring Patrol. Out-Line Post. Salvation.

The relentless wind swept the trio down the mountainside, making their descent easier after the exhausting travel through the snow-ravaged pass. They had maintained a taxing pace for three circuits. Tom had recovered his energy, but his arm still hung at his side, useless.

The nights in the mountains had been a trial, with storms, the freezing temperatures only kept at bay by Tom's sustaining fire, which he had still dared despite the negative effects of the magic. The trio made sure they stayed close to its warmth at night. Once they had eaten and settled for the night, they said nothing, they drank nothing, and they made no movement. The tri-colored flame burned until Tom dispelled the magical aura when circuitlight called them into action once more.

As they continued down the mountain, the heavy snowlands melted into a lushness of bright green grass just before the suns' harsh rays began to dry them. The thawing snow soon became scarce with every stride down from the high slopes; mounds dwindled into pools, which declined to puddles that ineluctably vaporized under the parching suns. The dense woodlands below the pass thinned out, and the grass faded to a pale green. The trio reached the bottom of the mountain as the terrain leveled; the needled trees were left behind, giving way to an endless field of knee-high grass as yellow as a lemon. Parcels of scorched ground were scattered amongst the drying landscape.

Despite the heat of the suns, Tom kept on the mahogany cloak, for he had tried packing it away, but it proved cooler with the garment on than off. Sweat stung his eyes as he turned his gaze skyward and spotted an ivory-headed eagle. "That same eagle has been following us for a while now."

"Maybe it thinks we are a food source," Bravis commented. "I hear undersized horse is a common meal in the world." He grinned at Tom, who walked at his side.

"Not going to let that one pass are you, my friend?" Tom smiled back.

"Insooth. My sister would have bitten you for the comment," Bravis said.

Tom chuckled at the thought. "Well, if it's food it wants, then it will have to look elsewhere, we have barely enough desiccated fruit to survive another circuit."

"It can have my dried apples, I can't eat one more of them," Bravis said.

The troll walked ahead of the two. "T'e road of Linesway should be closse," Devoto reported in his odd accent, as he scanned the terrain for a sign of the wide dirt path. "Dun you agree, Tom t'e Scout?"

"Yes, I remember it being around here, but I've only traveled it once, and when my party went into The Devides, the land wasn't like this," Tom said. "Not like this at all . . . whatever happened here was very recent." They journeyed on in search of the road. He examined the circular patches of black grass. "Something burned this grass with precision, so it couldn't have been a wildfire that splotched these fields." The areas around the burned land were left untouched.

As the trio walked farther through the fieldlands, piles of ash started to become visible here and there, scattered amongst the char. Soon though, small mounds peaked all around them. More and more of the piles came into sight while the yellow grass surrounded them less and less, until only minuscule patches were dispersed within an immense land of charred ground and hills of ash.

Tom peered at the black blades that now withered under the suns. At last, his eyes fell upon the last strip of lemon grass that desperately fought to live, but after the strip, his eyes only encountered scorched lands. It was as though no light hit his eyes, for all he saw was the darkness of death, and it went far on out of his range of sight. He took his first step onto the blackened grassy floor, and the step created a small cloud of smoke. Puffing and rising from the blackness, the cloud eventually engulfed his boots. Every stride produced a cloud of smoke, and a harder, heavier landing generated a more sizable cloud, but the smoke never lingered more than a few brief moments, settling back onto the deadened surface.

Venturing farther into the sea of char, Tom suddenly stopped and gazed at a small black plant growing amongst the ash heaps. "Look at that! A plant that lives and thrives in death," he exclaimed, scratching his itchy thick stubble, bewildered at the sight of the plant. The farther into the field they traveled, the more the plants spread and sprouted until the ash became barely visible.

"Have your eyes ever seen such a thing, Devoto?" He wondered what kind of spells the troll's Archshamans must have used in their masterful techniques. Legend spoke that they could grow a hundred meter tree in a circuit, but Tom did not know the truth behind such talk.

"Never . . ." Devoto grunted sullenly. The troll looked on ahead, continuing to search for the elusive road.

The group made their way past countless ash-hills littered with black seedlings. After kilometers into the fields, Tom suddenly felt the soles of his boots heat up. The burning spread instantaneously to the top of his foot, and the ground began to sear his feet. He jumped off the smoldering floor in acute pain, trying to escape from the wave of intense heat.

Bravis and Devoto watched Tom's desperate actions while the human leapt up repeatedly. Within a blink, the soles of his protective boots melted away, like a corrosive acid wreaking carnage through the thickest of metals. This left his bare skin exposed to the charred grass. His next landing blistered immediately.

"Surfeit! Surfeit!" Tom screamed as though a curse. Suddenly, he sprinted toward Bravis, reaching for a pouch tied to the gyrran. He unfastened the knots, grabbing the bag in one quick stroke, and jumped onto the gyrran's sturdy back. With his shoulder pressed against the gyrran, he dug through the bag with his functioning arm, pulled out the jar of cream that he used on his rib wound, and opened the lid in one rapid motion. He scooped up the cream with nimble fingers and layered it on his feet, one at a time. The cream allayed his pain after a few brief moments of waiting in torment. He then relaxed, though he continued to rub his feet while Bravis stood in place, as the gyrran had remained unflinching from his position so that he would not provoke greater agitation in his human companion.

"Aburros be damned!" Tom muttered, folding his left leg up to examine the bottom of his foot. It burned with blister-bubbles that stretched across the entirety of his sole. He shifted to his right foot, which equaled his left, if not worse. "For crying aloud, that hurt . . ."

Bravis turned his neck back and peered at Tom's burns, but at once whipped his head forward. Devoto made no move, only observing the scene in silence, offering no sign of pity.

"Humanss have weak feet, ssso fragile . . . sso ssoft ssskin." Devoto laughed softly without empathy for Tom. Showing no expression of guilt for his remark, the troll began to walk on in the same direction. Tom made no comment, but instead gave Bravis a tap on the neck that indicated for him to proceed in the same direction as the unsympathetic troll.

"Are you all right?" Bravis asked, concerned. He kept his voice hushed, trying to conceal the conversation from the outsider.

"Yes, I'm fine, I think," Tom replied. "At least the pain is gone for now, and it doesn't hurt to put pressure on it with my fingers, but if you don't mind, I don't want to venture walking quite yet." He kept his voice just barely above an audible whisper, acknowledging Bravis' circumspection.

"I would stop you if you dared, my friend," Bravis said, pleased with the new bond that had grown over the last several circuits. Switching subjects, he spoke up, "And may I ask what does _aburros_ mean? I've never heard that word before."

"Surprising, I don't know anyone who has never heard of the dark abyss of Aburros," Tom said. "It is said in the religion of the North that after you die, Alexandroz judges your character, and if you have been loyal to him, he will send you to Empyrenalis, the eternal city of Heaven that he named his capital after. But if he judges that you have been disloyal to him, he sends you to Aburros to live a life of perpetual torment."

"That does not sound particularly pleasant," Bravis replied, shocked. "Anakore'in never told me of such a cruel fate. Do you think that will happen to me?"

"I would not worry about it, my friend." Tom stroked the gyrran's neck. "You are no Northerner."

Bravis fell silent, contemplating. Then he looked back at Tom. "What does _surfeit_ mean? You were yelling it like a madman before."

"Was I?" Tom laughed. "It's just an obscenity I picked up in the Brigade. It's an expression they used to let out anger, I guess, like damn or any other curse . . ." he explained to Bravis with reluctance in his voice. "Bad habit probably." He patted the gyrran's back again and paused for a second in thought. "I think the real meaning of it, though, is an exclamation of rage."

"Ah, I see. I've never been one for foul expressions, they don't seem to roll off my tongue like they do for other species, who appear so eager to let them fly," Bravis said with dignity. "Though I have to say I have met very few other species."

"I don't look at it that way." He shifted atop the gyrran to relieve the numbness in his rear. "In the Brigade, we only used swears as an expression of annoyance. So it's not always the case that a swear word is foul." He tried to emulate the speech of the Veniarian Scholars, who were renowned for their intellect.

Bravis nodded. "I meant no offense, and I do suppose many things rely on the viewpoints of others and their understanding of what a word means to them. But I don't think I'll begin to use swears any time soon," the gyrran replied, smiling. He continued to walk behind the troll, who did little navigation to avoid the piles of ash. The mounds stacked up everywhere, and falling into one was bound to happen sooner or later; Tom prayed for the latter.

"During my time with the Brigade, traveling around the  
North, I learned a lot about keeping an open mind." He recollected the long discussions that the group had during the circuits and nights while they peregrinated the countryside.

"I like hearing about them," the gyrran said.

"You know," Tom spoke up, "I always wanted to go and study in the elven kingdom, but no one is permitted beyond their enclosing wall."

"You don't say?" Bravis responded. "I have never heard that before, though I know little of the realms outside the timberlands of Lyree Plyth."

"Well, surely on this adventure you will learn more than you wish. The customs of the North have a forceful nature." He grunted, rocking atop the gyrran. "I will never see the wall of Veniar now, I'm too old to travel so far away from my family . . ."

A few moments passed in silence, then all of a sudden, Bravis twisted his neck around and looked at Tom with ecstatic eyes. "I have a word for you!" he said. He tried to phrase his thoughts into a sentence, but instead he just threw out, "Also-ran," in a happy voice.

"And what's that?" Tom asked, intrigued.

"Someone defeated in combat," the gyrran said proudly.

"A word buff, are we?" Tom asked, smirking.

"Insooth. But I never get the chance to expand my vocabulary in the silent lands of Lyree Plyth. I only know that one because I thwarted a snow leopard's attempt to devour me. He ended up bawling about how he was Paris the also-ran," Bravis said with a grin. "He was actually a rather nice fellow once I managed to calm him down."

"Right . . ." Tom said, letting out a laugh. "The cat that aimed to eat you was a nice fellow?"

"I can't blame him for trying to survive," Bravis answered. "But my point is that the timberland is a deficient arena for acquiring knowledge."

"Well, I'm probably a poor source to learn from. I used to hunger for words, too, but the Brigade changed all that. I'm good for dwarven profanity, though."

The gyrran chuckled.

After a short silence, an idea abruptly came to Tom. "Since you've been deprived of words, I'll make a bet with you. Whoever can guess the most definitions by the time you depart for home, has to buy the other a round."

"A round?" Bravis furrowed his brow.

"A drink at the public house," Tom explained, rubbing his uncomfortable beard.

"A drink?" the gyrran inquired further. "Water?" he took a guess as to Tom's meaning.

"I'll show you when the time comes," Tom said, laughing again. "And since you already went, I'll go next." He had been thinking of a word. "Baksheesh."

But before Bravis had a chance to guess, Devoto turned back to the duo. "What iss t'at up ahead?" the troll asked in a voice filled with disbelief.

Tom had not noticed that the firmament above had been growing ever darker with rolling clouds. He squinted ahead in the direction that Devoto pointed to, concentrating his vision until he finally saw what interested the troll so much. "I have no idea . . ."

"So what do you think inflicted this havoc?" Bravis asked, raising his voice.

"The South probably tried another miserable siege and failed yet again," Tom said. "It has become a common practice as of late, I hear, and it only dwindles their forces, but nonetheless that hasn't stopped their attempts." He reflected upon the most recent news his comrades in the Brigade had picked up in a Borderground town, troubling news of a skirmish that had left many dead. All the raid stories he had heard over the cycles flooded his memories. He remembered events when the much better equipped _Conqueramada_ , the army of the North, slaughtered the Southern invaders by their absolute lethal might. "But this is much grander than anything I've ever witnessed or heard about. Burnt fields are a new one for me."

Charged with awe, Tom dismounted, braving the black grass. The trio walked closer to the unfamiliar sight until they stood beside a gigantic sable flower that loomed in the sky. A seedling fully grown, it towered over them, casting an even darker shadow than the clouds above. Smoked billowed in circles around the monstrous plant. It started filling their breaths like a noxious poison, polluting their lungs and restricting their air passageways. The plant's black branches reached out from its soul, proclaiming the area around as its territory. Many large, wide leaves sprouted from each branch, generating the ominous shade.

All of a sudden, a strip of fire ignited between the trio and the plant, encircling them. Bravis turned his piercing vision to the sky. Above, a comet of fire was hurling down at them, which landed right outside the circle that already ensnared them. Another and another landed within close proximity, keeping the trap alive.

"It's coming from the sky!" the gyrran shouted into Tom's ear, who could barely hear over the crackle of the fire before them.

"What must we do?" Tom slurred in a panic, with no knowledge of how to quell the fire that pressed upon them. It closed in on the trio. Losing ground until their bodies pressed together, they were now within arm's reach of death. Tom's craven thoughts turned to the cruel fate before him, helpless to save them.

The troll began coughing harshly in the overwhelming smoke, his fit increasing with each passing moment. Devoto staggered toward the flame that rose well above his head; the orange wall blocked them from the possible cover that the plant might provide from the onslaught. He stuck out a fisted hand toward the flame and began murmuring a chant of some sort. The ground beneath them shook, and a crack split open under the wall of flame. Water rushed in a spray, extinguishing the fire and opening a path toward the great flower. Bravis and Tom quickly ran for the shelter it provided.

Tom turned back to see the troll's knee give as his body collapsed. Bravis' sharp eyes were also watching, and he extended a wing and caught the troll just before the troll's nose crushed into the black grass. Tom ran to the side of the gyrran and gripped the troll's unconscious body, lifting it over his shoulder with exceeding effort; he hurriedly half-threw, half-laid Devoto onto the gyrran's back. Bravis used his wings to hold the troll in place as they jumped across the crack in the ground, and quickly ducked under the plant's shielding leaves.

Collecting their breaths, Tom searched Bravis' eyes for answers, but there were none. With a nod, he tried to help slide the troll to the ground. Bravis kneeled, allowing Tom to give one big push that made him grunt from the effort, yet they managed to lower the lanky body to the ash-smothered soil.

All the while, the bottom of Tom's feet boiled, as the healing jelly weakened and faded with every step, so he kneeled next to Bravis and the inert troll, making his tough leather armor endure what his skin could not. He panted from the pernicious fumes that swarmed them. Luckily, the plant's leaves provided the cover he had hoped it would, and the fire avoided the pile of ash that the plant sprouted so vigorously from. It had firmly rooted into the death and decay of the soil, and albeit to their astonishment, it was very much alive and thriving.

"What the babble is going on?" Tom managed to spit out between bursts of coughs. But he already guessed that the young gyrran was as ignorant as he, except that he already considered that the plant's shelter would not help them indefinitely, and Bravis looked quite content to stay concealed beneath its black leaves. Patches of ground lit up all around them and their shelter. A fiery fence now penned them in like cattle about to be butchered.

Bravis looked miserably at Tom. "All I know is what Anakore'in spoke of briefly, that Diablo's armies are diminishing and grow more frail with every passing cycle, and that he would not charge into war. This must be something else, but what, I cannot say."

Tom shook his head. He had never heard of anything like this in all his cycles. He realized that he might not make it home to see his family again. Through all his time spent away from them as a mercenary, he wished he could have been home, but they needed the money.

Bravis turned from his agitated friend to search through the thick sable leaves in the direction of the comets of death. His eyes focused on the eastern sky, where amidst the flowing smoke, a dot appeared. "You see that?"

Tom left his position near the unconscious troll to stand beside Bravis, moving the leaves aside to scour the east. "My vision is not clear, what is it that you see?"

"My vision is being tricked," Bravis whispered. "I see something that I've heard is not possible. There must be some ploy to petrify miscreants and Southern Heretics, because my blood is cooling with horror." His gaze, transfixed in fear, did not stray. He stood frozen as a statue.

"What is it? A Firehawk?" Tom asked, his voice trembling. He had heard stories of the magnificent birds of flame. The legends from the elder officers of the Brigade were enough to stir his blood and heat his veins with fear.

"No . . . something much worse," Bravis answered, his body stock-still. "A _Deathlar_."

Sweat beaded down Tom's face. "No, my friend, _Deathlar_ do not travel south. And they certainly never leave The Sepris Mountains. Even in those frozen, desolate mountains, you cannot find them if you were so daft enough to try," he responded confidently. His brief flash of terror dissipated, just like the rising smoke clouds high in the sky, caught in the wind currents that swiftly swept them away.

Bravis did not have a chance to reply before something dripped into his peering eyes. With a sweep of a wing, he cleared the black grease from his head. The pair both turned their vision to the leaves that shaded them; thick oil trickled down the entire plant, drizzling into a deep puddle around its trunk, which did not appear to have been there before.

Tom put his hand to the base of the treelike flower, only to remove it coated with the sable oil. Gazing at the liquid, he shifted his attention to Bravis, but a sudden gust of wind toppled him to his knees, carrying away his words. They shared the same conclusion of horror when their eyes met; the plant secreted oil and, therefore, was highly inflammable.

Another gust struck at them, this time knocking Tom onto his stomach, and nearby, Bravis fell to his side. The plant did not hold ground, either, in the might that pushed against it. The plant swayed, exposing their bodies to the clouds above. Tom tried many times to push his body up from the ground, but the wind kept him pinned.

The gale now dissolved their worry of burning alive, transforming one fear into another, with no ideas to stop the attack. Eventually the wind took its toll on the plant; its seeping oil flew away in a stream, along with its massive sable leaves. One by one they tore from its reaching branches, moving across the blacken fields. Then the branches went as well.

Tom could not hear the crack of the trunk, but rather felt the floor of the world shake from its weighty fall. With the tremble of the ground, he knew the plant was blowing away, rushing after its extremities. The air current then waned to a breeze, until it finally ceased. Bravis swiveled his head around to search for the plant that had sheltered them just moments before, but even with his sharp vision, he could not see it in the distance. He did, however, see the troll lying immobile and senseless a little farther from where they had initially left him.

The sky loomed in darkness: the black and gray clouds deprived the surface of sunlight, as some of them sped along high above, while others billowed and hovered like a pleasant mellow summer's circuit. But it was hotter than Tom had ever known summer weather. And the suns did not shine with their normal felicity that inspired the heart.

Tom, seized by sudden _terrofear_ that stripped him of breath and thought, watched himself from outside his body, as he stood a few meters from the side of his kneeling self. In this state, he could not feel the torrid air, nor taste its barely breathable smoldering. He became deaf to all sounds, paralyzed without feeling, except the fear of the bloodcurdling beast before him.

Curved claws sharper than any blade Tom had ever seen, bleached and spotted in black, jutted forth from the ends of two thick muscular legs. He watched this vision from outside himself; he saw himself look up at the _Deathlar_ : a giant blue dragon. All he managed to do was stare, gripped in the beast's daunting presence. Its impermeable scaly skin glowed, emitting a vague aura from its midnight blue color. A gargantuan torso widened in the stomach area, bulging with muscle that protected its body entirely, and flowed up from its massive legs that rested on the scarred ground. The arms were comparable to its legs, except relatively shorter and less bulky, as they stretched from its shoulders and ended in hands with deadly, scything claws. A long neck swung high above the creature's shoulders, curving so its head faced Tom. Its sapphire eyes gazed back at him with a threatening expression of hunger that could never be appeased. With its slack jaws opened, the beast revealed rows upon rows of teeth in assorted grindings and sizes, some fervently keen like a razor, others dull to a blunt stub. Two horns protruded forward from the sides of its head, like an aggressive bull ready to charge. Many smaller horns also jutted forth from the edge near the back of the skull, creeping toward the behemoth's spine. The underbelly appeared slightly softer than the topside, but hardly the weaker, exposing the color of radiant sapphire similar to its eyes; it was also the inside color of its gossamer wings, contrasting the midnight pigment that covered the rest of the body, which glistened even in the shade of the clouds above.

Three of these beasts crouched before Tom, awaiting command from a soldier who jumped off the back of the center Deathlar.

"Any farther travel into the North is barred without escort. Any other action will resort in execution," the center Deathlar warned in a sonorous rumble that faintly quaked the ash floor beneath them. The terse notification of the dragon brought Tom back into his mind; his eyes shifted down to the approaching soldier, for he was now able to slightly control his own body. Wetness blotched his pants. _How easily the dragons could have scooped me up in their jaws without struggle_ , he thought. It was the simplest way to catch prey: paralyzing fear.

Bravis stood up and slowly walked forward toward Tom, drawing himself nearer when the smaller dragon to the left of the center dragon roared. "A swift death it is, then." It lowered its neck and opened its jaw, then started to take a step.

"Silence!" the soldier commanded in a shout. He raised an open hand above his head. Immediately the dragon ceased, but annoyance marked its face. The soldier wore black plated mail from neck to knee, with large black steel boots covering the rest of his lower body. A blue great helm masked his face, with two bullhorns protruding from the sides in a spiral, and two small earholes to hear commands in battle. A thin black cloak draped his shoulders, pinned by a brilliant white lamb brooch. Twin single-edged shortswords were attached and sheathed on each side of his hips. His gloved hands clasped their handles in trained preparation. The pommels shined white, two beacons that gave courage to their bearer, each decorated in the shape of a lamb. A short, recurved bow rested across his back, along with a compact quiver filled with armor-piercing arrows.

The soldier took off his great helm and laid it before the dragon's feet, showing sweat that dripped from his long black hair down his youthful face. The heat was overwhelming, and under the heavy, thick armor, it had to be nearly lethal.

"Show your hands, and do not inconvenience me with tricks of words and play," the soldier warned with severity. Circumspectly, he watched the group for any other actions, walking toward them with an acute vigilance. Still kneeling, Tom raised his right hand in front of his chest, his left dangling at his side. Bravis exposed his hooves in plain view for the soldier to see. They had no alternative but to comply, and without a ruse or clever plan, there could not be an escape.

The soldier eyed Tom with suspicion. "Your left," he said, irritated.

"I cannot, it is—"

"Plagued," the soldier cut Tom off, fear thick in his voice. From behind his back, he took out a piece of black cloth and wrapped Tom's left arm in it. He then pulled out rope that glowed blue and bound Tom's wrists tightly together while the rope emitted a stun effect to his right, leaving the muscles in his hand inert. The soldier grabbed two more pieces of the radiating rope and threw them simultaneously with his left and right hands, with precision so that they wrapped around Bravis' front and back pair of ankles, immobilizing him where he stood. The soldier cautiously advanced on the troll, for he noticed that the tusked humanoid seemed unconscious. He knelt down, found two more strips of rope, and fastened them around Devoto's ankles and wrists.

"I'm a soldier of the North!" Tom yelled. "A loyal Scout of the Hill Glutter Brigade, under Master-Ranger Kornelius out of Bedal!" His blood pumped for what felt like the first time since he saw the dragons. "My name is Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter, I am journeying back home. We have no need of an escort, young soldier. Please, do not bind us."

The soldier turned, half-facing the duo, keeping the troll within his vision. "You are plagued, damned to die unless a member of the clergy can heal you. Besides, it is procedure that all incoming people from the South must be taken in by an escort for safety, no matter who they are, or where they claim to be from. So start walking toward the dragons, they shall not threaten you." The soldier's voice rang calm despite his evident fear of Tom's dead arm. For a moment, he stared at the black cloth, but then turned his attention back to the troll, wrapped his arms around the large body, and heaved with strength and vigor that Tom had never witnessed before in a soldier.

Tom stood up, his feet free, but Bravis on the other hand lay still by his binding cords. "Plagued! I'm not infected by any plague," Tom said. "You—" He stopped when he saw the soldier's grave disapprobation written in his reddened face. Their eyes met. Tired blue eyes stared back at Tom in exasperation. A thin gold band circled the black of his pupils, and burned in a faint glow, full of ambition and courage.

"I cannot walk, you have restricted my abilities," Bravis reminded the shortsighted soldier, looking at the man with profound abhorrer.

Erecting himself while carrying the troll, the soldier wore an irked expression on his brow, vexed by the gyrran's tone. "You are under my will, and your chains are movable so long as I desire them to be," he retorted under strain of the weight that pressed upon him. "So move."

With that, Bravis stood once again to his feet, able to move in a controlled state only toward the gigantic dragons. He was not free.

"Why did you not bind my feet?" Tom asked, bewildered as to why he had been granted such freedom.

A chuckle escaped the soldier as he trudged forward in the direction of the behemoths. "You have been taken by the _terrofear_. I saw your blank eyes focus on the Deathlar; your mind left you for a while. I know you will not run," he replied with a smirk.

It was true. Horror had swelled and shaken Tom into a suspension known throughout the world as _terrofear_ , an implacable fear that makes one leave his own vision to watch himself as if through the eyes of another. Tom had never met anyone who had gone through it, for it was rare, as only dragons caused it, and they were scarce and elusive. But he had heard of it twice during his time with the Brigade while the old-timers told their legends at night. Now, having experienced it himself, he knew the soldier was right. He was going nowhere.

The dragon sufficiently lowered his body to the ground, resting its neck and head in the ash, allowing the soldier to drape Devoto over its back. The soldier then boosted Tom and Bravis atop the Deathlar, for they could not manage on their own. Picking up his helm, he fitted it on his head tightly. Then with an extraordinary jump, the soldier clutched the side of his mount's neck, and pulled himself to the leather saddle.

Bravis lay down on the dragon's broad back with his bound feet tucked away underneath him and his wings outstretched for balance. Tom straddled the beast behind the saddle where the soldier strapped himself in as soon as he had made sure the troll was secured to the Deathlar's back. Bound to the right of the saddle, a long warlance extended just shy of the dragon's head, a light, but deadly weapon used for aerial battle.

The soldier raised his left fist into the air, and the other two dragons took flight, leaping with great power from the ground, soaring high into the skyline. Bracing himself, the soldier gave no warning to his prisoners of the rough future, as the massive dragon swayed back on its heels, and with a sudden pounce, started flapping its wings hard after its brethren. Bravis' thorny tail lightly penetrated the hard scales, but it embedded deep enough for him to take hold and stay attached to the speeding creature. The air whistled past them. Tom was forced to lean forward and tightly seize the scales in front of him.

The dragons flew in a formation just below the black clouds, where the smallest dragon followed the largest, and the other flew directly underneath. Tom started to feel dizzy from the pernicious clouds of smoke and ash; he glanced ahead at his captor, who did not appear to be bothered by the deadly air filling their lungs. He suspected that the hard-skinned soldier had gotten used to it, but unfortunately for his own sake, he had not, and began coughing harshly from the fumes. Hearing Tom's cough, the soldier gave another signal with his fist and the patrol-guard of dragons descended a few meters, then leveled out so that the nocuous smoke lessened, and the air became a little more breathable.

Frightened, Tom scooted forward with his legs, and a little help from his working five fingers. Luckily, the experience of flying did not compare to the terror of standing before the actual beast, eye to eye. He leaned a little more forward to get his captor's attention. For a moment, he ignored the pressure of his bow poking his back, and shouted hard against the wind, "Where are you taking us?"

Holding onto his saddle, the soldier twisted his torso to peer at Tom. "To Out-Line Post, one of the border quarantine zones," he answered in a routine fashion, as if he had answered the same question several times that circuit.

"A quarantine zone? Why are we being isolated?" Tom inquired with alarm, knowing that the North distrusted the South so much that an exceedingly unforgiving experience was forthcoming.

"There is a plague sweeping across the South, hitting Le'Adra hardest, turning their people into living, rotting corpses. They feed on the flesh of others like cannibals, killing like feral beasts, without a shred of clemency or remorse. You can see it spreading North in the Asher plants, the plants that live in the dead ash, they are a part of the growing threat. All who enter there are not safe from the cannibals, and all who enter here might be carrying the disease," the soldier said uneasily. "Like you and your arm." His right hand rested near the hilt of his left sword. He continued, "Only The Sacred Church can eradicate such an infestation to safeguard our lands. You will have to go through sanitation and be cleansed, purged until acceptance, or the Right Hand takes you."

For the first time Tom glanced down. Black ash spread across the fields, with Asher plants interspersed, towers of sable oil that sprouted from the hills of death. Smoke rose from patches of scattered circles of smoldering grass. He was far too frightened to look back to see how Bravis fared on the ride.

Eventually the ash started to dwindle until it faded entirely, giving way to the visible yellow pigments of summer. However, this summer looked nothing like what Tom had seen or heard of, except in the times just before The Cataclysmic Flood. The normal summer in the North was mildly warm, but this summer had scorched the world.

The change from the blizzard of The Devides to the charred plains of Haven made Tom doubt his eyes and his mind. But a slight slip from his position on the dragon startled his heart, making it pound wildly out of control, and let him know that it was indeed real.

The grass grew lively below them while the clouds were left behind for the blazing golden sunrays, turning the grass a bright reflective yellow. Scattered wild flowers bloomed here and there, vibrant blue spots mingling with dark crimsons, which created a portrait from the sky. To Tom's eyes, the portrait reminded him of his youngest daughter, the red filling her small figure and the blue outlining her dress.

The vision disappeared when the edges of the quarantine zone became visible as they flew toward the southern entrance. Dark blue specks began to contrast the firmament, and the closer they drew, the more they sprang into view, swarming and circling the camp-city. At the moment they approached, the scene became inconceivable and spectacular at the same time. Hundreds of vaguely glowing dragons patrolled the airspace in triplet formations. At a distance, his fear was replaced with awe. Below, in the walled camp-city, he saw hundreds, possibly thousands of dots that littered the ground.

From the sky, Tom could see the entire pseudo-city; four walls surrounded it in a square, fashioned with a gated entrance in the middle of each wall. Two fortified watchtowers sandwiched the gates, guarded at all times by vigilant eyes, and arrows ready to pierce armor and bone. Scattered buildings sat in poor condition all throughout the enclosure, but in the center of it all, stood a pillaring octagonal _Kathronal_ that overlooked and dwarfed the watchtowers.

As they flew closer, a memory arose in Tom's mind, one that recognized Out-Line. He remembered it as a small border camp, with a sole watchtower, not the large fortified camp-city before him, even though only a short time had passed since he had journeyed through on his way to The Devides. He could not fathom how they had managed to erect such a well-defended camp in a few sequences; not even in a few orbits did such work seem possible.

His eyes focused on the streets. They were barren, almost completely devoid of personnel, without so much as a sign of an _aequi_ , the large, five-pronged antlered horse preferred by The Conqueramada as their war mount. It appeared as though only the dragon ranks remained around the camp-city.

Their own dragon formation began to coast, floating in descent toward the western section of the camp-city, where at last they hovered meters from the ground; then the behemoths gently landed with ease and grace that Tom did not expect from the giant beasts. The soldier dismounted, leaping easily from the dragon, with only a small grunt that showed any sign of effort.

Two helmless Footmen quickly approached the soldier. They wore light-blue full-plate armor, a stark contrast from the soldier's black, and they appeared to be of lower rank than him. They greeted the soldier with nods and struck their right arms across their chest to their shoulders. When they relaxed their arms, Tom spotted a strange etching near the region of the heart on the breastplates: a white lamb held the tail of a black wolf it its jaws. Blood droplets fell from the dead wolf's wound, and spilled out the lamb's mouth. It was like nothing Tom remembered ever seeing. But many things within the camp-city struck a queer chord in him, for nothing was as he recalled.

Pointing at the trio, the soldier uttered some inaudible word, then paced off toward the east. The two Footmen placed an old wooden ladder next to the uneasy behemoth. The pressure of the ladder against his scales bothered the dragon little, but being held up as his companions wandered off to feed was another thing, and this agitated the roaring beast. The men unfastened and carried the troll down the ladder, then placed him on a pile of straw right before the dragon's claws, which tapped the ground.

Then the Footmen went back for Tom, holding him up over their shoulders, setting him down on the ground after their slow descent. Taking his weapons, the Footmen placed them by the troll. Bravis was a harder issue for the pair, for his outstretched wings made him difficult and awkward to carry, so instead of relying on the two Footmen, the gyrran leapt from the dragon's back, using his wings to stabilize himself, gliding the short distance to the hard dirt.

When Tom got to his feet, which took a while due to his useless arms, he turned to face his returning escort, followed by another more decorated man, garbed in a paler black suit of plated mail. Both men had their helms off. Sweat dribbled down their faces.

The heat struck Tom, as beads of sweat poured down his cheeks. His back transformed into a brimming lake. Without a drink for some time, his vision waned a little, blurring. He could hear the soldier's conversation as the two men came closer, although muddled in a ringing that belled in his ear.

"He is on his way," one of them said, but Tom could not distinguish which one, for the hot weather addled his mind.

"Well, we can't wait on him all circuit," another voice responded.

"Wait on who all circuit, Dragon-Master Balewa?" spoke a new man clad in a full-plate suit, blacker than the night sky, blended with brilliant blue streaks that ran up his forearms and marked the entire suit in a pattern. "Surely it cannot be me." Helmless, the balding officer showed his suns-kissed face with long gray whiskers curled to his lips, and veins that popped out everywhere, his skin like a dried mushroom. He stood, waited a few moments, then nodded petulantly at his subordinates.

"No, Vire. Not you, Dragonlord. Waiting for the manure cleanup crew to sanitize this mess," the Dragon-Master replied, pointing to a large pile of dragon feces close to his feet. He waved his hand in front of his face to reduce the horrific odor.

"Yes, I see." The Dragonlord snapped his glove-free fingers, signaling his orders to summon a cleanup crew. "What is so curious that I must inspect the sick myself?" Impatience and asperity coated his tone, as if his time was too crucial for such a trivial call.

The two soldiers looked at their commander with respect. "Yes, Vire. Well, Vire, The Paragon found an unusual party member with these two," the Dragon-Master explained when the tetchy Dragonlord hurried him along with a rolling hand. "A troll was with them, Vire—"

The Dragonlord cut Balewa off with a hand gesture. "A troll," the commander said in surprise. He accosted the two, stepping in close next to the two soldiers. "What in aburros is a troll doing fleeing into our lands?" he asked in a low voice.

"Well, Vire, we don't know, and there is no protocol on how to proceed," Balewa spoke, slow and direct. They stood close enough to each other that the Dragonlord could easily dispose of the Dragon-Master with the decorated quillion dagger sheathed at his hip. "We would not bother you so, Dragonlord, but this situation is beyond our competence. We need your words."

The Dragonlord stepped even closer to the Dragon-Master so that the tips of their noses grazed. The golden circle around his pupil flared, and his speech fell extremely quiet. "These orders come from the Patriarch himself, so listen intently, and it is very simple." He paused for a moment. "We are to do nothing but take him to the Bishop and to speak no more on the matter, you see my point? We never saw a troll. We never captured a troll. Is this plain?"

The Dragon-Master looked at his commander with fear in his pale green eyes, for the gold circle of his eye had shrunk almost to the point of vanishing altogether. He nodded. "Yes, Dragonlord, it is plain." A dry swallow followed his words.

"Good. Cover its body, we do not want anyone spilling rumors," the Dragonlord said. The blaze in his eyes subsided, and the deep gray returned. He turned and walked away with his guards. But before he made it far, he turned back around and stepped in front of Tom's captor. "And if you ever find another one of these fucking trolls out there, you bring it straight to the _Kathronal_ , you fucking Dragon-Rider," he said angrily. "I don't even want to know about it. Understood?"

"Yes, Vire. I understand, Dragonlord." The soldier nodded quickly.

With that, the Dragonlord strode away, yelling, "Paragon my ass," and then a dozen obscenities about the South.

"Thank you for your wise counsel, Dragonlord. You are most gracious and judicious," Balewa called after the Dragonlord.

The cleanup workers had arrived; they were two large scarabs with black shells that had a deep purple trimming along their edges. The bugs were over a meter in length and height; their six long legs lifted them off the ground, allowing them to scuttle around. They began to collect the dragon's feces, delicately rolling the pile into two separate compact balls, as their hind legs kept balance of the ball, and their strong front legs pushed hard to roll their prize away. Every once in a while they stopped to inspect the brown balls, compacting them again, as they made sure that the ball survived the journey intact.

Tom's vision went in and out from blurry to blind for the entire time the men had their discussion. Sweat swelled in his eyes, stinging.

"Throw some water on that man!" Balewa cried, pointing at Tom.

A Footman standing guard grabbed a bucket from a pile of pails that brimmed with cool water, and tossed the coolant into Tom's face, reviving him from his misery.

The Dragon-Rider relieved his mount of its duty, and sent it on its way to the feeding area and sleeping quarters for the behemoths. He cocked his head and watched the beetles carry out their task, as they pushed the balls away to be used in the fields. Men cleared the way. All were careful not to be hit by the globes of excrement.

Balewa leaned in to give him personal instructions, which were to be carried out immediately. "Is that clear, Dragon-Rider Markus?" he asked. With a nod from the Dragon-Rider, he was off, vanished into the city, shouting orders as he went.

Tom looked at Bravis with renewed vision. His friend sat on the ground next to him, with his hooves still bound and unmoving, and although it had been less than half an hour since their arrival, it felt as though it had been half a circuit. He shifted his gaze to the troll, who lay unconscious on the dirt like an infant in the fetal position.

Tom sighted his captor walking over to him. Markus, a Dragon-Rider, a rank Tom had never heard before. He decided he liked neither the Dragon-Rider nor his name. The treatment he had received so far had been unfair, despite his connection to the Northern army, which used to say something. Uncertainty ate at him now. What would happen next he could only guess. He hoped they would inspect his arm and see that it had no infection and release them on the spot, but that became more and more of a fantasy the longer he stood there, with so many fearful eyes leering at him in uneasiness.

Markus took a linen tarp, rolled Devoto's body around and around in it until it covered him fully, which made him look like a corpse prepared for cremation. Since the body was concealed like the dead, Tom began to think that while in his blurred and altered state, the troll had been killed, and he had not been aware of it. He gulped. The taste of salt and ash filled his mouth. As he eyed Devoto's body, he hoped that he was not next to join the troll.

The two Footmen untied the bags fastened to Bravis, picked up Tom's weapons, and walked off down an adjoining road. Markus lumbered with the troll on his back the same way he had done to get the troll to the dragon. Under strain he yelled, "Follow me." Neither of the two wanted to argue when they saw the number of guards who patrolled the area. Tom recognized the impossibility of escape, so he complied, along with Bravis, who followed suit behind him.

They followed close to the Dragon-Rider, weaving through the streets among dozens of soldiers. Finally, they reached an empty square in front of the _Kathronal_ , the House of The Sacred Church of the North, where the seat of the Holy rested. A large square pool of water lay at the bottom of the Kathronal's steps, a couple of meters off to its side, where the Dragon-Rider stopped and washed his hands and face. The stone steps leading to the double wooden doorway were short and relatively flat, allowing them to skip many of the steps. The propylon to the building consisted of four long white pillars that held up the entrance: all of them were engraved with a man holding a longsword that pointed down the column. A Northern prayer was written down the length of the blade, just as the live steel of The Conqueramada had on theirs. At the top of the stairs, Markus slammed his forearm against the heavy, thick doors. Moments later, a man draped in a dusty white robe opened a single side of the double doors.

"Ah, The Paragon, how nice of you to come to my door tocircuit. These are the infected I take it, Dragon-Rider?" the robed man said to Markus. Without waiting for a reply, he added, "This way then." He pointed out the path. The group crossed over the threshold and the door creaked closed behind them.

The first floor of the Kathronal lit up with magnificent colors while the midcircuit Golden Sun hit the stained glass windows. The windows were placed every few meters until the middle of the building, where they stopped. Several small rooms started where the windows ended, separated one after the other with thick, soaring walls. Two massive white stone columns supported the inside ceiling by the entrance, while four rows of smaller columns lined the open center of the building, all with highly crafted arches. A handful of wooden chairs formed a circle under one of the windows in the vacant room.

Tom gazed at the first window; a woman held a child over her head, giving the baby to the Crimson Sun above, and next to the woman a man genuflected, holding a sword that plunged into the ground. With closed eyes, the man appeared to be whispering a blessing of protection upon those in his company. As they passed all the windows, Tom noticed that the pictures were almost identical, except for a different woman held a different child in every one, but the man stayed the same.

The robed figure led them to the door of the first room. "You may place them in these." He twisted the handle and swung the door open for Markus, where the Dragon-Rider laid the troll down on the concrete floor. Bravis went into the next one, and Tom went into the next after that. Markus unbound them and took his glowing cuffs once they were inside, but left Tom's presumed plagued-arm well covered and hidden.

"Thank you, Paragon of the Dragon-Riders. Your assistance is always most welcomed." The robed figure gave a moderate bow. The door shut on Tom; he heard no more of the quiet voice that spoke to the Dragon-Rider, and then he heard the click of the lock. Silence fell upon his ears after that.

"Bravis, can you hear me?" Tom spoke. But silence overwhelmed the tiny room that had become his cell. No audible sound came from the room next to him, no sounds came from anywhere that he could hear, and his ear fell deaf to all besides his own words. In front of him, a square pool of water a meter across shimmered in the torchlight that burned on a single sconce near the door. The room was empty besides the torch and the pool, not a bench or chair to rest on, nothing but the chilling concrete floor.

Hours passed, but how many exactly, Tom did not know. He sat against the wall and gazed at the stillness of the shimmering pond. He spent most of his time thinking of his family. How good it would be to hold his daughters in his arms again, to feel the gentle lips of his wife. Then all of a sudden, the handle on the door rattled, and abruptly it opened. His vision blurred out of focus in the brilliant light of the main hall of the Kathronal. A man stood in front of the doorway, clad in a murky blue robe. Filth layered it as if it had never seen a wash. As his eyes focused on the figure, he saw the man give him a triumphant smile.

"It is time for your soul to be salvaged from the depths!" the robed figure said sadistically. The man stepped into the small, damp room and closed the door behind him. The lighting became dim again, and Tom could barely see.

"What does that mean?" Tom questioned, disturbed and afraid. "Who are you?"

"I am Priesto McThias," he said, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "I have been sent to release you. To cure you."

"I can assure you nothing is wrong with me. You don't understand, I'm from the North. I'm from Bedal," Tom said, trying to argue his case. His body shook weakly, but despite his physical fatigue, his mind remained alert and sharp. He raised a forearm and smacked the man's hand off his shoulder.

"I have been sent to help you through your ablution," the Priesto said quietly, then whispered some words that Tom tried to make out but failed. A surge of color discharged from the Priesto's mouth, and Tom's arms fell to his side, inert. He had no more power over them, no more strength, and was dependent on the mercy of another once more, as if held in the power of the unusual glowing cuffs.

The Priesto gripped Tom's shoulders and forced him onto the ground away from the wall. Tom lay on his stomach with his head extended over the shimmering pool. His neck muscles shook violently in an effort to keep his head above the water.

"Please stop!" Tom cried as his spit trailed into the water. Tears began to fall from his eyes. The droplets made quiet noises when they hit the standing pool. His neck muscles grew tired under the strain, and after a half a minute, his head collapsed into the pool.

The Priesto tossed Tom's left arm into the water. "For the Father in the name of the Son, I release this man from past evils. I release this man from his burdens. And I release this man from the disease that infests his body," the Priesto chanted. The clergy member kneeled beside Tom and gently placed one hand on the back of his submerged head, and another hand on the concrete floor.

Tom struggled to lift his head. But in this, his strength waned even more. His head wiggled in place, like a fish heading upstream against a strong current. He tried to speak. Instead, his mouth filled with water and he felt warm liquid flow down his throat. He listened to the Priesto chant, though he could not understand what he said, for the water muffled the sound.

Darkness spread into Tom's vision. His mind drew a blank, not able to create the next thought. He stopped trying to escape. His stomach grumbled, upset; something wanted to come up his throat. The contents of his stomach pushed against the water. He did not know what would win. It did not matter. The blackness grew thick: it shrouded his mind in an implacable blanket of darkness. His senses ceased. All that was left was the shadow.

"Freedom is upon you, child," the Priesto said with his eyes focused on the calming water. "For the Father in the name of the Son, the plague has been cured, and you have been cleansed," he averred while he dragged Tom's body from the water. He rolled Tom over onto his back and opened the door and let the sunlight shine into the room. "Cleric!" the Priesto yelled. "Come help me with this one." He waved his hand to signal the other man to him.

The young Cleric rushed over to aid the Priesto; together they each grabbed an arm and swung them over their shoulders, letting Tom hang between them as they walked. The Cleric wore a soiled white and blue robe that carried the stench of decay. The two men tugged Tom's body slowly out into the central opening of the Kathronal, where they sat him in one of the sturdy wooden chairs. The Priesto pressed against Tom's chest and leaned him against the back of the chair.

"What about the . . . you know, the other one," the Cleric stammered as he rested his arm on the chair next to Tom's head.

"The Bishop is going to deal with that one personally," the Priesto said quietly with an unhappy expression on his face. "But the winged beast is mine to purify. I'll call for you when I am done. Have Cleric Pastle ready as well." His order sent the young man away. With great satisfaction, he stared down at Tom's unmoving body.

#

### The Reawakening. A New Direction.

### Job Opportunities.

"Will he live, Bishop?" a voice asked in the distance.

"He should pull through, Paragon. Though I admit, Priesto McThias cleansed him quite well. It may be a little traumatizing for him," the Bishop replied.

"Bishop," Markus started, gazing down at Tom. "When I was bringing the man in, he said something very curious to me. He said he was a member of the Hill Glutter Brigade, under the leadership of Master-Ranger Kornelius, but when I searched the files, I found no record of any Kornelius."

"He was infected by the plague, I doubt anything he said was sensible. Think nothing of it more than mere babble. But we do not want to damage his mind, so do not fight what I tell him when he wakes, understand?" the Bishop asked.

Markus hesitantly nodded.

Tom shifted his aching body, and the Bishop said, "I think he is finally coming round." The sound of their voices pounded in Tom's ear like a child banging cooking pots. He gasped in a long, deep breath. Slowly he exhaled, his ribs screaming as the air left his lungs.

"Shall I get the other one, Bishop?" Markus asked. After a nod from the Bishop, he left to retrieve the prisoner, passing through a hallway lined with arches until after a few moments he vanished out of sight.

"Only by the will of Alexandroz could you have survived the cleansing. He must want you alive, my boy," the Bishop whispered into Tom's ear, kneeling by his side. He held himself up by a staff that he used for balance, which wobbled every once in a while.

Tom blinked and turned his head. The room was bright and blinding, and his unfocused vision made out almost nothing; the image of the Bishop blurred even at such close proximity. Tears ran down his cheeks as the Bishop's image cleared, and instantly he recognized the face and the white robes. Tom opened his mouth to talk, but his parched and damaged throat impaired his speech.

"Oh yes, you might want some water," the Bishop spoke softly. He raised himself from the floor, walked over to a fountain, and grabbed a cup that sat on the fountain's lip. "The suns are drying all of us out these circuits." He brought the cup to Tom's side, put a hand under his head, then raised it gently. "Just when we all thought it was getting cooler, they go and turn the world to fire again, just as they did during The Cataclysmic Flood. Vile Southerners."

The water slid down Tom's throat and allayed the scorching pain as it went. The Bishop eyed him, then removed the empty cup from his hands and placed it on the ground next to them. "Do you remember who you are?" the Bishop questioned.

Tom contemplated the question, and then after a minute or so replied, "Yes, I do, Bishop."

"Tell me."

"I am Tom Navo."

"Where are you from?"

"I am from the city of Bedal, in the Northern territory of the Nation of Haven," Tom answered automatically.

"Tell me about yourself, Tom."

"I have a wife and two, sweet little girls whom I cherish. I work as a mercenary Scout in the Hill Glutter Brigade under the leadership of Master-Ranger Kornelius. I was recently part of a scouting troop in The Devides and was infected when I came into contact with the filthy vermin of the South," Tom told the Bishop. Then he added, "A beast named Bravis then rescued me and brought me here to be saved." He moved his left arm in astonishment. "Saved . . ."

"That is correct, you have been saved." The Bishop wore a modest smile. "Do you know who our Savior is?" the Bishop asked as he raised himself off the ground once more; he gazed down at Tom, waiting for a reply.

"Alexandroz is my Sovereign and our Savior. He protects me from the wickedness that the world has succumbed to," Tom responded immediately, as if rehearsed.

"Good, good. You haven't forgotten our Savior," the Bishop said. He twisted his neck toward the corridor, scanned the area, but there was nothing. "Do you recall what you were instructed to do after your scout troop returned?" he asked, rushed, still peering at the entrance to the corridor.

"My last orders were to head to Heaven for a possible reassignment, or final payment, depending on the success of the scouting trip." Tom recollected his commander's words before departure. "We were only supposed to be in the mountains for a few sequences before another troop was supposed to come in and take over reconnaissance. I don't remember what happened, but we ended up being out there for much longer," he continued with his head bent down. He stared at the floor while he tried to recover his lost memories. He scratched his stubble with his right index and thumb. "Do you know what happened to the rest of the troop, Bishop?" He shifted his eyes to meet the Bishop's, who had turned around at the question.

The Bishop dropped his jaw, as if thinking how to reply; then he slowly stretched it side to side until it cracked. He winced in pain. "They were all infected, Tom. The few whom we managed to find didn't survive the cleansing process. They are all dead, Tom, including your commander."

Tom opened his mouth to reply, but before he could he saw the gyrran, closely followed by Dragon-Rider Markus as they appeared from out of the corridor. He looked at Bravis as tears welled. He quickly wiped the teardrops away when the two neared, and before the Bishop saw them.

Bravis walked around one of the pillars and stood next to Tom. The two briefly locked eyes, but Tom abruptly shifted his gaze to the Dragon-Rider. Neither Tom nor Bravis said a word to each other; instead, they both turned to the Bishop and waited patiently for him to break the silence.

"Shall we pray?" the Bishop asked rhetorically, then interlocked his fingers and lowered his head. Tom and Markus followed obediently. Bravis obstinately withheld mimicking their movements and kept his head raised. Markus lifted his head and saw Bravis' disobedience; he raised his armored fist and swung it down hard, landing a brutal thwack on the gyrran's neck.

Bravis groaned in response to the hit and capitulated to Markus' strength, bowing his head in compliance. The Bishop shot a glance at Bravis, but continued, "For the Father in the name of the Son. There can be no others, and Praise be to Them alone. They alone guide the saved on the path, and alone They know the way." Tom and Markus followed, copying the Bishop's words in unison.

"We are gathered here tocircuit to thank our Savior for his blessings upon these two who have been saved," the Bishop said with closed eyes, lifting his locked hands toward the ceiling. "He has saved them from filth! He has cured them from the plague! And he has washed away their evils!" the Bishop shouted while he tilted his head toward the roof, his eyes still closed. "Hallowed is our Savior and true are the faithful!"

Tom listened to the Bishop's words with tears still in his eyes. He hoped the Bishop mistook his crying to be from his prayer, and not from the ill news of the death of his friends. Mourning a death was forbidden, especially while in the company of others. It showed a weakness only reserved for peasants and the soft hearted.

The Bishop gave Tom a suspicious look when they made eye contact, but instead of rebuking his behavior, the Bishop extended his arm.

Tom grasped the hovering hand and pulled himself up from the ground with his fully mended left arm. "Thank you, Bishop, for all your help," he said enthusiastically. He made a low obeisance in front of the Bishop.

"I did nothing. It was all done through the Savior's will," the Bishop said amicably as he patted Tom on his back. "I believe Dragonlord Ruku wants to speak with you before you leave us, isn't that right, Paragon?" He looked over Tom's shoulder at Markus.

"Yes, Bishop, that is correct," Markus responded. Then he added, "I will escort them to his office."

"Excellent, Dragon-Rider!" the Bishop said with a smile. "Then I shall leave you to it. True are the faithful!" He threw an arm into the air, then turned and walked toward the corridor entrance as the bottom of his dirty white robe trailed behind him. In moments, he disappeared out of sight.

Markus escorted the pair outside to where another soldier stood by. The man wore an eager face, prepared for action. "State your business, Footman Stevens," Markus said to the soldier.

"Yes, vire. I've been assigned to take this beast to gather up their confiscated belongings," the Footman replied, then handed Markus a small scroll of paper. "I'll be waiting for you at the Northern Gate, vire."

"I'll be there shortly," Markus said as he glanced over the note that had a drawing of bags and a check mark. At the bottom, he saw the seal of Dragonlord Ruku that authorized the prisoner's transfer. Bravis and Tom had not yet spoken a word to each other.

The group split up: Markus shoved Tom toward the east and the Footman swatted Bravis' hindquarters as they headed south. Tom was glad to be in the open air after being cooped up. The first thing he noticed was the shortage of personnel. "Where are all the soldiers?" he asked as they walked through empty streets.

"Men will be arriving from Meadowshire within a few circuits, but that is not of your concern. To your left," Markus ordered.

The pair ended up outside a small brown building not far from the Kathronal. Markus nudged him in the back when he halted on the steps outside the open door. "Keep going," Markus said sternly. "All the way inside."

Tom moved through the hallway until he came to a large open room where Dragonlord Ruku stood hovering over a small replica city; it was unrecognizable to his eyes, for he had not seen anything like it before.

"Ah, one of the saved ones." Sourness filled Ruku's voice. He turned his body and met the two visitors. "Come in, you two, there isn't anywhere to sit down, but you can stand there by the wall." He pointed to the opposite wall across from them. Ruku followed Tom with his eyes. "I find I never have time to sit, so why bother with chairs?" he rhetorically asked Tom. "Always busy, you see my point?" They made eye contact, and Tom started to open his mouth, but shut it when Ruku squinted his eyes in irritation.

"I've never liked the program the Bishop is running here, but I don't question it when the Savior tells me directly to operate it. You see my point? A soldier follows orders . . . In my personal opinion, it's too damn risky bringing the plagued back into Haven. You see my point? Bah! They could contaminate us all!" Ruku shouted thunderously, his cheeks reddened in his obvious ire.

Tom remembered the Dragonlord from before his cleansing, though only in a rough haze, one that distorted much of his impression. But he did recall the added ranks for those who rode the great Deathlar. He found it strange that a Dragonlord commanded the camp-city, and not someone of a higher rank, such as an Arch-Dragonlord, or a comparable rank from one of the other branches. He was surprised that there were no Arch-Rangers and Warlords around, even though they were few in numbers; the border defense was of prime importance, and an odd thing to leave in the hands of lesser ranks.

"I think a lost soldier is a lost soldier. You see my point? One isn't worth losing one hundred," Ruku acrimoniously continued his tirade on the program. "I've lost some pretty good men in the past plagues, and I know I'm going to lose more. But I've never seen a plague like this before. You see my point? I just hate seeing them die from death rot, all because the Bishop here wants to flaunt some power."

"Excuse me, Vire, but what exactly was I saved from?" Tom finally interrupted with a confused look. There had been several plagues in the last hundred cycles, and it could have been any number of them that infected him.

"Fuck, boy! Where have you been?" Ruku shouted rancorously. "You took a scouting job and you didn't even know what you were scouting? What the babble did you think you were looking for?"

"They told us we would know if we saw anything, something along the lines of a filthy Southerner. I thought they meant someone who had been infected with a disease like the Red Death of three cycles ago," Tom replied abruptly. That disease had spread all the way up to Virra, and into the Northern territories that he most often patrolled. He paused to see what the Dragonlord would say, but the angry officer did not comment. He shifted his position as he stood by the wall and added, "They paid us a lot. They paid us enough not to ask too many questions, so I didn't."

"I can't believe it. No wonder I'm losing men left and right in these patrols, finding plagued scouting parties on their way back North, ready to ravage any uninfected," Ruku said in disbelief. "There is a new plague that we're worried about now, it's turning the whole fucking South into a death pit. It's a disease that turns its host into a wild, crazed monster. You see my point?" He paused, taking in a gulp of air, then continued, "Le'Adra is nothing but a bunch of walking corpses, and they spread the plague like a wildfire. We've been calling them The Unyielding Dead." His face was worn and solemn.

"Do you know what city that is?" Ruku pointed to the model city on the ground before them.

"No, Vire," Tom quickly responded. He glanced over the model once more just to make sure he definitely did not.

"That there is the city of Hell, in the land of Salenk. Now that's Salen with a silent K, as I was just so rudely informed by some fucking nobody Knight," the Dragonlord said nastily. "A Knight! If the man was under my command, his tongue would have been buried by these hands by now." He stopped and squeezed his fist, but he wasted no more of his precious time, and quickly continued, "You know why I have a model of Hell on my floor? Go on, take a guess." He narrowed his eyes on Tom. Before Tom had a chance to answer, he carried on, "All right, I'll just tell you. King Alexandroz is using this new threat to preemptively neutralize those red demonic bastards." Ruku happily smirked at the thought of war. "And I'm leading the aerial line. A test, I think. The King is losing faith in Arch-Dragonlord Narulo. You see my point? If all goes well, his title will be mine."

"Is that why you called me in here, Vire? You want me to join in the fight against the _Noklathar_?" Tom questioned, unhappy. Saying _Noklathar_ felt odd to him, like it was the first time he had actually said it in his entire existence, but he remembered saying it all the time. They were the two-legged denizens of Hell, with great big red bodies, and leathery wings sprouting from their backs like a dragon. He had never seen one before, for they had not been permitted into the North for over a thousand cycles, maybe even two.

"No, that's not why I called you in here, we have plenty of men on this side of the continent. I had you brought here so that I could convince you to sign up to go to the east. The King needs additional troops in Plainsview and Shoreline prepped for battle; it's going to be a struggle on that side," Ruku said with a pleading look in his eyes. "I know you're a freelancer, but dammit we can't afford you fucking mercs anymore. For crying aloud, no one alive tocircuit was even born when your city fell, so you're not even real mercs, despite how foreign your city is." He lowered his voice, barely above a whisper. "I know you freelancers mainly stay close to your own area, within reason, but the truth is, we can't afford for a healthy, experienced Scout like yourself to slip through our fingers. You see my point?"

"Well—" Tom started to say, but the Dragonlord immediately cut him off.

"The truth is, your freelancer status is dead, gone. All those above The Spinebreakers will receive the same pay for now on. I know that's what brings your kind out of the holes you live in, but all I want you to do is to think about it on your way to Heaven. Report in to the head office there to get your payment, and you can make your decision then."

"I will think about it, Vire," Tom said honestly, and he looked directly into the Dragonlord's eyes. "I was planning on seeing the eastern part of the country sometime anyway, so now is probably as good as time as any."

"That's what I want to hear." The Dragonlord looked at Markus, who had been silent throughout the entire discussion. "Paragon, escort the freelancer to the Northern Gate . . . For King and Kin."

"Yes, Vire," Markus replied sharply. He nodded at his commander in obedience, and placed his right hand across his chest. "For King and Kin."

"Hallowed is our Savior," Ruku said, saluting as well.

"Praise be to Him!" Tom and Markus said in unison. Markus grabbed Tom by the elbow and yanked him toward the opened doorway.

The two were halfway down the hall when Ruku yelled to Tom, "Ask for Master-Ranger Turblini when you get there, freelancer, you'll be promoted to Ranger!" Neither one turned back or yelled to reply. Markus intensely held Tom's elbow all the way to the northern exit, which was marked by a large N that hung over the tall wooden archway.

Tom saw Bravis standing under the raised portcullis, as well as the Footman who guarded him. The man held a pair of standard issue buskins: leather calf-high boots that were thick and durable for long treks. Tom did not smile or wave, or greet Bravis in any conventional manner; instead, he merely gazed at him. Markus stopped when they reached the archway.

He turned to face Tom and said, "This is where I leave you. I'm sorry you had to go through the whole cleansing process, but I'm not sorry you were saved." He paused for a second, as if hesitant to say what he was thinking. But then the gold of his eyes grew bold, and he added, "Unlike the Dragonlord, I'm glad we do what we do. I know it to be our Savior's will to save the innocent, and I rejoice in my duty to my Sovereign. I hope you decide to join our ranks in the east, we need all the arms we can gather to protect our lands . . . Goodbye, freelancer, and may Alexandroz bless you with eternal life in Empyrenalis." Markus nodded as Tom saluted him. He turned away and walked back to his duties.

"We went through your possessions and found nothing to indicate that you are spies for the South." The Footman handed Tom the boots with a salute across his chest, which Tom returned. "Everything should be there," he said with a slight bow of his head. "Good luck, and may your journey be blest by the Father and the Son." He turned and started back in the direction he came from.

"Praise be to Them," Tom replied. He had not even noticed that the soles of his boots were gone, but he laced up the buskins in a rush, then searched the sky and saw that the Golden Sun was fading over the mountains. He scanned the distance of the road ahead of them. There was nothing but open field. Tom equipped his shortsword and dagger; finishing, he slung his bow over his shoulder. The pair started to walk in silence along the road; Tom glanced at Bravis and saw that he had several pouches fastened to him, tied by rope.

The fortified camp-city was well out of earshot when Bravis stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes with an incredulous and vexed expression on his face. He gazed straight into Tom's vacant eyes. So intense was the look that it was almost as if nothing else around them existed.

Finally, in a heated tone, he hissed, "What's with the act, Tom?"

#

### A Lost Acquaintance. Noiseless Steps.

### The Wild Field Road.

Bravis' sharp, cold voice did not penetrate Tom. The gyrran stomped around, looking more than a little flustered.

"And what act are you referring to?" Tom said in an annoyed voice.

"This reverent pretense to have devotion for the North and its Sacred Church, when we both know that is false," Bravis responded.

"I am putting on no act, my traveling companion. This is who I am," Tom said with dignity. "My devotion rings true."

"Not putting on any act? You forget my ears hear a great many things. So tell me, Tom, what in the world was all that bunkum about being found in the mountains by me and bringing you to safety? And that bizarre worshipping after being put through such barbaric torture? Tell me about that absurdness?" Bravis said in one long breath as his temper flared.

"Because that's what happened. You found my body in the woods, infected by a Southern plague. As for worshipping our Savior, I have always been a servant to my Sovereign, and I will always be a servant to my Sovereign, so I will not stand for you to blaspheme against Him," Tom said, his temper slowly roiling. "I have no knowledge of any torture, and I am sorry if you were treated ill. It was more than likely for your benefit, to be freed from some ailment."

Bravis' eyes popped. "Don't you remember the last two circuits? We were captured and thrown into a prison room, then immersed in a pool of water repeatedly against our will for what must have been hours, until at last the darkness came. Don't you remember the man with a gaping smile, who said we were cured? Nothing was wrong with us when we were detained, and yet the ecclesiastics insisted a plague infested our bodies . . . Has your memory been altered?"

Tom just shook his head.

Next Bravis asked about someone called Devoto, and another, Anakore'in, but Tom had no memory of meeting him in the timberlands of Lyree Plyth. "Do you remember who Anakore'in is?"

"I'm sorry to have to say that I haven't the faintest clue who you are talking about," Tom said. The pair looked each other over, skeptical.

"So you are a servant to the Sovereign now . . . What about your family?" Bravis questioned.

"I love my family, and I support them, but they know that I have a duty to our Savior to defend our lands. To defend our way of life from the South, and if that means I have to go east, then I have to go east. They will understand if I don't make it home for a few more cycles. My friends are dead, and I don't want them to have died for nothing. I _must_ go east to fight," Tom said with a slight quaver in his voice. His eyes drooped as he spoke, images of his daughters appearing in his mind.

Bravis hung his head, then shook it. "Tom, can you get me something out of this bag?" he asked, nodding to one of the knapsacks secured to his back.

Tom unfastened the bag, and laid the heavy pouch on the ground to untie it. "What is it you need out of here?" he asked, reaching into the brown sack.

"I need a book. Feel around at the bottom, I think there should only be one in there," Bravis answered.

"You know how to read?" Tom asked. He finally hit the binding of the book amidst the various cooking utensils that were hiding it at the bottom of the bag.

"Anakore'in taught me a little, he said the skill might come in handy at some point," Bravis replied. Tom gave Bravis a blank look, not knowing whom he talked about. The gyrran sighed. "Open it, if you would be so kind. Anakore'in left something in it." He shook his feathers and swayed his tail from side to side, excited. Tom opened the pages and an envelope with Bravis' name written on it fell out onto the dirt road. "Could you open that as well?" He gave a silly giggle. Tom, too, thought it funny that he could not open the letter, even though it was addressed to him.

Tom quickly opened it and put it up in front of Bravis' left eye so that the animal could read it. Bravis glanced over the beginning of it, which read: _Bravis: in case of an emergency_. It gave a listing of different subjects and where to consult the magical book, just in case something they did not plan for came about, and Tom proved unable to aid him. Though Bravis doubted his success if Tom actually fell incapacitated, since it would have been extremely difficult to open the letter on his own.

Scanning through the possible simple subjects that Anakore'in had written down, he finally came to one marked _memory_ , which directed him to page one hundred and thirty-eight in the thin book with tiny print. Bravis used his nose and flipped slowly to the page while Tom waited in annoyance. Although the sunlight was departing, almost completely gone, Bravis' sharp eyes could read the print. He read it twice just to make sure it applied to their situation. It did. Then, he read it a third time just to make sure he understood, and finally after reading it a fourth time, he decided to try his luck. He had recalled what Tom told him before of the chances of surviving a first cast, which promoted the human's reluctance to try the fire spell, and Tom's once disabled left arm gave the gyrran little confidence of coming out unaffected, but if he did not attempt it now, his friend would never be his true self again.

Tom had left Bravis' side to go and sit on the road, where he sat cross-legged on the ground in irritation. Bravis left the book and walked over to his companion, and as gently as he could, he kicked Tom in the forehead. Tom fell onto his back. At the same time Bravis yelled, " _Regere Menas Emendae!_ " Three colors escaped the gyrran's mouth and went straight for the human's ear.

Tom lay stunned. Immediately, Bravis wished he could take back his efforts, as his friend lay unconscious, maybe even severely injured. The book of Heka said that the spell would mend Tom's mind and correct his memory, but now it looked like Bravis had made an error while casting the spell and had killed him. He calmed himself, listened to Tom's stifled respiration as the human inhaled irregularly, but was soon overcome with dread once again. He grew frantic.

Fortunately, Tom finally awoke to four peeping eyes; one pair belonged to Bravis and the other to Devoto. Bravis had been standing over Tom for the better part of an hour, worried to death that his friend's heart would stop beating at any second. "Are you all right?" Bravis asked, joyful that his friend had come round.

Tom's ears rang. "What the babble happened? And where have you been?" he said, directing his speech at the troll, who gave him an uncomfortable look.

"Well, what do you remember, Tom?" Bravis asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I remember being detained and quarantined even though we weren't sick," Tom said, pausing briefly and letting out a long sigh of pain. "Then a Priesto tried to drown me. I must have blacked out after that. I remember waking and having an unusual sensation crawl up my spine, it was cold and unstoppable. What did they do to me?" He looked at Bravis for an answer.

"I'm not sure, but I think they tampered with your memories somehow. You didn't recognize me and our friendship, and you had forgotten Devoto . . . even Anakore'in," Bravis said despairingly. "You were praying to a Savior whom I know you don't worship, and you even said you were going to go east with the army, and that your family would understand you being gone for longer!"

Tom could not believe Bravis' words. "I was going to enlist for another rotation?" Tom asked with skepticism. "That is hard to believe. I've always been a freelancer, a mercenary, paid more to carry out the same duties. If I re-enlist now, it would be without the independence I love."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I have never thought about integrating into the Northern ranks for actual battle, one: it pays much less; and two: I would be gone much too long, or worse, killed. Mercenary Scouts are trained to hide and report, not to stand and fight like a Ranger. Disease kills more mercenary Scouts than combat. But a desirable mercenary position such as scouting was hard to come by, so I had to take it, even though few in The Conqueramada appreciate our skills, and many openly hate our lack of commitment to the North. Folk all the time ask me why I do not devote myself as a loyal soldier. Family is always my answer . . . I just can't believe I said I would re-enlist . . . if it does come to war, I doubt anyone from beyond The Sepris Mountains will be called; they won't need those levies. I'll be safe at home." He raised his head and looked at Bravis.

"Well, you told me you were going east," Bravis said. "Luckily Anakore'in had something to counter their spells in that handy book of Heka." The gyrran smiled, relieved and in good spirits again.

Tom did not smile back, though glad to feel like himself again. There had been an odd tingle in the back of his mind, as if something deceptive invaded his thoughts. The strangeness lingered, but only faintly, in the far reaches of his senses.

Devoto wore a bewildered look on his face, and he finally freed himself from his silence. "I dun understand why t'e animal iss ssso confussed about you prayin'? I t'ought all Nort'ernerss revered t'e Ssovereign," the troll questioned suspiciously.

Tom was not shy about what he thought of the government, or The Sacred Church, at least until in a crowd. "Not all. Bedal and Quelthol were the last free cities of the North to fall to the might of Alexandroz, about two hundred cycles ago, annexed into Haven. The two cities are still quite different from the rest of the North, foreign in many ways, that's why I've always been called a mercenary. Many disapprove of The Sacred Church in Bedal, myself included, as it has killed the Blest Gods. Gods that all in my city used to pray to, similar to the gods of Le'Adra, but now that's all forbidden by law. When I joined the Brigade and heard their stories of old freedoms, I became even less thrilled with the takeover." His voice rang free, out into the open fields ahead, a quite uncommon occurrence for one to speak out against the North while in the North. "I've never had the will to summit myself to the Sovereign, but I have ancestral land in Bedal, and I like living there, so I keep my mouth shut, and I earn what I can to support my family," he explained to the troll, who listened intently.

"I knew all this when we first started making our way out of Lyree Plyth. I knew he loved his family and his land more than anything, and that all he wanted to do now was retire and go home," Bravis informed the troll.

Tom was elsewhere, lost in thought, blankly staring into the darkened fieldlands. The moody moons hovered above the firmament, creating a mixture of yellow and silver light, though a few puffy clouds that rolled on through the landscape blocked the dazzling glow at times.

Bravis pushed on. "What happened to you, Devoto, why weren't you released with the two of us?" He backed away from the troll a short distance.

"I was put in t'e roomss t'e ssame as you two, and drowned into unconsciousnesss, but when I woke, I was outside t'e gatess, faraway from t'e compound wallsss. I was given t'is note t'ough," Devoto said, handing Tom the piece of parchment, which had two pictures drawn on it. The first one depicted a troll in the fieldlands with a line that crossed out the sketch. The second drawing showed a troll in the snow-drenched Bordergrounds wearing a happy face.

"A welcoming note," Tom commented. "How did you make it all the way up here undetected?" He doubted most of the troll's story.

"Last night I journeyed in t'e darknesss of t'e moonss, when my sskin is hardest to see," the troll said with a dubious countenance.

Tom did not trust the troll any more than Bravis did, but he remained much more open to his company, for not everyone was a cheat or a murderer. They did not need his guidance any longer since they were on the Wild Field Road, but that did not mean he intended to ban the troll from their party. Three after all was safer than two, and Tom found comfort in that.

"Clever, evading the patrols like that, though you must have had some great luck not to be spotted by the dragons," Tom responded, skepticism in his voice. "So should we continue while we have some light of the moons, or just settle down for the night?"

Neither of the two made to answer, and the toll of the circuit had enervated Tom, so they broke for sleep. He did not bother with a fire, much too exhausted to try, and since the night did not span a long time, they decided to get the rest they could before the heat of the circuit scorched them.

Next morning they set off early to avoid a miserable beginning, for they all figured that the heat would wither them in the flat fields that promised no shade. The quiet, lonely road bored them, except when a pilgrim or gadder crossed their path. Their brief conversations amounted to very little, as they mostly asked for water, which Tom reluctantly gave, since they barely had enough for themselves. Markus had supplied them with a sufficient quantity for two that would last until they reached Y-Town, a town in the middle of the Fields of Heaven, but with Devoto unexpectedly accompanying them, the water had become precious.

"I have a guess for you," Bravis said all of a sudden when twilight approached on the second night after the quarantine zone. They sat around a fire, which Tom had made to roast a few fowl they had managed to catch in the evening light, though he had been extremely reluctant to cast any spell since regaining the function of his left arm. But time wore on, and his stomach demanded payment.

"A guess for me?" Tom asked, puzzled. He bit into a crisp leg. The juices from the fowl ran down his mouth in a burning stream. He quickly wiped the mess away.

"A guess for _baksheesh_ ," the gyrran responded.

"Ah, yes. Well all right, let's hear it," Tom said, remembering the game they had barely started.

"A dwarven hunter," Bravis threw out into the warm air.

"Not quite, but close. I did learn it from a dwarf. Let's limit the guesses to two, so give it one more shot," Tom said, amused by the gyrran's attempt.

"Well, I had been thinking of that one for quite a while, but my second thought was a dwarven supper," Bravis said after a few moments of consideration.

"Very close, a human might give it after a meal, though you would be hard pressed to find a dwarf parting from his money in the same manner." Tom laughed. "It's a tip, or a dwarven bribe."

"Ah, and what's a dwarven bribe?" Bravis asked after absorbing the new word and its definition.

"A cheap one," Tom responded with a grin, and Bravis returned the expression. "Okay, it's your turn, and think of a word running down the alphabet."

It only took a brief pause for Bravis to fall upon a word. "Convalesce."

Tom thought about the word all night. He finally answered Bravis in the morning, but his guesses also failed, and Bravis rejoiced, letting him know it meant recuperate. "I don't think I've ever played such an enjoyable game," the gyrran told Tom, who only grinned in return.

That morning, the ivory-headed eagle appeared in the sky, apparently tracking the trio since The Bordergrounds. Each of the three took a turn shouting at the eagle, but the bird never flew within twenty meters of the group, a distance best kept for safety.

The long circuits heated up beyond toleration, but the cool nights gave them a welcomed reprieve from the blistering weather, especially to Tom, who desperately wanted to shave. His growth itched wildly, mixed with sweat that did him no favors. The two continued to play the word game, and soon Tom slid ahead of Bravis by two, as they came to Q words. Finally, after four miserable circuits, they arrived at the only town between Daddle Lake and Out-Line Post. Most referred to it as Y-Town because the three roads of the northwest converged on its location, but to the contrary, the first local they came across said, "Welcome to Lost Town." His dry, hoarse voice sounded desperate for water, which portended a shortage.

"Thank you," Tom said, walking into town beside Bravis, and a ways ahead of Devoto, who lingered behind, exhausted. The lumbering troll arrived as Tom opened his mouth to ask if they neared Y-Town, but the villager's eyes opened wide, and he turned and ran.

Devoto shrugged.

"Maybe it's best for you to stay in the fields. I'll bring you some water as soon as I find the town well," Tom said. Devoto reluctantly agreed.

Tom and Bravis scurried through town in search of the well; the structure was not hard to find, located in the middle of the small town, in front of the _Kuriakoma_ : a small, simple building used for public worship of the Son and Father. He surveyed the area; it was barely a town, and in size, it was more like a hamlet, but because of the road situation, maps tended to mark it. Odd gold, blue, and white decorations hung from houses and hitch posts, while white chrysanthemums wrapped poles and railings. Tom wondered what celebration approached.

Tom considered the people of the town country bumpkins, mostly farmers who harvested the corn, wheat, tobacco, and barley around the area; they did not look interested in much else. The four people the duo met greeted them with hospitality; they were courteous and generous in sharing their foods and drinks, which consisted of mostly breads and an arrangement of wheat beers, kept in glass jars like fruit. Tom explained to Bravis what he meant by drink, but the gyrran found the taste of beer unpleasant. The town's people also provided the duo with jugs of water, and filled their containers from the well, even though the drought affected their supply.

"Why do you call it Lost Town instead of Y-town like the rest of the North?" Tom asked on the second night of their stay, sitting at the table for the evening meal. The lower section of the split-level house accommodated the farmer's animals, where Bravis dined, unwelcome at the proper table.

The farmer the duo stayed with, named Teddy, answered, "That's simple. We are lost amongst the fields that grow forever in all directions. If it weren't for that road, no one would ever know we existed." Tom saw the truth in the farmer's words.

The evening went well, just as the first, but sometime around the middle of the night, another farmer opened the door to the two-room home, yelling as loud as he could, "We've found a troll! We've found a troll!"

Tom jumped up off the floor, and ran out the door after the farmer, followed by Bravis, who chased the human not far behind.

"Bad news, I think," Tom said, standing outside the door. They watched villagers pour out of their homes at the man's call, and headed for the fields. "We need to gather our bags."

Bravis nodded, and the duo made ready, then pursued the firelight of burning torches. They found Devoto encircled by villagers carrying sharp tools.

Shouts rumbled, "Go home, troll! Leave us, vile creature! Servant of the South!" Many remarks of the like continued until Tom broke up the scene with a loud cry that confused the mob. In the disarray, Bravis easily leapt over the slumped shoulders of the farmers. Devoto quickly sprung onto the gyrran's back, a heavy weight for Bravis, but he managed to leap back over the humans. A farmer jabbed with a pitchfork at Bravis' belly. Devoto saw the tool, and with a lanky arm, seized the threat, snapping the wooden handle in two.

The three met up on the eastern road, not far from the town. Devoto dismounted, and from there, the three ran from Y-Town, pointed to Daddle Lake by a signpost.

After a few hours, Tom could not go any farther, so they designated a campsite, a bivouac off to the side of the road, where most of the wheat had been collected or chewed down by roaming animals. He quickly made a fire by burning the ground inside a few large rocks that contained it. Cracking open a jar of beer, the group had a few drinks while hastily gnawing on some of the fresh loaves of bread. The beer was still chilly, and the bread warm; it made for a filling meal after the draining trek of the last few hours.

Tom abruptly spoke up, "So, you want to tell us what they have against you?"

Devoto shrugged again, giving no answer.

"Well, I hope your luck runs better in Empyrea. Harvesters and country men are one thing, but the folk of the city will be impossible to run from."

The taciturn troll gave Tom an uncomfortable look, then turned and crawled a short distance away, rolling over onto his side. Bravis eyed Tom, prepared to leave behind the unwanted company, but Tom declined the gyrran's response with a quiet hand signal, shaking his index finger from side to side.

Tom put out the fire. Even though the night remained cooler than the circuit, it was still warm without its toasty protection. The trio slept soundlessly in their alfresco bivouac, under the stars endlessly littering the sky in all directions.

After a few hours of rest, Bravis' ear suddenly twitched in the calmness of the night; he picked up the softest of sounds, a delicate footstep, yet it aroused the gyrran's sensitive ear. He had his head resting against the ground, but lifted it at the alarming noise. Another step advanced toward them. Bravis extended a wing to brush Tom's face, trying to stir the human from his sleep, but his first attempt failed. His rougher second attempt succeeded, waking Tom as he groaned.

Neither of the moons shone in the sky, which made it difficult to see, except for Bravis, and a few other well-adapted animals.

"I hear something," Bravis said, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Tom had learned that the animal's eyes and ears seldom failed. He reached for the nearby sacks and found the flashlight given to him by Anakore'in. The rare flashlight did not produce any heat, but it created a dazzling beam.

In one fluid motion, Tom took the flashlight from the bag, rolled onto his back, and turned it on. A large leopard stood only a meter away from him on the opposite side of Devoto, ready to pounce. The sleek body of the leopard boasted a coat covered in black rosettes that helped camouflage it in the shadow of the night.

The leopard's belly almost touched the ground, legs angled to spring while its shoulder blades were pushed back as if it were doing a pushup. Its pupils became small, adjusting to the light. "Oh, why hello, how are you gentlemen doing this fine evening?" the leopard said, trying to act casual about its hunting position. It lay down on its stomach in silence; every move it made silent.

Tom's hand began shaking. Bravis rose to his feet, standing well above the cat, spanned out his wings to their fullest and let out a defensive call, then pronked high into the air with aggression. The leopard growled, but swiftly turned tail and ran through the wheat fields, disappearing into the night.

It took several minutes for Tom to relax and compose himself again. He relit the fire and positioned himself between the road and Devoto, who had remained asleep throughout the incident. Bravis appointed himself the watch, something they decided they needed for the first time in their journey. Normally Bravis' superior hearing calmed Tom's nerves sufficiently, but the incident disconcerted him too much to rely on the animal's resting ears. Tom kept his fingers wrapped around the unfamiliar sword hilt for the rest of the night.

In the morning, they informed Devoto of the threat of the wild, and the troll grinned, greatly surprised that he had not been stirred by such commotion. He agreed to help keep watch from now on. After three more incinerating circuits, the group arrived at a large town on the shoreline of Daddle Lake. They had spent half of the last circuit without water before they reached the lake, suns blazing the entire way. Tom ran for the lake, hoping it did not boil. Luckily, the suns failed to do so. The temperature of the water revitalized him, as he swallowed fresh mouthfuls. When the group finished enjoying the lake, they followed the road around it for another circuit to the city of Federol, where they planned to spend the night. Toward evening, Tom peered at the sky and spotted their fourth companion soaring, who had disappeared as soon as they approached Y-town. He failed to mention the bird to the others. Instead, he kept a vigilant eye on the clouds for the rest of the circuit, pondering the bird's intent.

"A few circuitss and we'll be in T'e Great City," Devoto said happily, though his facial expression remained austere. "Do you two have any monies to resstock our provisionss?" They had made a fire near the edge of the water, and the group sat around it discussing the last portion of their trip.

"We have some money, hopefully it will be enough for the next four circuits until we reach Heaven," Tom replied. "We still have a few jars of beer that we can sell if we don't have enough. I'm sure they're worth something here."

Tom tried his luck in the morning, and sold three out of the five leftover jars of white-beer to a kind passerby, who wanted to help anyone make it to The Great City. They made enough to buy a few more loaves of bread and some smoked capybara meat. Capybara ranged the whole area of Daddle Lake and its family lakes; they swam and grazed in massive herds. The huge rodents walked around on four short legs similar to a pig, except for their slightly raised hind legs, their bodies rounded like a pig, layered by red fur. The friendly animals chose not to roam into town, for they took pleasure in the cooler water, and they preferred it to the populated lakeside.

No one noticed Devoto on the outskirts of the streets, which was a main reason Tom chose to lodge near the lake, away from the center of the city and its towering Kathronal. He had seen the building the circuit before and chose to avoid it and its large, stone statue of a man kneeling with a sword in the ground, garlanded in celebratory chrysanthemums. That morning he made sure to keep to the outside of the city's main square, and the people who crowded around the place. The streets were bustling with movement, as people prepared for the elusive celebration that Tom still could not remember.

The trio headed out a little after dawn. More flat fieldlands lay before their eyes, comprised mostly of pastures filled with tall yellow grass that long-horned aurochs fed lazily upon throughout the circuit. Amongst the large wild cattle, field-mara grazed, which resembled small rabbit-deer. They ate in large groups, sometimes howling at the aurochs, securing their ground and their offspring.

Tom mostly thought of his family during their travel across the flatland, but occasionally he would tell the two about his journeys with the Brigade, though Devoto rarely paid attention. Every now and then, Tom gazed skyward and noticed the eagle still keeping pursuit, which Bravis voiced his concerns about, but Tom did not want to shoot the animal. His aim was also not practiced enough to hit a target so far away. Bravis and Tom continued their lively word game, until Bravis became stuck thinking of a word beginning with X. When the group left Federol, they quickened their pace, and cut off a whole circuit to their travel. He slept little as the trio neared Heaven, too excited, so much closer to home, and even when he managed to fall asleep, he seldom dreamed of anything but his family.

The Golden Sun disappeared in the west, and by midcircuit tomorrow, they would be in The Great City. Sleep did not come to Tom, so he pursued doing something more constructive instead, sitting on watch all night, taking over the shifts of the other two. He studied the flicker of the fire while he scratched his coarse facial hair. The last moon slowly retreated as circuitbreak arrived at its leisure. One more night, and he would be home.

#

### The Great City of Heaven.

### A Crowded Market. One Final Judgment.

The road to The Great City from Federol navigated through hundreds of different fields, much different than the southern section of the country. Varieties of vegetable leas and fruit orchards mingled in orderly rows throughout the canalled area. Every so often, the trio came across verdant grasslands that opened up in expansive stretches for the bleating, long-horned aurochs to wander around and feed until they grew big for butchering.

Just as Tom intended, it had only taken the trio half a circuit to reach the land before the capital city. The land began to roll, with small risings and fallings that seemed to grow every time they reached the foot of a new hillock. Soon the flat, arable fields were nothing but undulating hills of short pear-green grass and dispersed deciduous trees. The ivory-headed eagle had vanished in the clouds earlier in the morning, and did not seem to be following them any longer, though the puffy clouds gave cover for anything wishing to hide.

Even at an extreme distance, blurry images of the city could be seen, yet for the newcomers, the images resembled nothing familiar. "Look, you can see the giants of The Sepris Mountains," Tom said, pointing out the great snow-capped peaks that lay beyond Heaven. "They look closer than I remembered. A good distance lies between the city and the mountains, and normally they are shrouded in fog." Their fatigued legs marched on in sleepy silence. Other mountains, brown against the great blue skyline, popped into view, though Tom could not remember such lonely mountains, for they were much closer than The Sepris Mountains, almost as if they stood next to The Great City itself. Without much warning, the emergence of Heaven came into view after they reached the top of the last hill in the fieldlands. The trio gasped from the magnificent city's beauty, hundreds of thousands of chimneys, dozens upon dozens of dome ceilings, tall white spires and vaulted halls, along with the high castellated curtain walls of Heaven. But there was something else, something even more staggering than the great white buildings of the city.

Tom eyed the ends of the bulwarks, unprepared for what he saw, as the outstanding presence of two colossal conical mountains blocked the corners of the city like massive brown watchtowers that reached high into the sky, far above any building. As the three ventured nearer, they saw that something flowed in a spiral down the peaks. In the center of the metropolis appeared an even taller, yet thinner mountain, jutting out of the ground like a protective thorn. Two more cone-shaped mountains came into view, directly behind the two front peaks: in total, four mountains circled the city. "The Four Mountains," Tom exclaimed in awe. Oddly, he had forgotten all about them. Behind the fantastic scene, The Sepris Mountains rose in clear skies, white upon black, frozen and unfriendly, yet stunning at the same time.

"Four, but there are five," Bravis pointed out.

"No one ever talks of the center mountain. I don't think anyone knows much about it," Tom responded. "Lore tells that Alexandroz raised the five mountains himself, a long, long time ago, four to protect his capital with deadly traps, and one in the middle where he could find his solitude. Whether this is true, now that is a question . . ."

"How do they protect the city?" Bravis asked.

"Why ask me when you shall see for yourself soon enough," Tom said. At that, they again advanced toward the city in silence, for Bravis caught sight of what flowed from the summit of the South Mountains, and his mouth hung loose. Running streams swirled from their apexes; a lahar flowed steadily down the southwest mountain, and a fluid lava of low viscosity coursed down the southeast mountain. The mudflow traveled just as swift as the lava, and the rapid flows ended at the bottom of each mountain, where they circled the city in separate moats.

Before the trio reached the moats, they journeyed through a wasteland of headstones that stood between the fields and the city. A few folk walked about the hundreds of rows, saying prayers on their knees. Two hours after their initial panorama, when the trio drew close enough, they saw that two more moats safeguarded the city, one of rushing water with sharp ice bergs floating atop the stream; the last moat looked empty of liquid, as white marble lined the walls and floor, clear in the circuitlight. Four separate drawbridges spanned the wide moats, lowered and flat, allowing for folk to pass freely over the normally untraversable flows. Between the moats, level annular dirt dividers encircled the city like shielding rings.

The trio walked across the first three bridges just fine, stopping on each one to see where one flow overlapped another for a time until it went back into its own moat, somehow unmixed. Tom noticed that no soldiers patrolled the ramparts behind the parapet. But when they came to the fourth and last bridge, their eyes finally saw what troubled any would-be attackers and defended the city, and gave leisure to the city guard. A hurricane wind blew through the moat, channeled and contained, only visible within a few meters. The wind reached the firmament, above the city, and fortunately the bridge over the ditch had a barrier to the wind; it was a clear, dome-shaped tunnel through the gale. Handrails lined the inside of the shelter, which Tom and the troll gripped for safety and comfort.

The South Gatehouse of the city came clearly into view, and the shiny doors overwhelmed the senses of the trio while they gazed upon them with open mouths. Before the Gatehouse lay an entrance yard made from white stone, where twin giant marble statues guarded the gates of The Great City, molded into men who kneeled with their swords penetrating the ground, as they held their blades down with both hands on the hilts. Between the guardians towered two half-open chain-linked gates that appeared to be made out of massive, thick pearls fused together. On the inside opening of the Gatehouse, the steel portcullis was drawn up, waiting for darkness to prevent shady night crawlers from entering or leaving as they pleased. Above the gates, an immense barbican stared down with a watchful eye, primed for the return of a Ranger's sturdy bow. Now only the South Warden peered down with intent, searching newcomers for signs of threat. He aimed to keep peace within the capital.

Behind each statue, an erect bleached stone-pole rose as high as the marble walls, and attached to the poles the flag of Haven waved in the wind. A silver sword pointed downward in the middle of the deep blue field; a white lamb shot out of the left cross-guard in a semicircle, devouring the body of a black wolf at the sword's central ridge, toward the tip of the blade. The wolf completed the circle by swallowing the right cross-guard. To both sides of the swords' pommel, the country's name was inscribed in gold lettering. The flag, all trimmed in gold, stood as a symbol that proudly conveyed Haven's sovereignty, and reminded all who looked upon it of the safety that the King brought to the country.

Through the gates showed the lower level of the city's square, a city built on ten levels, with stairs rising every so often, as the main road swept toward and ended at Alexandroz's Palace in the northeast district. A man sat on a stool just under the roof of the barbican. A key hung around his neck from a twine cord. The man happily nodded, scanned the group closely, and shifted in his seat when he saw Devoto. He rose from his stool to examine the trio, patting their clothing in search for something, but as to what, the group did not know. The man appeared to have distaste for the troll, but let him pass with a feigned smile. A funny feeling crept up Tom's spine. He did not like it one bit, finding the man's reaction to Devoto very peculiar. It was hard for him to believe that the man did not call for the city guard to immediately throw the troll into the dungeons.

Tom turned from the man and peered at the south square of The Great City with a gaping mouth. They had finally arrived at the city of Heaven, the city of the Savior, and home of the Empyreans. Exhausted from the journey, his body begged him to rest, but first he had to deliver the letter that Anakore'in had entrusted him with. Walking through the entrance under the barbican, the trio looked upon marble roadways and towers, white shops lining the streets littered with folk. No city matched its famed columned architecture, as almost every building, businesses and plain homes alike, had a portico. Sky-reaching columns surrounded many of the larger buildings in the celebrated peristyle. Outdoor vendors filled the gaps where buildings did not fit while hordes of folk swarmed from building to vendor to building. The stores and kiosks sold anything and everything that one could desire.

The trio made their way into the streets. Tom noticed that not everyone around him breathed with human lungs, unlike most of his home city and the Hill Glutter Brigade. In front of Tom stood a tawny, stout dwarf who bartered over a tawdry gold watch with a human street vendor who had narrow and angled eyes.

"What race are those, standing next to the dwarf?" Bravis asked. He nodded toward three small figures roughly a meter high, just a bit below the dwarf about a quarter of a meter. The skinny shapes displayed much less tone than the muscular dwarf.

"Those are Carrigan Gnomes," Tom replied. "I guess there's a lot for you to see here for the first time. You'll be learning the world now." He grinned at the young gyrran. The trio watched as the gnomes browsed through jewels and other shiny objects. The three walked on, observing that many stands sold chibouks: long-stemmed tobacco pipes, and different flavored tobacco, especially cinnamon and honey. Food kiosks and fruit stands were spaced out evenly every few vendors, but no one sold clothes or shoes on the open street, as the safety of the shops confined such articles.

But what the trio saw next, walking amongst the crowd, looked nothing like what they expected. "What in all the lands of Leterra are those creatures?" Bravis asked. He stood motionless, shocked.

"Those are _Evolvueas_ ," Tom said. "I learned about them in the Brigade; they are better known as Uprights." He peered at the Upright in front of him. "I have never seen one before, and honestly I didn't exactly believe the tales I've heard." A tiger stood before them on two legs, chatting with a human vendor. "I've been told that there are many species of various animals that have evolved to stand upright on two legs like humans and trolls, and the other bipedal races. Most came from the other continents before the landmasses disappeared under the ocean in The Cataclysmic Flood."

The sight of the Evolvuea astonished the trio, with its horizontal stripes instead of vertical ones like their quadruped cousins. The tail had disappeared through the cycles, but its eyes and ears remained the same. The Upright wore linen clothes like the human vendor, but only light and extremely thin garments, since it still boasted a thick fur coat from head to toe.

Many other Uprights browsed through goods and carried on conversations in the sprawling marketplace. A bipedal hippo and a snow fox walked beside each other, and rummaged through woodworker dealers and pottery makers. Normal quadruped animals were also scattered about the populace, talking and buying items as equals with the rest of the two-legged walkers.

Tom pulled Bravis' ear close to his mouth. "The Evolvueas and animals have been assimilated into Heaven's culture; they are Northerners straight down to their cores. They have the mindset of the North, despising the filthy, unbelieving South, so be wary. Some say you can tell a true Northerner by the gold circle in their eyes, for only creatures of the North bear such rings, yet guard your tongue, as I do not know how much truth can be counted on in those tales. Suspect all until we reach Bedal, the only land and people I trust." Bravis understood and nodded.

Leading the way through the crowd, winding like a snake, Tom suddenly turned to his companions. "I want to get something for my girls," he said loudly, raising his voice to compete with the noise of the marketplace. The two nodded compliantly, knowing how much Tom liked to buy knickknacks for his family, since he had mentioned it several times during their journey.

Many folk in the bustling throng stared at Devoto as the trio went from vendor to vendor. Their reactions went unconcealed: most of their faces marked their revulsion openly. The trio went about their business, ignoring the leers and quick glances of passersby, hoping that the city folk would be less aggressive, and not quick to strike at them as the country folk had. Tom wanted to avoid another Y-Town fiasco.

The pair followed Tom from shop to shop, wandering through the well-dressed crowds: a realm of stringent, conservative propriety, unlike the Southerners, as rumor said they wore skimpy, unrefined clothing that exposed bare skin, if they wore clothes at all. The most notable and identifiable article the trio saw were the white headbands wrapped around every woman's head, a symbol of a Northern woman's high purity. Custom dictated that as a woman aged, she bestowed a more elaborate headdress upon herself, one suitable to show her quality.

The trio caught whispers of the Southern plague, spreading from mouth to ear, all across the district, probably across the whole city. Fear trembled in voices, with hate layered in cruel words, and a hope for the plague's end rang throughout the market. Uncoated Northern pride radiated from every face. A terrible outcome sounded imminent.

Tom ignored it all as best he could. Silence with patient observance would be key in not attracting unwanted attention to their Borderground companion.

Little brown and white birds weaved through the market, picking up any dropped bits of food. Crows hopped, flew, and darted around as well, making loud calls to each other in their rookeries and in the streets. Blue-crowned pigeons also bobbed along the street, searching for tasty morsels the other birds had missed.

After a while, the trio noticed that the streets and shops were adorned with gold, blue, and white decorations, with many vendors selling festive gifts. White petals from chrysanthemums layered the ground like snow. The flowers were strung across buildings, wrapped around columns, and everywhere the eye caught sight of the beautiful petals. At first, Tom could not think of what celebration drew near, and he had been stumped since seeing them in Y-town. He had been away for so long that the last few cycles he had only celebrated New Cycle's Eve. But then it came to him, _Alexurgia_ : the summer festival that marked the Saviors' freeing of the people of Haven from their enslavement over four thousand cycles ago.

Tom laughed slightly to himself, for in Bedal old traditions did not die easily, and people still celebrated the festival for what it had once been across the entire globe: The Summer Carnival, which marked summer's end. Of course, no one celebrated the old festival openly, and people still bought Alexurgia decorations, lavishing them throughout the city. Yet indoors, out of sight of The Sacred Church, told another story.

He observed the streets, perplexed; it certainly did not feel as if the end of summer approached, as the unusual scorching weather did not look to be letting up any time soon. Even so, nothing else explained the decorations.

Bravis' excellent hearing caught conversations about an approaching public trial. "Did you two here any of that?" Bravis looked back at two elderly women, who argued over whether or not the man on trial was guilty. Each wore a fancy headdress, designed with lambs centered above their foreheads, and lined with white chrysanthemums.

The gyrran's words interrupted Tom's thoughts, and he put the celebration to the back of his mind. "Any of what?" he asked. He stopped and waited for Bravis, who eavesdropped on the two women. One of them began to bluster about the inaccuracy of the other, while the other spoke quietly, making it difficult to hear in the sea of voices.

"There is a trial tocircuit, soon . . . someone evidently has been accused of treason against the Nation. I can't really understand much of what they're saying," Bravis said. He gave up trying to make out the mere mumbles of one woman, and the barely coherent shouts of the other.

The yells of the lady became screams, and in a fuss, she turned and walked away, but the other older woman tore a loaf of bread in half; charged with anger, she threw it at the back of the other women's head. The woman spun around and wrestled the slightly older white-haired woman to the street. People made an effort to walk around them, leaving them to their brawl until a city guard arrived to break up the strange fight. He wore full-plate armor identical to a Footman, the only visible difference between the two ranks was the long white cloak that draped down past the city guard's shins, a feathery garment trimmed in blue velvet.

"Come on, let's find out where this trial is," Bravis said.

"Hold on, I haven't found anything for my girls yet," Tom said, then stepped into an unusual shop. There were bric-a-bracs scattered from corner to corner in the squalid rows of the store. The shop was redolent of herbs and spices, mixed with unpleasant odors of different flowers, which reminded Tom of his aunt's house. Besides the strong smells, stuffed toys mingled in here and there, and child tea sets painted bright and beautiful colors also mixed in, strengthening his memories of his long-expired aunt.

Bravis followed Tom into the shop. The smell irritated his nostrils, but he stayed at his companion's side, eyeing the miscellaneous items with little interest. Tom held up one of the bright-yellow tea sets. "What do you think?" he said to Bravis, who did not have much of an opinion on the matter, so to speed things up he nodded in favor of the gift.

"That looks like something a child might like," Bravis mumbled, but he did not know for sure. His contact with humans revolved mostly around his interaction with Tom, and he had never met a human offspring. He gathered that they liked things of this nature from what Tom told him about the different porcelain dolls and such that he had sent back to his girls over the cycles.

"Yes, I think so too, it isn't all that much, only three analbs," Tom responded, sounding positive in his find. The duo walked up to the counter where a blithe Evolvuea wombat sat at the register. A baby Upright wombat with huge black orbs for eyes held onto its mother's upside down pouch while it crawled in and out of it periodically. Setting down the tea set, Tom handed the Upright three bronze coins. "Hello, can I get a box to place them in?" he asked politely, not wanting to break the set on the way home.

"You sure can, I think I have the perfect size," the wombat said in a high tone. Something pinched the lady and she yelled in surprise. "That's it, Cafel! Come out before I count to three," she ordered to her youngster. "One . . . two . . ." she threatened the child. Before she arrived at three, the baby climbed out and ran into a backroom behind all the gifts. "Sorry about that." She wore a fuzzy, stretched smile as she peered at Tom. "Here you are, mister. Hallowed is our Savior." She handed the padded box to him with cheer.

"Praise be to Him, and thank you very much," Tom said with resistance in his voice. Devoto waited patiently outside, for he did not know anyone else in the massive city, and thought it best to stick around the two for a while, particularly because the folk around him appeared to be openly hostile toward him. He was as good as a Southerner in their eyes.

"We should see what the commotion is about," Bravis said.

"Don't you think we should try and deliver the letter first?" Tom yelled into the group's ears over the voices that grew louder and louder. The lively folk started to move in one direction down the street on the opposite side from where the trio stood. The folk behind the trio began to follow suit, pushing the group in the same direction.

"We were supposed to be here a few circuits ago, Tom. I think we can postpone another hour or two, this could be important," Bravis shouted back against the crowd that moved in a wave.

"He iss right. I dun t'ink it will make a difference, besidess we dun really have a choice," Devoto argued, raising his voice, but most of his words became lost in the mob's chatter. The trio separated, swept along with the mass of flowing bodies that headed toward a giant amphitheater that compelled all to it as if it were a vortex. Folk from all around poured into the building and rushed to find a decent seat. The auditorium went into the ground, shaped like a conical bowl, where each row became smaller and smaller, ending at the bottom with a large, flat stage.

The group reunited at the top of the auditorium, but they were soon carried along with another, smaller crowd down the stairs. They succeeded in breaking out of the stream of people to find seats about a third of the way from the stage. Tom rested his bow against his armrest and shoved the box under his chair. More and more folk piled in behind them, quickly filling in all the rows of open space.

On the stage, Tom saw a group of thirteen or fourteen men set up a tall scaffold in the middle of the open area. It filled quite a bit of the stage, leaving enough space for a guard to patrol around its edges. When the workmen finished the scaffold, they started to erect a gallows. Two large pieces of wood connected to the scaffold flooring, as one beam linked the two, and from the connecter beam, they attached another beam that crossed over it, and jutted a few meters from the gallows main body on each side.

It did not take long for the auditorium to completely fill. Within half an hour a body occupied every seat in the hall, and it appeared that the trio had arrived early by chance, before the real masses of people flowed in through the doors. People not lucky enough to get a seat started to crowd around the top of the bowl. The Golden Sun rose high over the arena, causing the temperature to rise even higher throughout the overcrowded space.

The men on the scaffold, once completed with their job, exited the stage area. Two men, dressed in full-plate as white as the surrounding buildings, patterned with black and blue markings, escorted a man cuffed with the same glowing blue rope that the Dragon-Rider had used on the trio. They led the prisoner up the steps of the stage, then up the steps of the scaffold, and behind them a third armored guard carried a stool. They were men of Alexandroz's Honor Guard, the twelve deadliest swordsmen in the realm, who guarded their beloved King at all hours, from circuitbreak to circuitend. Blue cloaks fell just above their knees, a rearing white lamb centered on them. Their white closed helms with aurochs horns, displayed their high rank with a crest of aequi hair, dyed blue, spanning from forehead to nape. Tom could not see the men well, as people kept standing up and moving about the auditorium to block his view. The two who held the prisoner placed their detainee below a hanging rope, where the third man placed the stool. The stool carrier immediately jumped from the scaffold onto the stage, drawing his Sonsword to keep the people at bay.

The crowd grew quiet as an opulently robed figure with a well-trimmed beard approached the stage; an obsequious man followed the figure, lifting up the ends of his robe. The last of the Honor Guard trailed in file after the imposing figure, then broke off to encircle the stage, unsheathing their Sonswords to create a ring of protective steel. The two unarmored men stopped when they reached the center of the scaffold. The auditorium fell silent as the gathering waited for the robed man to speak.

At that moment, Tom realized who stood before him: the King of Haven, Alexandroz. His tan skin was clad in a gold robe that glittered with gold and jewels, lined in scarlet. Atop his head, he sported a small, yet highly decorated triple tier crown, letting his wavy walnut-colored hair touch below his shoulders. He raised his hands from his sides halfway into the air. "Shall we pray?" Alexandroz asked. The gold rings that circled his pupils expanded until none of his green iris remained. His eyes burned underneath the fiery sky.

From the scabbard strapped across his sumptuous robe he unsheathed the famed Sonsword, a two-handed sword longer than the height of most men; its brilliant white steel gleamed in the suns, as the hilt scintillated with jewels of all colors. Northern prayer words were etched into the blade, along with scenes of past triumph. Alexandroz genuflected in front of the crowd, positioning the sword's tip into the scaffold, the very vision of the statues dedicated to their King that lay throughout the realm.

As the King kneeled before the crowd, a feeling crept into Tom's mind, as if he pulled from some distant memory the same image, especially the indelible crown; but he had never seen Alexandroz, and only knew of his features from the tales of others. Yet he grew uncomfortable, for something deep within him told him otherwise. The eerie feeling faded as a loud whack came from the stage.

The shoeless man under the noose was dressed in a brown leathery tunic and pants. He recalcitrantly kept his head held high as he stood awaiting the trial. A guard again smacked the back of his head, insisting that he bow, and with reluctance, he finally complied.

Alexandroz twisted his torso around and motioned for the man behind him to lead the prayer. The feeble and wan-looking man let loose the robes that his fingers clung to and stepped forward. Alexandroz bowed his head. Tom kept his eyes up while he surveyed the room to watch everyone who had their heads bowed identically to the Sovereign.

"For the Father in the name of the Son. There can be no others, and Praise be to Them alone. They alone guide the saved on the path, and alone They know the way," the man opened the prayer. He appeared sickly with a pallid face, and his features gave the impression that he was not a man of intelligence, maybe possessing a little more wit than a child. A simple linen tunic draped around his chest, much too big for his build, and tight pants made from the same material wrapped around his legs just above his coffee moccasins. "Jolly Alexurgia!" he yelled, and the crowd responded with their own, "Jolly Alexurgia!" The man continued in a harsh voice, "This afternoon, we pray to our Savior and righteous Sovereign, to show this man clemency, even for his wronging and ills against our Great Nation." The man paused.

"So it is already the thirty-sixth of Tirken," Tom whispered, "the circuit of Alexurgia. I cannot believe that summer's end comes with the next rising of the suns. Perhaps on the calendar it ends, but not by any change in weather, unless a great storm blows from the north."

The man cleared his throat and focused Tom's attention back to him. "It is by our Savior's hands that we are alive to see our children grow and prosper, and through his strength that we draw our own. His guidance and perseverance has allowed us to achieve relative peace, and has enabled us to live humble and happy lives. In the name of our Savior, the Holy Protector, may our actions be just and wise," he said with a slight shake in his voice, but then grunted to clear his throat. "Hallowed is our Savior and true are the faithful!" he yelled, throwing up his hands to end the prayer. With that, Alexandroz rose to his feet and sheathed his sword. The man who had led the prayer walked out of Tom's sight behind the gallows.

The crowd repeated the closing line in unison, but Tom remained silent as Alexandroz waved a hand motioning for quiet.

Tom and Bravis had watched the crowd during the prayer, and saw several people motioning with their hands to others. "What are they doing?" the gyrran asked.

"They are deaf," Tom answered, but Bravis gave him a flummoxed look. "They can't hear, so they talk with their hands, using motions that are linked with casting spells in World." The two also saw a few people leaning in close to the ears of a white-eyed companion to whisper.

"And them?"

"They are blind . . . they can't see," Tom responded. The place was filled with more things the group had never encountered before, and it was a wonderful sight to take in, but at the same time, an awful presence filled the room with the man on trial below. The noose waited to perform its duty with patience. There was a warm darkness that settled upon the minds of the trio. Death loomed in the sultriness.

Another giant Evolvuea hippo rose from its seat not far from the trio, and started to rush along the path, crushing people's feet as it went, heading for them and the aisle. Devoto and Tom sat at the end of a row while Bravis lay on the wide steps next to his human companion. The gyrran could not fit anywhere else, far too awkward to sit in any of the seats; even the massive chairs built for the larger Evolvueas did not fit him with his hind legs and wings sticking out.

The hippo came to them, and Devoto withdrew his legs as much as he could, hiding his feet under his chair. Tom copied the troll's movement, and Bravis stood to let the hippo pass by. A light skinned man sat in the chair next to Devoto, but when he noticed that he was seated next to a troll, he quickly leaned far into the person on the other side of him, striking up a brief conversation.

"Tocircuit, we are gathered here for the trial of Larrith The Accuser who has been arraigned on high treason charges," Alexandroz bellowed to the crowd. He took out a piece of paper. "I have here in my hand a document stamped by the seal of my accuser, stating that I, King Alexandroz, am guilty of committing regicide against our allied King, Mikole, during the signing of the Treaty of Vala." Anger flowed in Alexandroz's tone. "This is a libel that is made to depower me as your Sovereign, and we will not stand for it." He raised his voice to its fullest, so deep and powerful, it made the crowd believe his words whether they were true or not.

"Now I shall put this false statement to rest, and report how the respected and benevolent King of Virra, and my close friend, truly died. A few orbits ago, a small contingent of Noklathar assassins infiltrated the King's Royal Chambers, and slaughtered him in the night. The cowardly abominations fled back to Hell before a good pursuit could be made," Alexandroz said with a voice full of despair, as he threw up a clenched fist to the sky, surging with rage. "The King's death has disheartened the folk of Virra, but they have shown a great resistance to succumb to the evils of the South. And, in agreement with Archbishop Julitus of Lefiiz, and The Royal Council, I have been granted Kingship over the land of Virra in an annexation concordat." He paused for a moment to let the news settle in. "Tocircuit, the folk of Haven and Virra are united as one." Alexandroz paused again after his announcement to let his voice echo throughout the bowl. "Tocircuit, there is no longer a separation between East and West. Tocircuit, we truly become the North!" Alexandroz called out to the crowd.

Everyone in the auditorium around the trio stood up and clapped, or cried out with glee, or both. Screams of happiness and excitement resounded as if all the inhabitants of the city cheered at once. Mixed in with the shouts of men, dwarves, gnomes, and Uprights, were also the roars of big cats: the jaguars and lions who gave their approval. A mix of canids ululated into the afternoon sky, and their howls went far beyond that of the auditorium, as the dogs shouted their joy across the entire city. Many more animals gave their cries of delight, for the news that the North had finally become one solid Nation meant a dream come true to every devout citizen of Haven. Their time had now come.

Alexandroz gave a wave of his hand once more, and the sounds ceased. "I shall also share, in my defense, that Larrith of Heaven was part of the Honor Guard during the treaty, and saw Mikole in good health, as well as the signing of the treating without any complications, yet he vehemently speaks slander that I ignobly aided the Noklathar." Spittle sprayed from the King's mouth in rage.

"All I have ever strived for is peace as your Sovereign. But tocircuit, I can no longer restrain my hand, I must retaliate against Larrith The Accuser, an Honor Guard, who has betrayed his own people by condemning its King and Religion. One who has become an apostate, and wishes to see our destruction, and our way of life ruined." At that, the crowd booed and yelled profanity at The Accuser. Alexandroz paced back and forth across the stage while he waited for the voices to die down.

"Larrith The Accuser spreads his treachery, and in his hateful statements I am secretly in league with the South. He has told you that I have made treaties with the blasphemous, technology-seeking elves of Veniar, and the warmongering giants of Turnola. He has told you that I have met with Diablo, King of the murderous Noklathar, with the intentions of allegiance. He has told you that I have permitted The Unyielding Dead of Le'Adra to run freely into our lands to feed upon our children. And the greatest of his deceitful lies is that I have allowed this new and unholy Southern plague to spread and infest our Country. This is all nonsense," Alexandroz said in a serious tone. His speech had become quiet and steady.

"I have protected The Great City for over four thousand cycles! I will continue to protect our lands with the aid of the Patriarch and His wisdom." He paused. "Now, on this circuit of circuits, the lands of your fathers are united at last. As our Kingdom has finally combined with the East to become the Kingdom of the North, and on this glorious festival circuit of Alexurgia, we shall begin our final journey toward peace."

Tom tried to predict what Alexandroz meant, and he guessed that his words portended havoc. Hate bled into the air from the listeners. It was malice for the South, and a fear of the plague that they had heard so little about, except that it endangered their existence, spreading across The Bordergrounds.

The Golden Sun rose to its peak, and the Crimson Sun gave a helping hand to intensify the heat in the closeness of the crowd. Tom was sweating profusely. He grabbed a water jug attached to Bravis, sharing the cooling fluid with his companion, and offered the jug to Devoto, who gladly accepted it.

Tom tried to remember a story that a Scout once told him during his travels, about a sibyl prognosticating the end time. When he heard it, it seemed like a wild and implausible story, but Alexandroz's speech felt like part of that story.

Suddenly a mass blocked out the suns, shading the auditorium. A dragon descended to the stage. The crowd began to panic and scream in terror of the behemoth that approached with outstretched wings. It slowly flew in circles until it landed on the edge of the lower platform. The blue leviathan stared at the audience that now fell silent, caught in _terrofear_.

The dragon tucked in its wings, folding them behind its back; then it let out a roar that displayed its strength and supremacy over all other beings. A rider dismounted onto the stage, ran up the steps of the scaffold where Alexandroz awaited his coming, and saluted his King, kneeling. The rider's full-plate armor, a dark blue mixed with black, denoted that of the highest ranking, an Arch-Dragonlord, with extremely long bullish horns protruding from his helm, and a blue and black cloak. The finest recurved bow clung to his body, strapped across his chest. A double-edge shortsword was sheathed at his right hip, and a notched swordbreaker at his left. A hard combination to overcome in battle, for the toothed blade of the swordbreaker could trap and snap an opponent's blade while the sword landed a deadly blow.

Tom struggled against the inexorable _terrofear_. He hoped against all hope not to leave his body as he had done before on the Fields of Heaven. He bestirred himself not to let it take hold while his fingers clutched the cement arms of his seat and fought against the fear. Images of his wife and children went through his mind, and his memories of them attenuated the force of the _terrofear_ , enabling him to push the fear from his mind. But it was not enough. His chilled blood trapped him once more, suspended outside his body, looking upon himself, frozen. The land grayed around him. Conquered, he had only eyes for his body and the dragon.

The Arch-Dragonlord whispered a message into the Sovereign's ear, leaning in close, and from the speed of his lips, Bravis caught that the message was urgent. Alexandroz nodded in understanding, then spoke a reply to the commander. The gyrran remained unaffected by the behemoth's presence, and with his far superior hearing listened intently to the conversation, although he only collected a few words.

The Arch-Dragonlord stepped back and saluted his King by throwing a hard right arm across his chest, hitting the lamb etched into his left breast with a fist. "For the Father in the name of the Son," he said. He quickly turned and mounted the dragon with a deft leap. The leviathan rocked back on the edge of the stage, then jumped mightily into the air, spreading its massive wings in flight. The Arch-Dragonlord soared through the skies, heading southwest, and soon vanished.

The speechless crowd sat motionless, scared to ice from the Deathlar, but slowly the people returned to their bodies, released from the control of the _terrofear_. Warmth gradually returned to their blood.

Alexandroz put up an arm to the crowd. "Citizens of the North, do not be afraid," he called, though his notice came a little late, for the dragon held them powerless no more. "I have foreseen the threat that grows in the South, and have enlisted the Deathlar to our company. Our freedom is now being challenged, but the road to a purer freedom is prepared before us. I have decided to combat these evils presented to us with unmatched force. And tocircuit, on Alexurgia, the circuit of our independence, the North is going to war once again for its sovereignty, for its freedom!" He threw up his palms and commanded silence. "And, in honor of King Mikole, we shall start the war for peace in the land of Salenk, to avenge his death! In the name of the North!"

With such an announcement, the crowd went into a frenzy of applause and chants against the South, spitting vulgar and malign words about Southerners. They grew excited for war. War promised peace, and an end to the darkness that infiltrated the South.

The King waved his hand again. The people acknowledged and obeyed the order. "But first, let us deal with the true ally of the South, Larrith The Accuser. To commence our journey toward freedom, let us be rid of this apostate, this denouncer. This Southerner!" Alexandroz shouted vigorously, and in a tone filled with contempt. He took a step back, so that he was even with Larrith, and paused for a second while he stared at his accuser.

Tom stood on bandy legs to lean into Bravis, allowing him to whisper into his friend's ear. "Were you able to hear the conversation?" he asked his companion.

Bravis put his cold nose to Tom's ear. "Only a little bit. The man said something about a rough stone rolling in Virra, and the King commanded him to send Arch-Dragonlord Gadada in the East to deal with some sort of uprising," he apprised Tom of the conversation. "But I have no idea what it means, do you?"

Tom thought for a minute, then replied, "No, I don't." He was bewildered by the words. "But apparently there is something else betiding in Virra that we don't know of, and are unlikely to be informed about it around here," he vouched, confident in his assertion. "Alexandroz is eager for war, I tell you, as I recall that the commander of Out-Line said Alexandroz was going to use the plague to go to war, and I wonder if the assassination of King Mikole was convenient, for this ill news will rally all the folk of the North against the South, more than another plague ever would."

Alexandroz opened his mouth to speak, so Tom quickly sat down in silence.

"Do you have any words of defense for your crimes against your Sovereign and your people?" Alexandroz asked. "And don't fill our ears with any more perfidious fabrications!" he added, though some of the crowd did not understand his elevated speech. Despite this, they began to boo once more, and yelled, "Southerner!" Alexandroz hushed them. He waited quietly for the prisoner to speak.

Tears fell from Larrith's eyes and streamed down his cheeks onto his shirt. "I am sorry that my people are as insular as the people of ages past, and that they still think with the parochial and dogmatic minds of old," the Honor Guard said. But his words were muffled as he sobbed. The two Honor Guards still held him by the elbows, gripping them tightly. The crowd grew furious at his speech, even though most did not understand what he said, and they roared and stamped their feet on the hard cement.

Alexandroz slapped the man, vengeance in the stroke. "Let his words be the words of the South, and carry the weight with which they hate and despise us," the King exclaimed. Alexandroz gave a nod to one of the Honor Guards, who let go of Larrith's arm, and dragged the stool to rest next to the apostate. The Honor Guard stood up on it while the other one helped raise the prisoner so that the two stood side by side on the stool. The Honor Guard fixed the noose around Larrith's neck, then stepped down.

"Now that his attack against our Nation is over, let us purge his words from our minds as we purge his evil from this world! Larrith of Heaven, Honor Guard turned apostate, and consorter with the South, your punishment is asphyxiation by being hung in the air, sentenced to live eternally in the darkness of Aburros. May your sinful life be released from the good nature of our company." Alexandroz waved a signal to the Honor Guard, who kicked the stool from beneath Larrith's legs. Tom could not watch the gruesome scene, and closed his eyes, blocking them with his hands as well. In the silence of the auditorium, he could hear Larrith's struggling body.

Tom had seen death before, but he had never witnessed a public hanging; it was vile and he wanted to escape it. His stomach churned. He thought of fleeing, but the steps were overcrowded with bodies.

Bravis lowered his head and leaned into Tom's ear. "I think I should have stayed in my forest, this is too sickening for me, my friend," he whispered so no one close could hear.

"Perhaps you are right, but I never would have made it this far without your help, and I am desperate to see my family," Tom replied into Bravis' ear as quiet as he could manage. He rubbed the hair under his chin, then wiped the sweat on his chest, still holding a hand in front of his now downcast eyes.

After a minute or so, Larrith's body stopped wrestling with movement, and hung in stillness, his eyes yet open with a look of severe pain that gripped everyone in stillness. The two Honor Guards began to retrieve the dead body from the rope.

Alexandroz raised his voice to the crowd. "Arch-Dragonlord Narulo, Western Commander of our new Deathlar aided ranks, has informed me that all the necessary preparatory measures are complete. I must go and lead our army in battle against the South. The Patriarch will take care of us; he will see us to victory!" the King shouted.

"We shall usher in a new era, for on this circuit, I decree the Era of Armistice to be over, as the Era of Peace has begun!" Alexandroz raised his hands and bowed his head.

The audience stood up and assented with an ovation, cheering with glee that the end to their enduring suffering had finally come. "Shall we pray?" he said. "For the Father in the name of the Son. We have exacted retribution this circuit, but our retribution is not over, for we have a struggle ahead. May our journey be swift and done with ease. True are you the faithful!"

"Hallowed is our Savior!" the crowd responded joyously in unison.

A gigantic dragon swooped in from above, shading the arena once more, but this one carried no rider on its back. It landed where the other one had with precision. Alexandroz sprang from the scaffold onto the dragon's back. He positioned himself into a saddle while the dragon lowered its head to the ground where the two Honor Guards held Larrith's dead arms. The two men dropped the body, letting it fall to the floor, and with a roar of hunger, the behemoth scooped up the limp corpse and bit into it, chewing down the torso and legs. Then, with one final gulp, it ate the remainder of the body. It bellowed another sonorous roar before it lifted into the skies, and flew off in the same direction that the Arch-Dragonlord had gone.

Some in the crowd gasped in horror, but many applauded the spectacle. The crowd became alive with chatter, filled with thanks and praise for the Savior and his efforts, and the help of the dragons. Tom sat, speechless with anger at how welcoming the crowd had been for the crusade against the South. Normally they showed their hate for the South with reserved comments, and empty threats, but tocircuit they had cheered in a new era of violence.

Many people began to cheer again until the whole crowd joined in, creating a deafening sound. Tom covered his ears with his palms trying hard to lessen the pounding that the noise burdened his head with. A man wearing a red suit leapt onto the stage, waving his hands in the air; then he put one finger to his lips, as he desperately tried to quiet the arena.

The noise died down, which allowed the man to shout his announcement. "The hall is now closed, but will reopen tonight for the showing of _Alexurgia: A Tale of Freedom_ , tickets . . ." The man's voice became lost in the crowd's movement as people headed for the exits.

The trio followed the mass of people, and headed for the doors at the top of the stairs, which the people currently poured out of and into the streets above. The crowd soon dissipated into the rest of the city, filling the markets and shops once more. Some stopped to look at Devoto, horrified, but quickly carried on without a second thought.

Appalled by the disturbing occurrence, Tom did not want to talk about it; in fact, none of the trio did. The troll looked completely nonplussed, and stared at the ground in seeming contemplation. Bravis listened to the conversations of the people around him, eavesdropping to try to gather more information on what just happened.

Alexandroz's Palace came into view, unobstructed by buildings. The Empyreal Keep rested on the tenth level in the northeast corner; its magnificent golden domes towered high, overlooking the city. Five spires rose to different heights among the marble columns, three shorter frontal spires dwarfed by two back spires, and each possessed a large observatory balcony from which to monitor the city. Trimmed in scarlet stone, and adorned with jewels, it was not a defensive keep, but rather a display of the immense wealth and pride of the North.

Upset even further, Tom envisioned his family to soothe his mood, but his thoughts only fueled his need to escape the city. "We have to find The Twin Daggers," he said, looking at the back of the envelope. "I will go ask someone for directions, it would take us forever to find it on our own." The quicker they delivered the letter, the sooner he would see his family.

"You may be right, we'll wait here. Don't take too long, my stomach is not doing so well," Bravis said. His stomach rumbled and growled fiercely at the trio. It had been many hours since the three had eaten, and despite the horrible scene they had just witnessed, the gyrran could not fight off the intensity of his hunger.

Tom headed into a shop and soon returned with directions. "The shopkeeper said to go straight for a while until we see the Kathronal Square, then take a left and it is on that lane, called Coral Street. He did not know how to write, so remember the names."

The Kathronal Square was empty when the trio arrived, the white-marble monolithic Kathronal raised high into the circuitlight of the suns, much larger than any other building in Heaven, visible from kilometers away. It was built into the skinny conical mountain in the center of the city, the mysterious fifth mountain. A river flowed from its summit in a spiral just like the other four that defended the city's perimeter. This river, however, did not flow into a moat like the others, but tunneled through the Kathronal, traveling deep underground.

"What is that, Bravis?" Tom asked as they neared the massive building. The river still lay at some distance, and appeared to only be accessible from inside the walls of the Kathronal.

"It looks like wine, but it smells like blood," Bravis responded with disgust. His powerful snout made him recoil at the dismal odor.

The few clouds above did not pass over the building, but instead parted to its sides, as the sky always gazed down upon the Kathronal Square in whatever light shone from the suns. Two large, square pools lay at each side of the marble steps, as still as the building itself. Tom climbed the steps of the propylon to the two giant wooden doors that rested between two slender white marble columns. He turned to look back at his companions. "This place is just as creepy as the other one. Should we go inside?" His voice echoed over the emptiness.

"What in the aburros for? I have no reason to help myself remember the horror of such an evil place," Bravis replied with a shiver crawling up his neck as he fixed his eyes on the entrance doors. With intricate carvings of chrysanthemums and a swirling border, they were elaborate and beautiful doors, perhaps only rivaled by the doors of The Empyreal Keep.

The work aesthetically pleased and complemented the rest of the Kathronal's architecture, yet it did not please the gyrran. He looked up at Tom with a grin. "Perhaps I kicked you a little too hard before."

"I guess you are right . . . I . . . I just thought maybe we could find out some information on why we were almost killed," Tom said, walking back down the stairs to join the others. "Plagued or not, I am still a citizen of the North, and they should not have treated me as they did."

Before the group made any distance, the right door of the Kathronal swung open, and an old man peered at the trio. The short-nosed man supported a long white beard and wore a clean, rainbow-striped robe that started with one color at the bottom and changed all the way up to his shoulders. A palm-sized book rested in his hand by his hip. An anadem sat positioned atop his head with tiny white chrysanthemums evenly spaced throughout the garland.

"Who are you and why do you disturb The Sacred Church at this hour?" the elder inquired of the group.

"I am Tom Navo, and my companions here are Bravis and Devoto. We are sorry to cause you unrest, we did not mean to intrude," Tom said. He gazed at the book the elder held.

"These late hours are for healers of the clergy to do their deeds, and Alexurgia service for the aristocracy; the Kuriakomas are opened for you, but you may come back tomorrow if you wish, in the early light. Now I am called to my duties. If you need aid, call upon Rector Durlin in the morning," the elder mumbled to the three. "Hallowed is our Savior."

"Praise be to Him, elder. Again, we are sorry for interrupting. If we need assistance we will certainly call upon the Rector, thank you for your kindness." Tom bowed his torso in respect to the church elder. He swiveled around to the street that led to The Twin Daggers, Bravis and Devoto following close behind, catching up to walk next to one another.

"Troubled graces, how did he know we were there? I had been standing on the steps for only five seconds," Tom whispered to the two, flummoxed by the elder's strange appearance.

"I have no idea, it was almost as if he was waiting for you," Bravis replied jokingly.

Tom heard the door close behind him and turned to look. The old man had retreated inside the Kathronal. With sharper eyes than usual, as if drawn, he noticed something on the steps. "Look." He pointed to the top of the stairs by the bottom of the heavy wooden door. He hurried to pick up the book that the elder had held. "He must have dropped it. He did look very ill and weak," he said to the two, who waited at the bottom of the stairs. He started to walk down the steps when he glanced up to see his two companions staring at him.

"I t'ink you should put t'at back," Devoto objected. He had remained suspiciously silent until now.

"You heard what the elder said, we should not disturb them," Tom began.

"Yes, but you can leave it there for them to find," Bravis interjected before Tom could finish.

"What if someone stole it during the night, you would feel pretty bad, wouldn't you? I'll just take it for now and return in the morning," Tom assured them, continuing toward Coral Street.

Despite the unlikely scenario of someone stealing a book of The Sacred Church, Bravis and Devoto said nothing more on the matter, letting Tom carry his gift box, the small black book, and the letter. Tom turned to the gyrran. "By the way, that was an excellent usage of the word aburros back there. You are learning quickly, my friend."

The gyrran smiled. "Insooth."

The skylight started to fade as the suns disappeared over the horizon, and the group wandered down the street looking for The Twin Daggers, getting lost on several other roads, for it was much more confusing than what the man who gave Tom directions had told. At last, though, before the final light of the Golden Sun left the city in darkness, the trio arrived at their destination.

#

### My Annals: On The Regicide

We stood in the golden waiting chambers of Lefiiz. I had never been there ere then. It was beautiful. There had been twelve Nations within the borders of what is now Virra, but over the past few thousand cycles, the territory has become a wasteland. Most of the cities lay in ruin from war after war. Lefiiz, the capital city, was still a marvel for my eye to behold, with its golden streets, and incredible golden halls. Nothing so gold exists anywhere else. As brilliant as the Golden Sun, as the saying goes.

I had never met a denizen of Virra, the great race of the Vaenu, but several towered over me while I stood in the waiting chamber. They were very tall, reaching about two and a half meters high. They were also very thin, with fair skin. Blue orbs watched my every move with suspicion. Blond hair flowed down past their shoulders.

But the most interesting and different part of their race was what came from their backs. Two huge feathery wings jutted out, whiter than marble. They twitched from time to time. I even saw a few of them take flight from a distance, though they were not as fast as I thought they would be, but I could have easily been mistaken.

When I was waiting in the hall I realized that they were strangely familiar looking to me, for I had seen one of their so-called cousins. The Nok'Lathar resembled the Vaenu in so many ways, except for leathery skin, and the vermillion pigment of their skin. Also, the folk of Salenk had twin spiraling horns protruding forward from atop their skulls, and these folk did not.

This has nothing to do with the regicide of Mikole, but I have no other place to put this interesting story, so I have decided to do so here at this time, as I do not wish to forget it. I may take it out if I find a better location in my Annals. I have been told this story a few times over the cycles, and it could be mere legend, but it could also be truth, I do not know as of yet.

The legend states that the Lord of the Skies, Sorik, the mythical mud-colored dragon that is said to live in The Canyon of Solace, saw the queen of the Vaenu countless ages ago, and to him she was the most attractive creature he had ever laid eyes upon. Sorik assumed the guise of her King and lured her into bed.

After he had finished with her, he took to the skies again in his natural form. The Queen cried when she discovered she was gravid. She knew it was the dragon's offspring. It was said that the King of the Vaenu was impotent and unable to copulate. Knowing that she was deceived, and that the King would kill her for bearing another's child, she fled to the barren west, as the Vaenu at the time lived within the borders of what is presently Le'Adra.

The story said she gave birth to the race of Nok'Lathar, a mixture of Sorik's leathery hide, and sharp horns, all formed in the shape of a Vaenu. Where the red color of their skin comes from in this story, I cannot say, but that is the tale.

Back to my main entry.

The Race of Wings towered over our Savior as well. This did not intimidate him as it did me, for his face was calm, and his nerves were still. All twelve of the Honor Guard accompanied us, maintaining a circle around our Savior at all times. The brilliant chamber doors opened before us, and Archbishop Julitus presented himself to Alexandroz, draped in his unclean silver robe.

"Our Savior, I hope your journey was pleasant," said he with a smile. "King Mikole is awaiting your arrival in the Main Hall. Please follow me." Then he leaned into Alexandroz's ear and whispered something I could not hear, but he had a malicious look about him.

The Honor Guard, a cadre of the twelve most adroit soldiers in The Conqueramada, personally guarded our Savior everywhere outside his palace walls. This place was no exception. As the Archbishop led us down a few corridors, the Honor Guard walked in formation, walling off our Savior and me, with four in front and back, and two on each side of us. Six Vaenu guards trailed behind our company.

We entered the chamber through solid gold doors, lined with spectacular jewels. King Mikole sat on his throne dressed in a green button-up silk shirt and a kilt that matched. He rose to greet our Savior with a stern grip that led to a quick embrace, like old friends hugging after cycles of being apart.

"Come this way," said Mikole after a few minutes of catching up. We were led into another chamber attached to the Main Hall. A long oval table was situated in the center of the room. Papers lay strewed over half of it. "Please have a seat." Mikole gestured by pulling out a chair from the table, which is normally a servant's job. I find myself often doing the same thing, as a servant to our Savior.

The meeting was small, consisting of the twelve Honor Guard, eight Vaenu guards, two Vaenu advisors, and the Archbishop. The guards stood around the room, each race wary of the other. I sat beside Alexandroz at the table. Mikole's advisors and the Archbishop placed themselves across from us.

"To business then, yes?" said Mikole, folding in his wings behind his back as he sat, his speech concise and direct, not sparing any time.

"What are you prepared to offer?" asked Alexandroz, straight to the point in an austere manner.

"All the lands west of the Leo'Olto River to your border on the Wolak. This would include Vangel Bay, but not Vangel Island, and since you have already incorporated Bedal and Quelthol that would give you all the land north and south of the river," replied Mikole unhappily.

"Insooth, that is generous, but what about the Siger and Miranda Rivers? That land still has forest around it, and you don't have the troops to protect it anymore," said Alexandroz. He knew precisely where and how many troops Mikole had at his disposal.

"You are asking a lot, my friend," responded Mikole, shaking his head, but considering the offer.

"I am giving a lot. You won't have to worry about war for one hundred cycles, and you can finally repopulate all of your cities, instead of clinging to two or three well-guarded ones," said Alexandroz, trying to convince the other King.

Mikole briefly conferred with his advisors, and their whispers were filled with grunts and nays, yet finally they agreed on a proposal. Mikole turned to face our Savior again. "If you want the forested river areas, then we cannot offer the land between the Leo'Olto and Vangara Rivers. If we give up all of our rivers, then we will have nowhere to rebuild," said Mikole sternly. There was a hint of desperation in his voice.

Alexandroz sprang to his feet in anger. "You are lucky to have any land at all, my dear friend. You are being raided daily, and you are losing soldiers faster than you can blink. I don't see how you are in a position to make any stipulations," argued our Savior.

Mikole slammed his hands on the table, making it wobble a little, even though it was as sturdy as solid oak. He leapt to his feet, and spread his wings with rage in his eyes. "How dare you come into my halls and threaten my lands! You are being greedy and unreasonable. If this alliance is to function, we have to work together, but we can't do that if you're taking all of our land," shouted Mikole. He grew exasperated by our Savior's demands.

Alexandroz straightened up and adjusted his armor, but even then, he was half of a meter shorter than the Vaenu King. "My dear friend, if you are unwilling to be rational, then I'm afraid I must find someone else who will be," told he to the other King kindly and slowly, in a composed manner.

Mikole eyed him when our Savior said this. He was unsure what his statement suggested. But then I saw the Archbishop nod slightly at Alexandroz with a malevolent grin that showed his teeth. The Archbishop lowered his brow.

I blinked. By the time my eyes were open again, our Savior had retrieved a hidden dagger, and extended his arm in a rapid swipe that slit Mikole's throat. The Vaenu grabbed his neck in surprise, and slowly fell to the floor, gasping for air.

The Honor Guard quickly responded, drawing hidden daggers, since their Sonswords were taken from them earlier. Soon all eight of the winged guards lay dead on the floor with holes in their throats. The two advisors cowered in their seats, pleading to Alexandroz to spare their lives.

"Does anyone else know of this meeting?" said our Savior, turning to face the Archbishop.

"No, it was confidential, only these two, the highest level of advisors, and myself know," answered he with confidence.

"Good, I'm glad you were able to maintain such secrecy," uttered Alexandroz, not paying any more attention to the Archbishop. Dagger in hand, he swiftly executed the two advisors, suffering through their short, loud cries. "Where can we put the bodies?" asked he, eyeing the Archbishop.

"In the Royal Bed Chambers. We can make it look like a meeting between the King and his most trusted advisors while the guards stood watch outside, only to be slaughtered as well," replied the Archbishop with the well thought-out plan. "The halls are clear. I ordered that the level be maintained in quiet so that the King could rest," said he with the same evil grin across his face.

"Very competent you are, Archbishop Julitus. You will not be forgotten in all of this. Now if you could lead us to the chambers?" asked Alexandroz politely, lifting the large, heavy body of the dead Vaenu King.

"Yes, of course, this way," said he, leading the Honor Guard, who carried the dead bodies, down the empty corridors. I followed closely behind our Savior. We arrived in front of the chamber doors when I spotted someone poking their head around the hall, spying.

I remember my voice squeaking when I yelled, "Sovereign! Sovereign!" while I pointed to the man watching us. He ran down the corridor, and our Savior followed in pursuit. The man was slow, and it did not take our Savior long to get within range. He threw his dagger with a supreme accuracy into the back of the Vaenu's skull.

Alexandroz dragged the body back down the long corridor, and by the time he reached the bedroom entrance, the rest of the scene was situated. The dead King was placed in his bed with the two advisors sitting in chairs next to him. The guards were perfectly positioned in formation thanks to the Archbishop's help.

"Do you know who he is?" questioned Alexandroz to the Archbishop, pulling the dagger from the man's head.

"He is a mere servant, we can put him with the others. I will go and fetch a tray with drinks and food to place on the table," said the Archbishop wickedly. He soon returned with a tray filled with three drinks and food.

"Excellent job, my Honor Guards," said Alexandroz with a pleased smile. His voice was happy again. "With the Church's following, taking control of the country will be simple, and when this is over you can reign over Virra's territory under my authority," told he to the Archbishop in a delighted tone.

The Sacred Church was fairly new in Virra, but through the Archbishop's strenuous efforts, our religion had become widely spread in the territory. "Thank you, my Sovereign, our Savior," said he, bowing his head loyally. "In a sequence's time, I will propose to The Royal Council that we should seek annexation into Haven. Only a few minority votes stand against me, so it will be a swift victory for you," said the Archbishop joyously, but his brow was still furrowed in an odd manner. Now that I think about it, he was a very hideous-looking man.

Larrith, one of the Honor Guard, became emotional amongst the dead bodies. I could tell that he was going to break. He was too young to be an Honor Guard. I tried to calm him. I reassured him that this ploy was necessary for our survival, but I am not certain that he was touched by my words.

We shall see what becomes of the situation. I know our Savior acted with the purest intentions that circuit. He has foreseen many things, and he has spoken that in the short sequences to come, we will earn our peace. Vale.

14/6/2151: Armistice. My Annals: On The Regicide by Ian Azikwe

#

### Three Flagons of Ale. Some Despairing News. A Disappearing Act.

Decorated marble lampposts were spaced every few meters down all the streets. Tom had not noticed them before, but now that darkness descended over the city of Heaven, they were hard to miss. The lamps had a mix of torches and electric bulbs; every other one had a torch burning that dimly lit the area, but in the next post, a light bulb illuminated a much larger space, which in combination created an odd glow in the night. The lampposts were the guides that provided wanderers with a way home in the time of the moons. After the sunset hours, the streets of the city became quiet, with only a few drunkards straying from the taverns.

A lamppost stood next to the sign of The Twin Daggers, and shined on the two daggers that crossed like an x, with three bold words arching over them as the weapons gleamed in the light. The inscribed words meant little to anyone unfamiliar with the establishment, since so few read, and those most likely to possess such skill avoided any such shady, mottled white building.

The trio entered the tavern. They noticed first how extremely squalid and unkempt the place looked, black grime covering the walls and floors, and traces of food on every table. A sticky residue layered the top of the bar. Behind it, an odiferous man stood waiting to take orders, his unctuous skin mixing with his sweat to create a foul smell that Bravis could barely stand, with his sensitive nose.

Next to the barkeep a large buxom woman stood, her face round and her skin pale, long golden curls flowing down to her mid-back. She busily ran to pick up flagons and plates, and gave tables one sweep with her rag.

"Do you guys want anything to eat?" Tom asked in a hushed voice, for the folk around him looked disturbed by their entrance.

"Yess, but not from here," Devoto replied.

"I concur with the troll. There is an inn across the street where we could find a room for the night and also eat," Bravis suggested while he scanned the dingy comforts of the tavern.

"Okay, why don't you two do that, I'm going to wait here for a while, maybe the person will still show up," Tom said with a faint smile of hope. "Just tell the receptionist my name, and have them hold a key for me."

"All right," Bravis said in an unhappy tone. He neither wanted to leave Tom behind, nor linger in this unpleasant place. He certainly did not like the idea of alone time with the troll either.

"Do you mind taking this with you?" Tom asked Devoto, indicating his package. The troll gripped the box without saying a word, but nodded in agreement. "I'm going to put this away, too." He untied a bag fastened to Bravis. Quickly and secretly, he shoved the palm-sized black book into the sack; then he knotted it as securely as he knew how. The two disappeared out the door and into the street. As the door shut tightly, he looked down at the floor and saw the same book that he thought he had just placed in the bag, now lying next to the door.

Tom bent to grab the bound pages, wiped off the dust that stuck to the cover from the ground, and sneezed twice. He wedged the book between his leather pants and mail leggings, hoping that no one saw it, then took a seat in a booth near the back where he could watch over the entire area, especially the entranceway. If anyone spotted him with the book, trouble could follow, for no one but clergy members were supposed to have such material, and he certainly did not have the robes to protect him. No one paid him any special attention, at least not that he could tell.

His stomach growled, so he ordered a glass of water and a meal of pork with rice. He waited for long hours while he sat alone, examining the folk around him. Most were bibulous bounders and carousers, who drank surfeits of ale and hard liquor. Humans filled the place as the majority, but dwarves and Uprights also sat here and there, speckled within the open area.

Dark brown booths lined the room, and in the middle of the tavern more tables of assorted sizes were situated, some of them square card tables, but the majority of them were round and meant for larger parties. On the opposite end of the room from Tom, at a red baize-covered billiard table, two men played against two Evolvueas: one, a black panther, draped in the blackest robe that swallowed all light, had a hood drawn over its head; the other, a marmot who wore no clothing, showed off its thick brown coat. The four drunkenly argued over whether a shot counted, or whose turn it was, and the like. It was the night of Alexurgia, but it looked as if this was the normal crowd, which scared Tom. But he had said he would deliver the letter, and that meant it would be delivered.

From nowhere, one of the drunken men playing billiards started singing a festival song in low tones:

"Alexandroz is King! We sing with primal praise,

of the slayer and sunderer of evil;

we men of merry mark his magnificence.

Deep in darkness that drowns his armies,

he wields wondrous might to massacre

the wicked Southerners; his luminous love lingers on

forever.

We, The Empyreans erupt with emotion, full of fervor

that our Savior instills; our hearts

hum his honor in every noble note."

The man took a breath, lifted his mug, and quaffed half its contents in one attempt. While he took his turn round the table, his mate picked up the melody:

"Our Savior savors his victory, the Nations

kneel as once before; they bow

before his feet with bounteous worship.

My Sovereign cares for couriers of compassion,

those who despise the depraved deserters

of truth; they run rampantly never to be rescued.

Rejoice in our Savior, rejuvenator of righteousness,

and make exuberant noise for his grace;

O, praise be to him, thankful of his Holy

name!"

When he ended, others began to take over, singing different tunes of praise and thanksgiving to the King. A few of the songs Tom recognized, but most sounded completely unfamiliar to his ears.

Throughout the night, Tom heard whispers of the coming war; most folk discussed how long and brutal the trek over The Devides would be for The Conqueramada. Supply lines would be hard to maintain, and many would probably die before they ever reached the South. Opinions were yelled from one end to the other. Spontaneous voices remarked how easily fought the war would be, but others disagreed, saying it would endure, more than likely for cycles before the end.

None of this eased Tom's nerves. And to make it worse, an odd figure in the back, who sat opposite from him, appeared to watch his reactions quite studiously. Tom tried to keep a straight face and a level mind. Yet he got the impression that the man saw through his effort, detecting how he truly felt about all the talk. Something was familiar about the man, something Tom could not pinpoint. The man wore a black-feathered coat and a white-feathered hat with a wide brim. A light scar ran from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his right nostril. Every time Tom looked the man's way, a cold tingle shot through his neck, one that lingered for a while after he had turned away.

The hour had grown late, and still he sat alone. The music of the evening had died long ago. Tom was about to give up when a sickly figure walked into the tavern, striding across the room to the booth behind where he sat. Another man awaited the frail man's arrival, red-skinned, though not apparently from the suns, with a slight tan beneath the dark crimson. Their talk quickly caught Tom's interest. Despite the silence of the room, he could only understand one side of the conversation.

"I am well tonight, you?" the red-skinned man said. "No, not too long. I've eaten my fill, but you can order if you so desire." The barmaid whisked over and took an order. "Besides a meal, what is it you fancy, I know this information you have does not come without expense. Is that all? I can easily acquire that for you. A gift for me, you say, well, out with it. Armor? What armor? No, I haven't heard a thing about it, but I take it you have learned something valuable? Insooth. That is unexpected and desirable news. A bonus worth twenty times what you ask. Do you still have the man in custody? A shame. Well tell me, where did this letter reveal its location? I don't believe that for a moment, no. That's ridiculous. So close to my homeland!" The red-skinned man pounded the table, which startled Tom, and also caused a few to glance the man's way, but they quickly went about their own business again.

The red-skinned man continued, "My King will not be all too pleased to hear such angering news. No, I have no reason to doubt your tongue. You're right, he certainly will be delighted on that half, oh yes, and thankful. Generous even, I should say. Yes, I'll send a bird south right away. Now, for the information I came for. No, do not misinterpret my words, I am quite grateful for that special. I never thought the suit would be found in my lifetime. Though, I'm sure many have felt the same, after all it has been lost for so many thousands of cycles. Please, proceed at your leisure, I wish not to pressure." The man paused when the barmaid approached with the ordered meal.

"So, your letter hinted at something more urgent, having to do with raising an army," the red-skinned man continued. "War? What war? Ah, so that's what all the chatter is about. What? Already? When? Sequences ago? Is there time to . . . the other cities will be lost by then. By Mother and Father! He has gone himself! How many go with him? Three battalions, how many is that? Thirty thousand! By Mother and Father, this is much graver than your hint implied; you should have been more pressing with your words. I'll have to send warning this instant. More, you say . . ." A long pause came over the side of the conversation that Tom could hear. He listened intently, trying to pick up the speech of the sickly man, but between the food occupying his mouth and his whispery voice, Tom caught nothing intelligible.

"What exactly do you want?" the red-skinned man said. "I don't understand . . . why would you want that? Really. I see, such it is normally with revenge. So you think him mortal after all? A liar and a deceiver, you say, and now you wish all to see such treachery, his falseness. Ah, now I see why you gave me such a mighty gift as to the whereabouts of the armor. I must say . . . all of this is very . . . surprising. I would never want you as my servant, no. I will do what I can to see that what you ask is done, as long as you succeed at your end. Insooth, there is nothing more that I wish for than to see his fall. I must be going then, to see that preparations are made. My people must be ready." Tom heard the man stand to his feet. "What was that you said? No, my blood is half or less, yes. My mother had gold in her eyes. Ha! Fools your people well enough, I do say. Insooth. Truly, I must send the bird at once. Till our next meeting."

"Till out next meeting," Tom heard the sickly man reply. He watched the red-skinned man exit the tavern. Soon after, the sickly man made his departure, never exposing much of his face, at least not enough for anyone to recognize him. Yet, there was something curiously familiar about the sickly man's voice, though Tom heard little of his speech; still, it was almost as if he had heard it before, but he could not think of where or when.

In his boredom, he extracted the letter from his pocket and read the back. Curiously, it had writing on it where it did not before, which stated: _The Woman At The Door_. He raised his head to see a short woman appear through the doorway, standing by the bar. The words made him wave the woman over to him, positive without a doubt that she was the person he had waited the long, uncomfortable hours for.

Chocolate hair flowed mid length just past her shoulders, and brown orbs glistened even in the darkness of the poor lighting. Her mocha skin was smooth and without wrinkles or blemishes, and she wore thin black clothes, for even in the night it remained too warm for heavier garments. She was slender and very agreeable to the eye, and she turned everyone's head as she quickly, yet silently walked toward the four-person booth where Tom rested his elbows on the table. She wore a plain white headband.

"Are you he? The messenger?" she asked Tom, already knowing the answer. She sat down across from him. A delicate gold chain wrapped around the nape of her neck, and a golden jewel glistened above her breasts, modestly revealed by the v-cut. Tom had never seen a woman wear such clothing, for it was not a common dress in the North, as only harlots revealed their cleavage. And the only place he had ever heard of their gathering was in the dwarven district of Heaven, or anywhere dwarves resided in large numbers, places he never visited. "I've been coming in here every night for two sequences, hoping you would arrive; I heard the news was of dire importance, yet you arrive so late. What news do you have from Anakore'in?" She situated herself in the noisy booth, resting her hands on the table.

Tom stared at the pendant for far too long, then averted his eyes. "My delay was not intended, The Borderground is being well guarded nowacircuits, and we ran into some problems," he said, rubbing his thick black hair, staring down at the tablecloth.

The barmaid came abruptly. "Would you like something to drink or eat, my evening lady?" she asked tiredly, playing with her long golden hair. _Evening lady . . . not even in a shady place such as this, are harlots welcomed_ , Tom thought. The young barmaid sported a colorful red cotton top that covered her throat. The black pants she wore frayed at her heels, and a belt clung to her waistline much like a carpenter's belt with giant pockets for tools, except rags, herbs, and spices filled her pockets.

"Yes, bring two flagons of your porter for me and my friend here," the woman replied, giving the barmaid a smile.

"All right, that'll be out momentarily," the barmaid said. She scurried off to help another table.

"Are we celebrating Alexurgia?" Tom asked, curious. He had never celebrated the festival before, at least not under that name.

"Of course not. I'm not one to celebrate a stolen festival. The circuit Alexandroz and his SLM took over the country! Ha! Did you know that it used to be called The Summer Carnival before it was taken over by the Sovereign? It's been a festival circuit for many ages past, but now that information is hidden, and few live who know the truth." She snorted. "Did you know this isn't even the same orbit that the freedom movement won their final victory?" the woman asked in a candid tone, as if they were old chums, yet she had neglected to even introduce herself to Tom.

He rubbed his growing sideburns. "I've heard that before, yes, from a few elders in my city." Tom nodded. "Then what are we celebrating?" he questioned inquisitively, directing the conversation away from the Sovereign. He did not want to talk out against The Sacred Church or the King in public. It would be suicide to do so. Yet, the woman before him did it openly.

"I suppose we could celebrate the old ways, but that's not why I ordered us drinks. I believe that you don't truly know someone until you have had at least three flagons of ale in their company. You truly understand someone then," she explained to him, who looked at her blankly, a little confused.

"Well, I've never heard of that, but I won't argue its validity," Tom said with a broad smile. The barmaid came back with two flagons of dark beer—in the hue of molasses—and set them on the tabletop. He noticed two wedding bands on the barmaid's ring finger; one, made from white gold, shined in the dull light, ornamented with a pearl. A lamb, crowned with chrysanthemums, held the tail of a wolf that opened its jaws upon the pearl, and together the animals formed the shape of the band. The other ring was plain silver, engraved with unreadable text. The barmaid vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

Tom laughed to himself as he recollected his wife's defiance against wearing the second ring: the symbol of all Northern women's marriage to Alexandroz. Law imposed that all marriages had to subscribe to the second ring, which took precedence over the husband's band. She had hated the idea, but desperately wanted to seal their lives together in union, and eventually accepted the law.

"Cheers," the woman said, interrupting his memory. The two clanked flagons, and after, she drank a monstrous gulp. She grinned, which for some odd reason made Tom trust her, though he did not even know her name.

"Cheers," Tom repeated. Then he took a swallow as well.

"I am sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I am Shakara Varekova _descentari_ Vlakor," she said.

"Pleasant to meet you, Shakara. I am Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter."

"Pleasant to meet you, too, Tom Navo. So, you said _we_ , I take it you came here with another," Shakara commented.

"Two others, actually. One a creature I had never heard of before: a gyrran, named Bravis. Plus a troll named Devoto, who guided us through The Devides," Tom informed her of his strange companions.

"A troll? That's impossible, they aren't allowed beyond The Bordergrounds."

"Yes, we figured as much, since he was told rather harshly to make back for his home to The Devides," Tom said. "But he eluded the border patrols during the night, and after the border, we've only had one incident. Though everyone in the city appears to be absolutely shocked when their eyes fall upon him." He scratched at his neck hairs.

Her face showed her incredulity. "No, you don't understand, trolls are supposed to be killed on sight, no matter what. The Conqueramada doesn't trust them, bah, no one trusts them," she said in a low voice. "It is bizarre that you haven't been robbed, or even worse, had your throat slit in the night."

"Well, he hasn't shown any signs that he wishes us ill will," he stated quietly.

"You should still watch yourself if you travel with him any farther," she warned him. "So is that intended for me?" Shakara lowered her gaze to the envelope on the table between them.

"Yes, it is." Tom shoved it her way across the flat surface. "Do you know how to read?"

She opened the envelope. "Yes, I do. Born with minor privileges, and Anakore'in advanced my skill." She read the letter in silence. After a few moments, her facial expression went from sanguine to outright angry.

After a minute or two of silence, she finally spoke, "You better finish that, we're going to need round two in a second." Her voice echoed with gloom. She finished off her flagon, so Tom did the same. She let out a belch. "Excuse me," she said, holding her hand over her mouth. She flagged down the barmaid and ordered two brown ales. The barmaid scooped up the empty flagons and ran off to the kitchen.

"So tell me about yourself, Tom. Where are you from?" Shakara asked in a sulky voice. He noticed that she did not intend to be rude, but something in the letter had upset her greatly.

"I'm from Bedal. I have worked as a Scout in the Hill Glutter Brigade for that last few cycles, and now I'm heading home to my wife and two daughters," Tom said, trying to be brief, as he had been talking about his family throughout the entire journey, and he was sure his companions were sick of it.

"That's good, it sounds like you are happy to be getting back to your family," Shakara said as she tried to be more agreeable.

"Yes, I am very much, it's been a few cycles since I've been home. I had planned to leave bright and early in the morning, though. I might still, I haven't been sleeping anyway," he reported. Morning approached already outside, and very soon, the Crimson Sun would sprout up in the east.

She furrowed her brow in a grim way. She sat there, looking at the table in an awkward silence, but after a few minutes, she assembled the courage to talk again. "Do you . . ." She stopped herself short. A grunt escaped her; then she cleared her throat. "Do you have any idea why Anakore'in asked you to deliver this to me? Or what it says?" she asked seriously.

"I know it has something to do with the growing threats of war." Tom stared at her hair. It was attractively touchable, soft, with a sweet shine. He shifted to meet her gaze. "But no, I am not exactly sure why," he confessed to her. "Anakore'in told me he wanted to warn you, so that you could make haste to his abode."

"Yes, that's what I figured you thought, and you're right to a certain degree. It is about the war, or at least has some relevance to the war." Her speech shook. "But Anakore'in doesn't want me to travel to his abode to escape danger as you think. You see . . . I'm not really a friend of Anakore'in." She took a swig, then grunted again. "I'm one of his spies, one of his assets," she reluctantly disclosed.

"I have no idea what the babble that's supposed to mean." He laughed slightly.

"I know . . ." She paused. "It means I do things he is unable to do himself. It means I collect information that needs to be collected; I steal items that need to be stolen . . . it means I'm a contract killer," she mumbled in one slow breath. Then, she swigged half her mug in one shot.

Tom did not know what to make of her confession; he glanced around the room awkwardly, trying to hold back his laughter. He sighted the man who had been watching him and shivered. He turned back to her. "So you are telling me you are an assassin for a dying lizard who lives hundreds of kilometers from anyone else, off in a place that nothing apparently travels to, and yet he still chooses to meddle in the waves of wars . . ." He barely contained himself, laughter on the edge of his throat.

"I know it sounds fully odd and out of the ordinary, but it's true," Shakara asserted, keeping her voice low, just above a whisper.

Tom took another drink, set his flagon down, and wiped his mouth. "Unable to himself . . . he's a _tiny_ reptile . . ." he muttered, with more than a trace of skepticism in his voice. "For crying aloud, you expect me to believe this?" He started to let his laughter go in short bursts.

"Yes, he is a reptile, but don't be fooled by his lizard disguise, he's not some dotard. He's more powerful than you know. He says what we are doing puts the world on the path to peace. Maybe there is truth in his words," she told him angrily. Annoyance gnawed at her. "But that's why we do it, to maintain balance and peace between the countries, so no one gets too powerful."

Tom could not help bursting out in laughter, now, a spray of ale spitting into his lap. He grabbed a cloth napkin and dabbed at the wet spots. "Do you realize what you just told me? A harmless reclusive reptile has assassins . . . you don't find that a _tad_ bit humorous?"

Shakara stared at him with an austere face, which quelled much of Tom's laughter. "I see that a child would find it humorous, yes, but it's a fact. Do you want to know what the letter says?" He nodded a reluctant yes. "It says that he's received information on an artifact that belonged to his first apprentice who died near the beginning in the Era of Ruin. It's my next mission, Tom. And it says I'm supposed to convince you to go with me, so that I can teach you to become one of his assets," she informed him of the details presented in the letter.

He figured he was being fooled with, and he did not care for it. He leaned back in the booth and took another swig. "It says that I'm supposed to go off with you, to help you find some artifact, and along the way you train me to be like you," he said mockingly. "Listen, I have a family whom I haven't seen in more than five cycles. Plus I'm retiring, so whatever joke you're trying to pull on me, pull it on someone else." He got up to leave, but she grasped his arm and stopped him in his place.

"You know how to read?" she asked. He nodded. "Then read the letter, Tom. Just take a glance at it." Her eyes pleaded with him, and her desperate voice pierced into his heart, but why, he did not know. He sighed, and she handed the paper to him.

He glanced through it while he stood. "Okay, it says those things, so what? The lizard is a nutty . . . I'm sorry, but I have to go. B'night, miss," he said hastily. He was flummoxed as to why this was happening to him, and at that moment, all he wanted to do was go home to his family.

"No, wait." She gripped his arm even tighter. "We didn't have our third round. Please stay and have the last one with me." She begged him with big wide eyes.

Tom saw in them her loneliness, and decided to stay. Pity rose in him. He sat down and finished the remnant in his mug.

She did the same and ordered the last round, this time blond ale, getting lighter beers with every round. "Now I know what you are thinking. I thought the same thing when it happened to me," she told him in a despairing voice.

"What do you mean, when what happened to you?" he asked, interested.

"When you first met Anakore'in, did he tell you the ancient story about The Cataclysmic Flood, or maybe about the Fifty-six Cycles of Death?" Shakara questioned.

"No, he told me about an unusual alteration of how Thalreon fought Anu," he replied.

"Ah, that's a new one for me. I know of at least three others he favors telling new recruits. I was told the one about the Eratuu's first war with the Deathlar; it is quite a long tale. In that manner, I think that all of the tales Anakore'in narrates consume an extreme amount of time. Tell me something, Tom, do you remember having a headache while you were with Anakore'in?"

"Yes, but Anakore'in was kind enough to give me some special mountain water for the pain," he responded, remembering how little the water had helped.

"Indeed, I thought as much. You see, six cycles ago, this happened to me. At the time, I was on my way back to my home in Quelthol. I had been in the military for two cycles as a Scout down by The Bordergrounds when a storm hit and I lost my party. I was wandering in the woods and found Anakore'in's abode. While I recuperated there, he told me the long story and gave me water for a strange headache I had. He then asked me to deliver a message to a friend of his in Heaven; I agreed since it was on my way home. Strangely, I made it through The Devides unscathed, by myself, but when I got to Heaven, the man to whom I delivered the letter told me many nasty, unbelievable truths about the King and his government, and what I could do to expose the falseness and bring reform. In need of money, I let him recruit me, and later that circuit, I picked up my military paycheck and left the service for good. I sent almost all of my money back home to my family. For the next three cycles, I trained with my recruiter, and for the last three I've been solo. I haven't seen the man since." She stared at the table and rested her face on her fist as her eyes glazed over.

"All that time I was stealing extremely rare and valuable items like books, ancient suits of armor, weapons, all of which Anakore'in told me to sell for myself after I showed them to him. I could only sell them on the dead-man's market," Shakara said with a displeased look in her eyes. Even the most decent of folk knew what kind of people traded in the dead-man's market: the most unfavorable of people by far, in all the nations. "But seven orbits ago," she continued, "I couldn't take being separated from my family any longer, so I went home. Only I found that I didn't have a house or family to go home to." Her last words were only a faint mumble. She wiped away the tears that trickled down to her black shirt.

"What do you mean, you didn't have a family to go back to? They had perished?" Tom asked quietly.

"Nope," she uttered after taking a drink. "They had never existed. Not my husband, not my little girl, not even my house." She shook her head. "Not a single soul in the city had ever heard the last name Varekova, or knew anyone who matched the descriptions I gave out. All my memories had been false, and I have no idea where they came from," she confessed to Tom. He sat immobile, nonplused by her story. "All I know is that my family lived and died inside my mind."

Her eyes reddened. "You see the thing is, I was supposed to be on a mission, I was never supposed to go home. I was never supposed to know that my family didn't exist. I couldn't even say anything to anyone, you know why?" she asked rhetorically. "Because no one lives long enough to tell. I found out there is a circle of agents of Anakore'in, not just one or two, but several, more than a dozen at least. And I found out that most don't make it past their second or third missions because they get homesick, and then mysteriously wind up dead. So I didn't tell anyone and kept on doing the assignments that were sent to me, waiting until the circuit I was sent my own trainee. You. I knew it wouldn't be long, and it wasn't." She dabbed at her cheeks with the napkin.

"But I'm not a recruit, and I'm not you," Tom said. "I have no ambitions to reform the government. And as I said, I'm retiring. I don't need the money anymore, I've sent more than enough back to my family to support us well for the last of my circuits. Look, I'm sorry about your memories, I don't know what to say, I really don't. But I'm sorry. I have to go now," Tom said in an exhausted voice. He did not ask her how she knew all that she said about Anakore'in. For one, he did not believe her. And two, he did not care.

"You don't understand, do you, Tom? All that money I sent back when I was a soldier didn't go to anyone, it went through the government's mail system and was taken from me."

Tom just gave her a confused look.

"You don't understand that it's the same for you. Your family isn't real, Tom." Shakara raised her voice, emphasizing her last words. "They have lived, and will die, in your mind."

Tom laughed loudly. He really did not know what to say to this poor woman. "My family isn't real, you say. And what proof do you have to speak such vile words, because it surely cannot be my wife's face in my mind, or my little girls, or the fact that I'm not a delusional person like yourself," he said, irritated by her viciousness. "I have a real family, and I'm going home to them." He drank the last half of his flagon in a few quick swigs and got up to leave.

"Everything is a lie, Tom. It's Anakore'in and his stories; he's done something to us. It may even be Alexandroz, I don't know; all I know is we're being used by someone, but that's what I want to find out. I don't want to be a killer anymore . . ." Her words floated away from Tom as he blocked out her voice. "If you go back home to find that your family doesn't exist, will you help me then?"

The eerie man who had been watching Tom all night lifted his head, eyeing them. The four who had been playing billiards all the while paused to look over at the two. The panther rested his back against the wall. Seemingly from nowhere, a blade appeared in his hand, the most wicked of blades Tom had ever caught sight of before. Dagger in hand, the cat began to hone its claws with a glint in its eye, reflected in the dim lighting, a glint that threatened action if the argument disturbed the room much longer.

Tom ignored them all. "Help you do what?" he responded, turning back toward her. He had taken only a few wobbly steps. The group returned to their game, though the panther kept sharpening his natural weapons, and the eerie man continued to watch.

"Help me find out what happened to us, why we have altered memories. I need help," Shakara cried distressingly. "I need help, Tom."

"Oh, and why is that? You're an assassin, an _asset_ , why can't you do it on your own?" Tom started heading toward the door once again.

"Because I think Anakore'in is suspicious of me," she said frankly, but there was still something hiding beneath her words. Tom headed out, and she threw some coins down to pay for their drinks, then quickly ran after him into the street. "It's because I've been alone for three cycles, thinking of a family, of memories that don't really exist, but they are still there. I can't be alone anymore, Tom." Tears dripped from her eyes. "I can't be alone anymore," she repeated as she fell to her knees.

Tom turned and squatted next to her. "Look, I'm sorry that you're lonely, I truly am, but I have a wife and kids. However, if you are so adamant that my family doesn't exist, then travel with me to Bedal and you can stay awhile as our guest," he said. He hoped that the invitation would cheer her up; he hated to see a woman crying, especially in the middle of the street in the late of the night.

She calmed her sobs. "Really?"

"Insooth. My wife and I can make some pretty mean dishes when we're in the kitchen together," Tom insisted. "Now let's get out of the street." He offered his hand to her. "Shall we?"

She stared at his extended hand for a moment; then she grabbed it, letting him pull her to her feet. She continued to wipe the tears from her eyes.

The pair walked the few steps to the doorway of the inn, where a sign hung from above that read: _Homeside Inn_. The four-story, good-sized accommodations supported forty to fifty rooms, extending far back off the street, built into a small hill. A feeling that a shadow followed them swept over Tom, a feeling he could not put down, for his ears pulled back toward the tavern and tingled with fear. Tom hurried Shakara to the door. Inside, the reception area was empty, except for a woman who sat at the counter half-asleep with her head propped up by her arm. When Tom shut the door, she roused from the loud noise. "How can I help you, mister?" she asked politely.

"I'm Tom Navo, I'm supposed to have a key waiting for me," he said in a low, tired voice. Every part of him craved a bed.

"Yep, I have one key reserved for a Tom Navo, I just need some identification, mister Navo," the woman said in a cheerful, but semi-asleep voice. Tom dug around in the pockets of his breeches, where he found an I.D. card in the left pocket, though he could not remember having the card there before. She checked over the thick paper card. Upon it, Tom's face was drawn in black, and beside it was the seal of The Conqueramada, which marked his military status. "Oh excuse me, vire, I did not know you were a soldier. You are not wearing any military dress." Tom only smiled as she handed back his card. "Well, vire, I was told you are the one paying for the room." Her voice was warm and kind.

"Of course you were," Tom laughed. He gave her a handful of bronze coins from the same pocket. He was too tired to bother with change, so he grabbed the key with a numbered tag that had 309 attached to it, and nodded at the woman. She smiled back as he turned and walked off. The pair went up the staircase around the corner from the front desk. They eventually found the door to the room at the end of the hall. He flipped on the light to see a disturbed room, clothes and cooking utensils scattered everywhere across the quarters with every knapsack emptied onto the floor. Tom sobered up at the startling sight.

Devoto was absent from the scene.

Bravis lay unconscious on the floor between a table and the bed. Tom rushed to his side and checked to make sure his friend still lived; luckily, the gyrran breathed, but only in faint bursts. Shakara closed the door and stood near the corner, out of the way, while he gathered up the duo's possession to account for what might be missing.

"The troll didn't take anything," Tom announced to Shakara. "I don't know why he would do this if there wasn't something he wanted."

"Maybe he meant to kill you, or means to kill you, and wanted to scare you first. Trolls are monsters, they have no reasoning," Shakara said coldly. "I've had my share of run-ins with them." Her tone exuded hatred.

Tom considered what the troll could want; he really did not have anything in the bags except for Anakore'in's book, which he obviously did not desire. Then it came to him. "Maybe he wanted this." He took out the book lodged uncomfortably in his pants.

"What is that?" she asked, raising her brow.

"Some kind of book, though I don't know its contents. But that doesn't make any sense, the troll doesn't know how to read."

"Maybe he meant to sell it, books are valuable, not many left in the world. Where did you get it?"

"We picked it up outside the Kathronal this evening. An elderly man came outside holding it, and insisted that we come back tomorrow if we needed something. The funny thing is we never even knocked on the door, the man just opened it up and shooed us away. I think he dropped it by mistake," Tom explained the event. "But then why would the troll not take this book?" He held up Anakore'in's book.

Shakara skipped over his last words. "What was the man wearing?"

"Huh? I don't know, a robe." Tom shook his head; he had not paid much attention to the man.

"I mean, what color was the robe? Was it blue, or white, or . . ." She moved closer to Tom, who now sat on the floor next to his companion. "Or Silver?"

"None of those."

"Did he have an anadem atop his head? Did he wear a multicolored robe?"

"Yes, he wore a decorated garland. I remember his robe being colorful, yes." He grew excited. "Yes, he did wear a rainbow robe, now that I think about it."

Shakara gasped in surprise. "Are you a fool?" she said to him nastily.

"Maybe I am, why?" he asked, a little hurt by her words.

"That wasn't a Rector or a Bishop, not even an Archbishop. That was the Patriarch," she informed him. "He is the only one in the church who has that color of robe and wears an anadem."

"Okay, so what does that mean? The head of the church came outside to tell us to go away, strange, but big deal," Tom said jokingly. He chuckled a little at his own words. His knowledge of the church hierarchy did not extend far, including the Father. News normally revolved around the more popular figure, the Son. Alexandroz remained the center of worship and praise, though in Bedal, widespread acceptance of church rule had yet to come.

"It's a big deal because the Patriarch doesn't show his face outside his chambers unless he is giving a service. No one is to look upon him so, and it is said that those who do, suffer greatly." She tried to think of a reason why the Patriarch might make an exception. "It must have something to do with the troll and that book," she concluded. "But I don't know what." She paced by the bed.

Bravis stirred from his unconsciousness, groggy from the beating. "What happened to me?" he inquired of Tom in a gasp.

"We aren't sure yet, but the troll is suspect, since he is gone, and our belongings have been searched," Tom told his friend, and gave him a drink of water from one of their jugs.

"And who is this?" Bravis asked after he finished downing the water. His vision began to return to its regular sharpness.

"This is Shakara, the woman I had to deliver the letter to. She is going to be coming with us to Bedal," Tom responded. The blinds that covered the window were closed, but the light of the morning sun penetrated through them. "We should be making our way now, Devoto might come back to finish what he started. I'll explain things on the way." He helped the winged animal to his feet. Then sprang to the window and peered down below at the corner streets. Darkness still covered them too well for his sight to penetrate. He was afraid to travel the streets—too many had showed interest in their argument in the tavern, especially the odd fellow who had watched him for so long. And where was the troll? Watching in an alleyway?

"Pleasant to meet you, Shakara. I am Bravis of Lyree Plyth," the gyrran said shakily. He wobbled around, but quickly steadied himself. Tom withdrew from the window, tossed all of their gear into the sacks, and fastened them to Bravis, tying secure knots. The gyrran was already fully recovered from the attack. Tom equipped the quiver and bow over his shoulder, along with a satchel of food.

"Working for Anakore'in, too?" she asked suspiciously.

"I am a friend of Anakore'in, yes, but I am not working for him," Bravis said, surprised by her forwardness.

"I see," she said. She looked over at Tom. "We have to stop by the stables, so that I may get my companion."

"You lock up your friend in the stables?" Tom asked in a disgusted tone.

"He prefers to mingle with the women there," Shakara replied, trying to assure him that the idea did not belong to her.

Tom nodded. "Lead the way." The three headed out into the streets, and followed Shakara to a large white building that looked like another inn.

"That's one fancy stable," Tom remarked with a snort.

She made no response, but instead told them to wait outside while she went in to retrieve her friend. A minute later, she came through the doors, standing beside a dog. "My friends, this is Keltin _descentari_ Morton, my loyal and trusting partner," she said, introducing her companion. A massive golden retriever stood in front of them, just a little bit shorter than Bravis. He was an evolved form of the smaller dog, but had almost all the same traits of long dark-yellow hair, big eyes, and a happy smile. "This is Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter, and Bravis of Lyree Plyth, the folk we'll be traveling with. I'll explain the rest as we go," she said to him.

The happy dog wagged his tail. "Pleasant to meet you," he said with a wide grin. The duo nodded with welcoming faces. "Where are we off to so early in the morning?" the dog asked. His low voice soothed as it carried to their ears. He began to sniff Tom and Bravis up and down, learning their scent.

"North, to Bedal, through Deception Pass," Shakara replied in haste. A backpack was slung over her shoulders, which carried everything she needed for their journey. A belt strapped around the canid had pouches tied down to it.

"All right, I haven't been that far north in a long while, should be exciting," Keltin said, wagging his tail even faster than before. Shakara jumped on top of the canine, and Tom mounted Bravis in the same fashion.

They took off down the streets, and for the first time, Tom felt the power held within his companion. Along the coast and in the hills, the ride had been slow to him, but now Bravis was impossibly swift. The gyrran exceeded twice the speed of the dog, so he slowed his pace to match the retriever. They were already far north in the city, and soon they passed through the open Northern Gatehouse and into more fields, running with the rising Crimson Sun at their side as they hastily made for the pass under The Sepris Mountains, on the final stretch of road to Tom's family, and to home at last.

#

### Homecoming. A Trespasser.

### The Gift of Burden.

Tom slept most of the circuit away, hanging on to Bravis while maintaining his nap, though he woke at every bump, which was often enough. By twilight, they had already gone through Deception Pass: a long and narrow tunnel through The Sepris Mountains. It was just wide enough for two men to pass one another without graze. Bats clung to the pointed ceiling, and some infants fell to the floor where families of raccoons feasted on their bodies. Keltin almost tripped over a raccoon that tapped the floor in search of food in the dimly lit passageway.

Small candlelit lanterns were spread a great distance apart, giving travelers barely any light to work with, and all who ventured through the tunnel did so with speed, trying to get from one light to the next as quickly as possible. Every so often, the tunnel entered into a mighty cavern, and as the entire ground was layered in guano, it was also covered with cockroaches that fed upon the feast of droppings. The horrid smell cramped the stomach and gave rise to the urge to vomit. The two quadrupeds picked up their speed to hurry through the darkness of each cavern. Loud crunching came from under their feet as they fled through them.

They emerged from the pass at nightfall, into a white mist that hung around the mountains. The road emptied into a shallow green glen that meandered through a forest of dense pines. Quickly, they left the mountains behind, as they rose and fell on the wavy hills of the countryside. It was a pleasant sight for all to behold after the repellent tunnel.

They came near the short walls of Bedal; the high battlemented bulwark had been demolished long ago when the city was conquered. Because of the mountains, the denizens of Bedal rarely needed such protection. Only deep within winter did it provide any real use when it became so cold that most wild animals fled the snowy slopes seeking better conditions.

The suns fell slowly in the west, bidding their goodnight. The Golden Sun slept by the time the party reached the hill, where Tom said his house and family awaited his homecoming. Halfway up the lush green incline, a white gate deterred trespassers, connected to two big, round posts, where thin wire was strung out from each post to another and another, fencing in the hillside yard. Tom dismounted Bravis, and Shakara did the same from Keltin. They walked up the path that led to the gate; Tom pulled up the latched handle and opened the barrier.

The entryway and the fence must have been new, for he did not remember it, and a new shrub sprouted not far from the dirt path near the gate. Tom decided that his money was wisely spent on the latest additions. "You guys like the fence?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes, quite a nice place you have here, Tom," Bravis commented. Shakara had informed the gyrran of her story, and what she thought would most likely be the same outcome for Tom. Bravis could not conclude why she would speak so falsely, especially against Anakore'in, whom he had known for all his life.

"Thanks. My girls sure have kept the place nice," Tom said enthusiastically. He was eager to finally be inside his home to see his family. He held the box that he bought the circuit before and could not wait to see the bright smiles on his daughters' faces when he gave them his gift.

Shakara and Keltin lagged behind a little, and the two surveyed the area; it was a nice green countryside, mostly filled with grass and aurochs grazing for kilometers and kilometers in the distance, inside and outside the walls of the city, as well as feral chickens that clucked and crowed while they made for their roosts. In the background, The Sepris Mountains towered high, where clouds hung around high rooftops and dropped heavy rains.

The four stood at the veranda of a quaint yellow house. "Wait here, I want to surprise them by myself," Tom whispered, then made his way up the steps. Shakara wore a gloomy face, filled with dejection.

Tom knocked on the luminous white door. No one answered after a few moments, so he knocked again. "Ma'am, I have a package to deliver to you," he yelled happily. He turned to peer upon the trio with a broad smile, as he thought himself clever, pretending to be the mail courier. Nobody came. "Hello, is anyone home?" He knocked once more.

Finally, he could hear the locks being fiddled with. His heart pounded with thrill and joy, but at the same moment, he could not remember having locks on his door. _Another quality investment_ , he laughed to himself. There must have been ten locks, for they took forever to unlatch. The person on the other side of the door appeared to move much slower than he expected, but then he guessed it was just his excitement overtaking him.

The door groaned sluggishly open. A skinny, elderly lady stood in front of Tom, dressed in a draping silver cotton gown with blue polka dots. She glanced up at him, who towered over her frailness. "Hello, can I help you?" she said loudly in a shrill voice that struck at his eardrums.

Tom looked at her with wide eyes. His wife's mother had been dead for cycles, and his mother was also dead. He figured she must be a babysitter, and that his wife was out somewhere. "Yes, ma'am, I'm Tom Navo, the father. I live here," he said emphatically, looking into her wrinkled eyes.

"What?" the woman yelled. "You're going to have to speak up, son, this ear isn't working anymore." She pointed to her right ear. Tom repeated himself, but a little louder for her to hear.

"No, you don't." Her voice shook. "I've lived here for thirty-three cycles, and I don't have any boys."

Tom sucked on his bottom lip, hesitant and irritated. He knew it was a joke his girls had devised, they must have seen him coming through a window, and somehow they wheedled her into their plot. He smiled. "Where are they, in the back?" He grinned.

"What?" she shouted at him. "I already told you that you must be mistaken, mister. " The pitch of her voice shot to its highest. Her body trembled, fingers and arms moving rapidly.

"Are you lost, ma'am? I think you have stumbled into the wrong house. Let me help you find your home," Tom said. He stepped closer to help her out the door.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed. "I'll call for the guards, I've got a whistle," she threatened Tom while she grabbed a whistle that hung around her neck by a lace. "You've got the wrong house!"

Quickly, Tom took a step back from the elderly woman. A house lay on the hill next door, and a middle-aged woman with blond hair opened the door, wearing a dirty white apron and a sweat-soiled headband. She looked exhausted. "Is everything all right, Charlene?" the woman yelled across the lawns.

"This man is trying to take my house!" Upset, she took a fragile step closer to the edge of the door. "He says I'm lost. Am I lost?" she asked her neighbor, sounding confused.

"No, Charlene, you're not lost. Mister, I don't know who you are, but that is not your house. She has lived there since I can remember, probably before I was born," she asserted to him.

Tom did not recognize the neighbor woman, she might have been new to the neighborhood, but he certainly did not like her already, playing along with his girls. The joke started to vex him. "Ma'am that's impossible. I live here with my wife and two girls," he said, trying to convince her.

"Mister, if you want me to call the guards on you, I will," she threatened. "Charlene, you go on back into your home and lock up all the doors." The old woman complied, closing the door, and slowly latching all the locks. "Now, do you want me to call the guards?" The neighbor woman bore a straight face, and her stern tone carried well to the porch.

"No, we must have confused what house we are at, we'll be on our way," Shakara piped in. She grabbed Tom by his elbow and guided him down the steps. The four walked down the trail, and Shakara closed the gate behind them. Tom's eyes stared blankly at the grassy ground before him.

"I don't know what is going on, I know that's my house. These people are lying to us. They must be keeping them hostage somewhere," he said to the others.

"Tom, think about what you are saying, how can an old woman, who can barely get around, kidnap your family!" Shakara said, trying to talk some sense into his bewildered mind.

"Oh, but it makes much more sense that they don't exist, is that it?" Tom yelled furiously as his anger exploded. "I have a family, and they are somewhere in this city, and they are in danger."

"No, Tom, they are not," Shakara curtly responded.

"She is right, Tom. I was there when she found out that her family wasn't real. It's true," Keltin spoke up. "It's a hard fact to face, but it's a fact nonetheless."

"No, I don't believe you. We'll go check the city records. The land rights will be in our name. Come on, I'll show you," Tom said. He took off, charging down the hill and into the street, heading toward the city.

The three followed him all the way to the Department of City Affairs building, a good-sized brick structure. They ran inside and Tom asked the clerk to see the land ownership documents. "Well, I'll have to charge you per hour to view the records, it's a new policy that was just implemented," the clerk responded. He was short, balding, and had square spectacles and a mustache. He wore a crisp brown suit with a teal necktie that pinched his throat.

Tom dropped a bronze coin on the countertop; the man immediately went and searched through a few file cabinets, then returned with a massive book. "You need me to read it to you?" the man asked.

"No," Tom tartly replied. He placed the gift box on a nearby table, then grabbed the book and began to flip though it, scanning for the Rodder Hill Area in the R's. He finally found his address, and under the ownership records, he saw with unclouded eyes that the title belonged to a Charlene G. Tarby _descentari_ Karl Tarby since 2118: Armistice. He calculated the numbers in his head: thirty-three cycles. Shakara saw the name printed under the address, but they all saw the pain in Tom's trembling body.

"Think about it, Tom, can you even remember any of their names?" Shakara asked with a solemn face, and in a low, sad voice.

Tom sat down to cogitate on his family member's names. A million names flew through his mind, but none of them sounded familiar. His eyes began to water after a few moments lost in thought. "No," he said at last. "No, I can't." Tears fell onto his breeches and jerkin, and streamed down his cheeks, as if his eyes were rainclouds crying rivers. He bent over and sobbed. His stomach roiled.

His face reddened and his eyes puffed up. Desperately, he sorted through names in his head, over and over again, but the only names he could really connect to with any certainty were the names he had heard in the last few sequences. He kept saying Shakara when he thought of his wife, but then he shook his head no, he had just met her, she could not be his wife.

His skin burned as though on fire, and then the room began to spin. With a bump, the gift box dropped to the ground, and the painted porcelain shattered inside. He ran for the door and heaved.

"It's going to be hard at first, and it might always hurt, but we have to find out why this has happened to us, we can't go on living with these fake memories," Shakara said to him as he sat in the grass near where he had vomited. Her words were muffled in his ears, and he could barely understand them. A loud tone rang in his ear as if he was losing a pitch, then it faded and his hearing returned to normal.

"You might be right, maybe my memory is altered, but these faces in my mind, they seem so close. I swear I can touch their cheeks. AHHH!" he yelled to the ground. "Why can't I remember their names?" He repeated the same question, as the others stood by in silence.

Tom furiously ripped up the grass of the lawn while he thought of names, and Shakara persuaded the man at the counter to let Tom be when the clerk asked if everything was all right. Dusk had come and gone while they sat there, and the city now lay in darkness, except for the streetlamps. White stars twinkled above as though smiling down upon the city. Tom rubbed his forehead and finally rose to his feet. "I guess we should find a place to stay," he said to the three. Bravis softly nudged him and rubbed his head against him; Tom smiled weakly and patted the young gyrran.

The party walked farther down the road to an inn that had a grand common room on its first floor. Shakara rented one large room with two beds, and a big couch for the four of them. When they made it to their lodging, Keltin jumped onto the couch, panting from exhaustion. The canid quickly fell asleep with the lights on. Just like the dog, Bravis had no trouble falling asleep, for he followed Keltin into dreamland only a few moments later.

The electricity of the city provided running water, so Tom decided to take a hot bath, since he had not at the last inn. He walked down to the bathing room on the ground floor and entered through the door marked for men by a stick figure with a beard. The capacious brick room contained four partitioned porcelain baths, which sat against a high wall that missed the ceiling enough so that a hand could sneak over, if it could reach. The women's bathing room lay on the other side of the wall. He ran the water; steam filled the room and drifted out an open window. He stripped and slid into the near boiling water. Relieved, he sat for some time alone with his eyes closed to the world, as his body recuperated from the ache of the last few sequences, but mostly the last few hours. After he shut off the water, silence swept through the room, along with a warm draft.

As he roamed in distant thoughts, he heard the voice of Shakara whisper, "Tom?"

"In here, Shakara."

The door closed on the women's side and she strolled over to the bath in line with his. "Thought you might be in here. You didn't say where you were going." She ran the water, then splashed into the tub.

"Needed to get clean," Tom answered. She said something in reply, but her words were muffled to his ears, and so he spoke no more.

After a short while, a grumbling Spicetrader entered on Tom's side; the pungent smell of cinnamon, cilantro, and garlic overpowered the room, almost as if the man exuded the scents from his very skin. The Spicetrader prepared his bath and soaked himself, scrubbing the dirt away, though the smell lingered, and perhaps even increased in potency.

Tom could take no more, pulled the drain plug, stood, and grabbed the towel he had snatched when he came into the room. After he dried his body, he tied the towel around his waist. A small square mirror hung on the wall to his left; underneath it, a shelf was bolted, where his dagger rested. He took the dagger and finally shaved off all of his facial hair. To soothe the burn, he had bought a small bowl of lotion from the inn's Soapcrafter, who produced all its cleaning supplies.

Afterward, he went back to their room, dressed in the inn's linens for guests, and as Shakara entered, he nodded. Not waiting for her, he ambled down the stairs to the common room, not bothering to put on his armor for the occasion. His body felt light and free for a change. However, his heart had sunk into his chest with burden and despair.

Shakara gave their foul, dirt-covered clothes to an attendant to have washed, then ran to catch up with Tom. "I'll buy you a round. I never finished my third last night, so that means we never got to know each other properly," Shakara said with a slight cheerful grin. Tom did not respond, and only acknowledged that she had spoken by sitting down and letting her order. A woman dressed in plain black linens and black silk slippers brought two large flagons of a light ale to the table. She wore a black apron over her tight-fitting, short-sleeved kirtle; in the apron's many pockets, she carried shakers with various herbs and spices, along with pepper and salt. A decorative headband made in the shape of chrysanthemums wrapped around her stringy black hair.

"Listen, I know this is going to sound repetitive, but I'm sorry this happened." Shakara fumbled with her glass. "Consider yourself lucky, you lived long enough to find out the truth. That's how I look at it now, which means we can do something about it instead of mailing the government our money, and living false existences," she said somberly. She did not feel any better about the situation than he did, but she had been coping with it for half a cycle now.

"Maybe it's a gift," she went on. "Granted, an unwanted gift, but think about if you went on living your whole life, working a terrible job as a Scout, where your life is threatened at every turn, all for something that doesn't exist. And then you end up getting killed for no real reason at all." She took a long drink, waiting for Tom to reply. He made none.

The waitress came back with two plates of mixed rice with vegetables and aurochs meat, along with two copper forks. "I'll bring the other two plates up to your companions like you asked, but we're a little low on aurochs meat right now," she said to the two. Shakara nodded and thanked her for her courteousness.

Tom steadily drained his mug so that he did not have to speak. He craved death, but fear kept his will at bay. All the many cycles spent working as a Scout, now wasted. The thought of being gone for so long away from his home made him sick. "It's just that I can't believe I can't remember their names . . ." His eyes watered, but he inhaled a deep breath and opened his eyes wide to stop the tears from coming. "Do you think they ever existed?"

"Maybe, who knows? Maybe they are people who already lived and somehow we have old memories of their lives. I really don't know, but I tell you one thing, I'm going to find out," Shakara said, raising her flagon to her lips.

"I'll drink to that, I guess," Tom said, clinking his glass against hers. He drank a long swig, then set the nearly empty container on the table.

"Are you going to have another?" she asked, unsure whether she should order a second round. She was already halfway done with her meal, chomping on the meat, though Tom had barely gotten in a few bites. He ate at a slow pace, as food did not sound right at the moment, but he forced himself on.

Her noisy eating clenched Tom's body in agitation. "No, I think one will be it for me," he replied. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his arms. He did not scan the room to evaluate possible threats like he was trained to do; instead, he just played memories of his family in his head. The yellow house was such a vivid image in his mind.

"All right, sounds good to me." She drank the last of her ale. Tom finished off his as well and smiled a dull smile. "Well, Tom Navo, we officially know each other." She wiped her mouth. He laughed faintly, but not happily.

"So what's next?" he asked, feeling his smooth face with his fingers. He massaged his sore neck, and it slightly hurt while he rubbed in circles, but after a minute or two, the ache started to disappear.

"Well, in the letter, Anakore'in's orders were to extract his first apprentice's artifact; he had information that placed what were looking for on the island of O'Ire, and I know someone from there who might be able to help us. If anything else, he might be a knowledgeable guide in that region of the world." She leaned her elbows on the table.

Tom had barely read the letter, and had forgotten the little he had glanced over. "Who is this apprentice and what is this artifact? And why does the lizard want it?"

Shakara gave Tom a displeased look, but forgave him for not truly reading the letter's contents. "Here." She handed him the letter once again. "His apprentice was Thalreon The Legendary, and the artifact, his lost ancient suit of armor. Anakore'in believes—"

"What the babble?" Tom cut her off. "The Last Paladin was one of Anakore'in's assets? No, no, that's impossible. How could a paladin become a contract killer?"

"I don't know, but that's what Anakore'in wrote; he might be lying about it. Who knows what is to be believed."

"Well I don't." Tom shook his head. "I don't."

"Why does it matter to you?" Shakara asked.

"It would mean that the most legendary of all figures is a fraud, and I won't accept that. I knew something was wrong with the story Anakore'in told me; he said the writers changed the history, but it was just him all along, his imagination."

"What if it's true?" She leaned forward across the table.

"For crying aloud, it's not." Tom threw up his hands, but calmed himself with a sip of water. "Anyway, keep going . . ."

She eyed him with blazing intensity, irritated by his capricious mood, but his silence pushed her on with what she had been saying. "Anakore'in has been looking for something for centuries, perhaps even for millennia, for purposes he has never divulged, but I believe he aims to destroy Alexandroz. I'm convinced that Thalreon's armor is what he has had us, his agents, scouring the globe for all this time. Legend, as you already know, tells that The Impermeable Suit was enchanted with powers beyond any ever recorded, and I think it is worth investigating, to see if the armor has truly been found. Anakore'in wants it for himself of course, and normally I would oblige, but not this time, and with your help, maybe we can use the armor to our advantage, to discover the truth."

"How do you know Anakore'in thinks it contains the power to kill Alexandroz? I see nothing like that in here." Tom's eyes watered after a deep yawn.

"Read the stanza he includes."

He reread the obscure verse Anakore'in had inserted, which he had paid little attention to earlier on, not seeing its relevance. He read:

Threatened is the linguist at their essence,

His power diminishes in their presence,

Together they can stop his reign,

With them united hope is our gain.

"I've never fancied riddles, always plain text. Is Anakore'in this linguist?" Tom asked.

"Well, you have to be deep in the lore of Alexandroz, but I believe so," Shakara replied. "In the South I've heard ancient stories where he was referred to as a linguist. That is, of course, if you don't take him to be of divine descent."

Tom cogitated on the lines and Shakara's plan of action; the thought of possessing Thalreon's armor intrigued him. _But what would we do with it?_ _United, the armor could terminate the King of the North_. He considered the idea and concluded that it was worth a chance, perhaps to avenge his family and collect the truth behind his disorienting memory. "So," he spoke up after a few minutes, "how can we use the suit to gain the truth?"

"Use its enchanted power to make Anakore'in reveal his secrets. If it has the power to scribble Alexandroz, then it surely has the power to make the lizard talk. I know Anakore'in possesses hekanical power, but surely not such that can match Alexandroz's might. After all, the King has ruled for over four thousand cycles."

"I suppose you are right there," Tom said. "Where does this friend live?" He opened his eyes fully as he tried to fight off sleep. He folded up the letter and slid it across the table to her.

"Right now, he's residing in Heaven, so it won't take long to get to him," Shakara explained. "I actually met him traveling to The Great City." She finished the last of her plate, swallowing in a loud gulp that made Tom eye her in annoyance.

"That's good, I need to pick up a few things at the Military Hall," he remarked sleepily. He was more than exhausted now. His body was overcome by lassitude, yet his mind still raced. He pushed his plate away, disgusted by the thought of food.

"You look like you need some rest," Shakara said. Tom nodded in silence. She bounced up from her seat, scooted his chair back, and helped him to his feet. The strong alcohol mixed with his fatigue made his body heavy like a log. She lugged him up the stairs with minimal effort from him.

He placed his arm over her shoulder while he stood near the bed, using her body to hold himself up as steadily as he could. She laid him in one of the feather beds in the darkness of the room. Bravis slept on the mahogany floor with his wings folded behind his back and his legs tucked in close to his body. An empty plate lay beside him on the old wooden floor. Keltin still slept on the couch. He had rolled over onto his back with his giant paws dangling in the air. His plate was also empty, set against the bottom of the davenport.

Shakara unlaced Tom's buskins and took off his socks, which was the second time in circuits that his feet came upon fresh air; the first time, only a couple of hours ago, lasted for only a few minutes in the bath. It soothed him to have the mild air surround his feet. She tucked him in with two thin sheets, but they warmed immediately, so he took off his shirt and threw it on the floor.

Shakara watched him as he performed his actions in a trancelike state, wrapping himself up in the sheets and rolling to his side. She touched his hair. "B'night," she said to him, then walked over to her own bed and sat for a while. She stripped off her boots and socks, and covered herself under the blankets. The room was altogether warm and a little stuffy, but she did not mind.

She did not fall asleep right away, and could hear noises coming from Tom's bed, as he sobbed quietly. His mind could not stop thinking of his family of faces without names. He kept trying to put a name to them, but he could not settle on any. He wondered why he never thought of it before, why he never said their names to anyone; he had always used vague, general terms like wife, daughters, and family.

He hated himself for not knowing.

Shakara climbed out of her bed and covered herself under his sheets. He faced the opposite direction, away from her, so she pressed her body against his, and put her left arm over his body to hold him. She wanted to comfort him, to let him know she was there for him.

Tom felt her nestled warmth, which made his heart pace, pumping hard, stimulating all the nerves in his body. He enjoyed the feeling, but felt dishonorable at the same time. A great shame crawled up his spine and into his thoughts. His family had died and he grieved in the arms of another woman. But they had not died: they had never existed at all. He told himself this repeatedly. Relaxing, he fell asleep in the comfort of her embrace, and Shakara sensed this, feeling his breaths calm, moving steadily in and out. She fell asleep in the warmth of the bed shortly after him. Lying so close to another solaced her, which allowed her unresting mind to finally discover the tranquility she so desperately sought.

#

### Their House. Their Toys. Their Names.

The old yellow house sat on the hill in front of his eyes. It was peaceful, and brought merry laughter to those inside who awaited his return, but they never thought the circuit would come, so they paid no attention to him standing outside. He opened the door, which creaked on old hinges that desperately craved oil, but with him gone, they never thought about silencing the unhappy door; they spent their time playing in the yard, and eating golden crackers with creamy peanut butter. The entranceway greeted new arrivals with a cheery smile: a bright blue wall with a coatrack stood before him; white painted handprints covered the wall, and two different measurement lines marked increments of growth, where one ended a little taller than the other. Shoes piled high underneath the hanging coats, they were not neat or orderly, but chaotically spread out and tossed about like he expected, yet he took off his buskins and tidily placed them beside all the other pairs.

The kitchen lay to his right, and he went under the archway that connected the foyer to his second favorite room. No one was around in the kitchen, with empty countertops and orderly placed cookware. He grabbed an apple from a bowl in the middle of the table, it was a deep carmine apple without any bruised spots or blemishes; Tom bit into its crispness, which was a texture he had not had in a while. He went back through the foyer and into the living room, where toys were scattered all over the floor, leaving barely a trail through the space; he jumped through the mess, but unfortunately there was too much of a clutter, and he landed on a glass doll, which shattered under the pressure of his foot. He lifted his sock to see the pieces woven into the off-white carpet, it would be almost impossible to get the bits out by hand, so he left it there while he continued to search the house, walking into a corridor linked to the living area.

Their three bedrooms were all down the dark hallway, which was wide and lined with toys that he had sent back throughout the cycles; to the left he checked the first room, but it was vacant, except for a mess of clothes and stuffed animals that belonged to his youngest. He bent down under the light of the window and picked up a stuffed animal in the shape of an elephant; he squeezed it with remembrance, thinking of the circuit he gave it to her when she was much younger, before he left on his last mission. It smelled of freshness like fragrant flowers, or a thick forest; he loved the blissful scent, but he put it down on her bed, and continued down the hall, closing the door on his way out. He thought he heard voices being carried down the corridor.

He came to the second door and pushed it open, as it was not closed all the way; inside the room a doll house stood in the corner, but other than that it was mostly empty; it was a much more organized room without clothes or toys thrown over every square centimeter. It was a quiet room, and a window was open, letting in a mild draft that cooled the space in the pressing heat of the morning; on the windowsill sat a stuffed doll with rosy cheeks and a joyous smile spreading wide across its face, which Tom smiled back at it, pleased by its presence in the room. Instead of picking it up like the last doll, he turned around and ambled back into the corridor, shutting the door without a sound. He thought that maybe he had managed not to make enough of a ruckus to direct their hearing toward him, so he might still be able to surprise them as he had hoped to do.

The door at the end of the hall was his bedroom. He turned the handle as slowly as he could, and opened the door. Two girls sat on his bed with their mother and played a board game; they twisted their heads in surprise, and yelled, "Daddy!" while running to him. He yelled in return, "Tonya! Gloria!" and then looked up at his wife. "Janine!" he shouted exuberantly, but after his words came out, he realized he did not recognize them. The two little girls jumped up at him in excitement, and clung to him so tightly his muscles felt tingly.

He slowly opened the door to the room at the end of the hall, his capacious master bedroom, and on his large bed lay his two girls and his wife playing some sort of new game involving cards and a board. They saw their father and immediately called out, "Daddy!" with huge smiles on their bright little faces, their rosy cheeks gleaming in the sunlight that lit the room; and filled with rapture he replied, "Jezebel! Mary!" as they leapt from the bed with short legs, proceeding to hurry to his open arms, where they jumped straight into them. He peered at his wife, as she stood up on the other side of the bed with a marvelous smile that showed off her round cheeks; he cried out, "Madeline!" to her, but she stopped coming to him after he had spoken the name. He realized he had said the wrong name.

He stumbled through the slightly cracked door at the end of the hall, falling into his own bedroom; he looked back and noticed another stuffed animal lying on the floor. The room was large enough for four or five big beds, but only one stood at the far end of the room, where his two little girls and wife moved pieces on a game board, all holding cards in their hands. The two girls threw their cards into the air, and made a dash for their father, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!" as they darted toward him with tremendous smiles. He was ecstatic to finally see his little girls with his own eyes; he quickly responded, "Nicky! Anna!" as they hopped into his arms, hugging him with little reaching hands. He grinned happily at his wife, who was getting up from the bed, and she started to walk toward him when he yelled, "Hailey!" to which she collapsed back on the bed with folded arms, shooting him a look of confusion. His words were filled with bile that tasted horrible in his mouth, and straightaway he knew something was wrong with what he said; it did not feel right.

Tom twisted the handle to his bedroom, which was at the end of the hall; three astonished pairs of eyes met his own, and his two girls threw the cards they were holding to the ground and sprinted toward him. They yelled, "Daddy! Daddy!" and each hugged a leg with all their strength. He looked down and shouted with extreme joy, "Girls!" then bent down to pick them up; they were heavier than he remembered. He adjusted his attention to his wife, who was standing before him, smiling, showing her beautiful round and rosy cheeks. She started to walk toward him when he said, "Hey beautiful," in a low voice reserved only for her. He felt overjoyed to finally be home with his family; he squeezed his girls in his arms, then gently set them down, so that he could hold his wife the way he used to do. She smelled exactly how he remembered, her alluring scent of vanilla like no other woman's; he drew in the longest breath he could, absorbing every last particle of her intoxicating perfume; it was warm and inviting like a candle. He kissed her, and felt the warmth that had been missing for the last few cycles return to him in a rush of passion; at last, he was where he belonged. Home.

#

### A Small Contact. A Very Old Map.

### The Betrayal.

The Crimson Sun crawled over the treetops, and its light illuminated the small city of Bedal. Feral cocks crowed as they awoke to the warm smile above. Shakara stirred abruptly to an empty and lonely bed. Rolling over to her side she saw Tom sleeping on the other mattress. He had slipped out of her grip during the night and moved into the vacant bed. She lay motionless in the chilly air for a while; then she jumped up, putting on her socks and boots. Keltin was already awake, scanning the town through the window, listening to the loud calls of the cocks outside. Not far up the road, the sun glistened off the rooftop of a Kuriakoma, decorated in celebration ornaments. The place of worship outshone all the other buildings around; its windows sparkled in the morning greeting.

"Already the second of Idus, another orbit done and forgotten," Keltin murmured when he saw that she had woken. "You sleep all right?"

"Yes, I guess so. You?" she responded muzzily.

"It was a comfy couch," Keltin said to her cheerfully. "I love a good couch, you know that." He smiled and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

"Indeed, I do know," she replied with a broad grin. "Should we wake these sleepy heads?" She yawned, then wobbled as she closed her eyes. Her sure feet awoke and steadied her body before she fell back to the bed.

"No, there's no need. We're not in a hurry, and this fellow went through enough last night, he needs his rest. We can go get breakfast ready," Keltin said. The dog talked as wisely as an elder, though his cycles numbered few. She nodded, sharing the same opinion, so they went down to the breakfast lounge, where the inn supplied their guests with a buffet of fresh fruits and breads, along with well-churned honey butter.

They picked up a few plates of food, and carried them back to the room; Shakara held three to Keltin's one plate that balanced on his nose. She fiddled with the doorknob with full hands, but as she bent down to free one by resting a plate on the ground, Tom opened the door, swinging it wide. "Nice to see that you're alive," he said sleepily to the two, "we were afraid you ran off on us." The pair crossed the threshold. The door moaned as he closed it, a sad noise that reflected the dejection in Tom's heart. With heavy eyes, he stretched out his body and yawned a great long yawn.

"We brought you some breakfast from downstairs," Shakara said. She raised a plate in the air, proffering Tom the food, which he gladly took. She laid a plate piled with breads down in front of Bravis, who gave a nod, telling her he was most pleased. They ate quickly and in relative silence, and Tom could hear every last bite chewed and swallowed; it irritated his nerves, putting him in an even worse mood. All the while Shakara peered at him with a bright smile, yet he returned her happy expression with a face full of raw ache and great sorrow. Neither mentioned a word about the previous night, though Shakara's eyes hungered for the warm feeling she felt with her arms wrapped around him under the sheets.

A knock came on the door, and Tom opened it to find an inn attendant carrying a basket of their clothes, washed and folded. Shakara handed the attendant two copper coins. The woman smiled and left the party in silence again.

Tom finished his breakfast first, and while he waited, he put on his fresh clothes and stained armor. All of their gear was piled high in a corner and made for easy packing; once the party secured their belongings, they headed downstairs, leaving their dishes in the room, but taking the leftovers with them. The air outside already blazed, even though it was still early in the morning, as the Crimson Sun had only been up for a few hours. Cardinals sang and hopped from bush to tree to bush, along with jays marked with black heads and blue bodies, mixed with blue-winged jays that sported white bellies. A few brown finches went about the morning as well, calling into the warming air, singsong birds livening up the city at the coming of a new circuit. The chickens added to the cacophony.

The party passed through the southern gates of the city, and in the distance, they spotted something sprinting through one of the fields; it was a large lone wolf that sported a long silver coat, and it ran as if hunted by something. The wolf rushed right past them along the road and into the field on the other side.

Two men dressed in tanned leather from head to toe, riding on determined aequi, crossed their path a minute later, where Tom stopped them. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It is known that the wolves are allied with evil and must be exterminated," one of the men rasped. He licked his lips. "That male there." He pointed to the wolf running away through the field. "Is the last of his friends, we've killed ten already this morning, put their bodies on pikes near the town. The evil bastards." He smiled exuberantly.

"That's nonsense, those wolves are still feral. They're not aligned with anyone," Tom said. His temper flared. He had woken up already in the worst of spirits, but this act of stupidity drove him over the edge. He had not managed to put the thoughts of his nonexistent family to the back of his mind until now. The men before him switched his mind's attention from their faces without names to their vile words.

"It is the Lord of Light's will, son. Those mangy beasts are evil, besides one of them killed a sheep of mine just the other circuit to feed more of those damn pups. I won't have it in these parts. We've been killing them here for the last seven cycles, and that's the last of them, so just get on out of our way."

"If he's the last he won't do you any harm, just let him be off. He isn't coming back," Tom urged the men to leave the animal alone.

"Son, you might be thinking right now that you're being noble, saving a creature, but you have your morals all mixed up. That thing is a beast that has no business living amongst us, or even close to us. So just get on your way." The man squinted his eyes as if to intimidate them.

"I grew up listening to the tales about wild animals like wolves and bears being evil and vicious, filled with hatred for humans, dwarves, and all the town folk. They are all lies, propagated out of fear without attempting to understand the creatures," Tom said. The hunters stared at him blankly. "During my travels with the Hill Glutter Brigade, I've met a few of these creatures, and spoke with them; they only kill livestock when forced to. If the town's folk stopped hunting their prey, leaving little to none for them, there wouldn't be a problem."

The men cared little for his Brigade talk and eyed him maliciously. Tom hated that hunts were continuously carried out to decrease wild predators' numbers, but what could be done to stop it?

He delayed the two hunters for quite some time, yet not long enough, as the antlered horses still had a chance of catching the poor animal. He had to think quickly; he had his sword and bow, but he did not want to injure them. Then, he remembered a spell he tried to use on himself one sleepless night in The Devides. Since he regained the use of his left arm, he had not tried casting any spell, other than to kindle the night fires, but now boldness came upon him. He threw up his right arm. " _Mitre resto languidusa!_ " he yelled. A bright blue stream of color ejected from his mouth and flew directly into the two men's ears, changing a new color with each word. They fell inactive with their reins still in their hands, leaning on the necks of their mounts. "Come on, let's go." He waved to his companions. Bravis and Keltin took off at a canter down the road.

"What did you do to those men?" Shakara asked, riding atop Keltin, who maintained an equal pace beside the gyrran.

"I put them to sleep," Tom replied, still irritated from the confrontation. "Those men were ignorant fools, that wolf wasn't a harm to anyone. If they didn't encroach on their hunting grounds, they wouldn't even be near here." His voice was sharp. The spell had drained him a little, though the consequence was nothing new, for the same effect happened when he used the fire spell, and he was growing accustomed to the short loss of energy. His heart beat out of control, with a pounding in his ears that dulled all sound.

"I've never seen someone protect a wild creature so ardently. Those men could have attacked us, you know," Shakara remarked with annoyance.

"Says the contract killer with two daggers sheathed on her thighs," Tom responded. "Not likely."

She smiled at his words, and the truth behind them, for she would have penetrated their throats with her daggers in a blink of an eye if she sensed hesitation.

Bravis was acquainted with the wild creatures of Lyree Plyth quite well, and heard many stories of poaching and outright purposeless murder of animals outside the forest boundary. Anakore'in protected the animals of the forest, to their relief, and he was thankful for that. "Thanks for saving his life," Bravis said to Tom while they rode on.

"I had to do my part." He rested against the gyrran's sturdy neck as he slowly drifted off to sleep. He reflected on how he never successfully used the spell upon himself, which he was glad, because he found out later that its sleep compared to that of a drug, unnatural, which left the body groggy, slow, and unrested.

Shakara peered over at Tom and saw that he was asleep, as if affected by his own spell.

No one spoke for the rest of the journey back to Heaven. Bravis led the way as Keltin followed close behind. The journey pained the dog much more than the gyrran, who had a better gait for carrying passengers. They had left later in the morning than the circuit before, and arrived at the Northern Gatehouse at dusk, though the portcullis was still drawn up. Tom had awoken around midcircuit, fatigued from failure to cast the spell properly. Now he possessed his energy once more, and sprang off the gyrran in a lively manner. Shakara dismounted as well, and they walked across the bridges in single file, watching the different flows with awe in their eyes.

As they entered under the barbican, Keltin caught a whiff of something that disagreed with him. "There is a foul scent in the air, one that I cannot remember ever smelling before; it is very strong. Can you smell it?" he asked the party, but only Bravis picked it up.

"I know that smell: it is the troll," Bravis said. "He is still in the city, and he must be close, for I do not think his scent would travel over the length and breadth of the entire city, it is much too big for that. Keep a wary eye, he might wish us harm, or perhaps, only to explain his absence, but we cannot be sure until he is upon us."

They followed Shakara through the city to a penurious district, where small ticky-tacky houses leaned into each other, as if built as one solid unit; there were seldom gaps of thin alleyways. Glass jars, as well as clay ones, all of various boozes, littered the vacant streets, accompanied by a terrible odor of garbage. Rats jumped about the piles of waste in herds. The dingy houses were all very similar until they came to a cul-de-sac, where a line of houses radiated cleanliness, and showed a great effort to change their living environment. In the thick air, the smell of the troll disappeared, masked by dwarven filth.

The party stopped in front of a tiny two-meter high house, painted a luminous white with green trim; it had a little, well-kept yard that gleamed bright yellow, due to the suns. Shakara knocked on the fragile door once, but stopped, afraid one more hit would break it down. They waited a few moments, then the door swung open to reveal a shorter than gnome-sized male, standing in a green wool suit with a black bowler hat atop his head, who held a short tobacco pipe, blowing rings of smoke. His skin was as pale as a ghost, and his short hair hid under his hat, but its bright fiery red shone on his sideburns and a trimmed beard.

"A Murphy Gnome!" Tom gasped. "My eyes must be tricked by some sorcery."

"Trick you indeed, I am no more a gnome than he is a horse." He pointed at Bravis. "I am a leprechaun from the island of O'Ire," the miniature man replied, who stood a third of a meter above the ground, well under the shortest of gnomes. "Howaya, me dear. What brings you about so late in the evening, and with company?" he asked in an abnormally low voice for his stature, with a strange and faint brogue.

"I am in need of your assistance, if you have the time?" Shakara asked in a cheerful voice, glad to see the leprechaun in good health.

"I always have time for a young vixen like yourself. Come in, come in and we'll talk," the leprechaun answered.

The four ducked their heads under the low doorway and crowded into the small house. Bravis had the most trouble, but then he tucked away his wings behind his back in a compact fashion. The door was only halfway shut when Shakara abruptly started talking. "Do you know anything about The Impermeable Suit? It's been rumored to have been found on O'Ire, and I was hoping maybe you have some knowledge of its finding?" Her tone hit an unusual high.

"Aye, I suppose I do know a little about the lost Tainted Suit of The Last Paladin, but why do you want to know about it?" the leprechaun responded cagily.

Before Shakara could answer, Tom asked, "Tainted Suit, what do you mean, tainted?"

"Oh, excuse me, I forget not many call it that. The excavators think there might be a curse on the armor, that Thalreon tainted the suit so that the next wearer could not find out its secrets. But right now it's only a guess," the leprechaun explained.

Shakara coughed. Tom leaned against the wall, ruminating in silence.

"Sorry, me dear. Continue, please." The leprechaun sucked on a well-crafted miniature wooden pipe.

"I believe it has a connection to the person who is behind my faulty memory," Shakara said as a cloud of smoke struck her face.

"Really, me dear? How could that old armor possibly have anything to do with your false family? It's been buried for thousands of cycles!" The leprechaun laughed slightly, blowing smoke about the room.

"I've been told to retrieve it, and I have a hint as to why. Can you help us or not, my friend?" she asked as she withdrew from giving a clear-cut reason, and pressed the leprechaun urgently for help.

"What is the hurry, me dear? Gone and lost your manners, have we? You have yet to introduce your friends," the runty leprechaun said, as he continued to blow smoke rings into their faces.

"Yes, you're right, sorry. This is Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter. And this is Bravis the gyrran." She pointed. "The same thing has happened to Tom that happened to me, and we are in dire need of help," she pleaded.

"Pleasant to meet you all, I'm Odeneus O'Hennessy," the leprechaun said with a welcoming smile, half-ignoring Shakara's supplication. The leprechaun race was well known as creatures of manners, and introduction was the first part in hospitality. "Please, sit! Sit!"

"Pleasant to meet you," Tom and Bravis said in unison. Tom scanned the tiny room; it was quaint, possessing decorative furniture, dyed mostly white with some shade of green or orange. The kitchen lay around the corner, and another room went into the back. He did not see a bathroom, so he surmised it to be connected to the bedroom like most single living spaces of old. "You have a lovely home here," he said in a soft and polite voice. He took a seat in the chair-sized couch by the door, as the two small cushions sank deep when he sat, and made an impression that would probably never leave.

"Bah! It's not me gaff. It's a dwarf-sized gaff. Look at that ceiling, it's two meters high, that's six times me height! No, sadly leprechauns aren't allowed to own property or gaffs in the North. In fact, no person below The Devides can, mainland or island," Odeneus said. Sucking on his pipe, he blew out a large smoke cloud.

Tom coughed a little. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that was a true law," he responded apologetically.

"Don't be, I'm a sojourner, I work here in the mines under The Four Mountains. I rent this place for dirt cheap, as you can see why outside. The manky dwarves tend not to care for their living spaces," Odeneus explained, then blew another cloud. "I would hate to see their homeland in Lo'Darrow," he spat out in a smoky cough.

Tom coughed in a slight fit with the smoke filling the entire house. "What's the matter, me boy? Weak lungs for your age?" Odeneus yelled with laughter. Tom tried to control his coughing, but did so without success.

"No, I'm just used to fresh air, that's all," Tom coughed out. He wiped the dirty air in front of his face with his hand, but it was no use. No particle of air in the house was without a trace of smoke.

The leprechaun chortled. "I'm only poking fun. Leprechaun lungs are unaffected by smoke, unlike yours. It does me no harm!" He put out his pipe. "There, that should help."

Keltin was much too large to move about the room freely, so he slowly walked to the larger couch, taking great care with his steps not to knock over a lamp with his tail. He rested on the davenport, though it proved much too small for him, and his legs touched the floor as they flowed over both sides of the couch. Bravis lay by the entranceway, for it was the only space that accommodated his size comfortably, and he enjoyed the cooler air that blew in underneath the door.

Shakara sat on the floor in front of Keltin and peered at the leprechaun with wide, desperate eyes. Odeneus stood shorter than her torso, about midway to her shoulder as she sat; he looked up at her, and then as she stared into the leprechaun's pale green orbs, she remembered why she came to his house. Her unrelenting gaze pressured the leprechaun.

"Well, I can see that this is most pressing to you. I don't know much about the armor first hand, but I can tell you that the rumor you heard is true. Me brother is an assistant to a member of the excavation team that found it, and they have been studying the suit for orbits now. Every orbit I send a letter home with remittance money for me family, and he sends me an update on family affairs and what not. He is always telling me something new about the suit, like its believed taint. So, if it's the same suit you are looking for, then I can be of some help," Odeneus said, relieving Shakara.

"You are able to read?" Tom asked, stunned. He thought only humans learned the art, and that Bravis and Keltin, who barely knew much at all, were rare exceptions.

"We can get by well enough for each other, but they are mostly symbol letters," the leprechaun said. "There were a few other things they found at the dig site. I think one was a sword, and a book, and a few other things I've forgotten about, but from his words he was excited and astonished by their discoveries."

"Do you think you could help us get to O'Ire to speak with your brother?" Shakara quickly asked.

"It would be me privilege. When did you have in mind in making such a grand trip?" Odeneus inquired of Shakara with excitement in his voice, mixed with yearning, obviously missing his homeland.

"Tomorrow," she said with a straight face.

The leprechaun laughed a great laugh. "Tomorrow, me dear, I have work. I'm no dosser, I can't just not show up and expect to have a job when I get back," he said as he went and sat in his reclining chair that stood on the other side of the longer davenport, opposite from the front window; the tiny chair matched his extremely short stature.

"When is the soonest you could vacation?" she asked, urgency coating her words.

"I would say three circuits time is the soonest that I might be able to find someone to cover for me." Odeneus responded, still smiling. "I will say that I am taking time to make a pilgrimage across the North, to see all the glorious statues of Alexandroz, as is most common a reason. Four orbit's leave is the standard, unpaid of course, but I shall survive."

"Three circuits . . . I guess that will have to do, we have no other options," she said, turning to Tom, who nodded in concurrence.

"Then it is settled, you may stay here as me guest until we depart, but it is certainly a cramped space," the leprechaun said. Grabbing the recliner's handle, he positioned himself at a comfortable slant.

"Thank you, Odeneus. We are in your debt," Shakara said happily.

"No, me dear, it is no burden. I've wanted to visit me family for cycles now, and it will be good to get away from the mines and The Four Mountains. I finally have an excuse to travel so far."

Tom did not know there were mines under The Four Mountains, and was curious to know more. "What kind of mining do you do?"

"Well, I mostly work in the copper mines, under the Mountain of Lava, but I also do repair work in the power plant on the Mountain of Wind, where all the city's electricity is generated, which is still under the authority of The Miners Guild. I do mostly equipment inspections since me size limits me ability to mine efficiently, but me hands and body are much more suitable to crawl under and into machines to make repairs."

"So you're a Tinker?" Tom questioned.

"Well, I should be, but technically no, I'm not allowed to be. I'm still considered a miner, which allows them to keep me pay as low as can be while doing the same work," Odeneus said with disgust. He was not the irascible type; in fact, it was rare to see an angry leprechaun when sober. It was when alcohol hit their blood that they turned into the brawlers that Tom had heard them to be from the few stories told to him by an old dwarf in the Brigade.

Tom frowned, shocked by the leprechaun's words, but he did not disbelieve the truth behind them. The North did everything and anything to recruit Southern laborers whom they could pass off as Northern bred, so that they could keep their costs down. He had once met a man from Le'Adra who bought false identification papers so that he could work in the Northern Labor Force. That of course was before the apparent ban on all border crossings due to the new plague. He laughed quietly at that thought, and wondered if a plague even existed, for his arm was never infected: it was only the recoil from his inability to cast a proper spell.

Filled with disgust by the grim news, Tom desired to know if Odeneus had a large family to support, but thought better of asking such an intrusive question since they had only just met. "So how come you work up here?" he asked empathetically, for he recalled that dwarfs in the Brigade received much the same treatment, and they were not from the South, so they even had some leniency thrown their way.

"A few friends of the family heard about an opportunity to strike it rich; they heard about jobs from other sojourners already here, and they lured me in with tall tales. And despite the degrading racism, the pay is still better than I would earn on O'Ire, so I stayed for me family," Odeneus admitted sorrowfully. "I lie and tell them it is a luxury. I don't want them to know of the terrible conditions."

Tom shook his head in anger. He wanted to change it, change everything about the way foreigners were treated, but he could not. The situation, like that of the feral wolf in Bedal, made him sick to think about the ugly truth of the matter. But he had no idea where such a campaign would begin, and any such action for reform would be folly, more than likely getting him hung than to alter anything.

Odeneus gazed at his ceiling for a while, then returned his attention to his guests. "Oh troubled graces, where are me manners, would any of you like something to eat or drink? I have some very good brandy," he said, running off into the kitchen.

"I'll take a glass," Tom replied. Everyone else called for water and whatever spare food Odeneus wanted to give them. Odeneus brought out a miniature glass brimming with water, and two small bowls also filled with water, which he laid before Bravis and Keltin. The second time he returned he held one regular-sized brandy glass, filled three-quarters of the way, clutched by both hands, and gave it to Tom, careful not to spill a drop. He hung a large pot of quinoa over the hearth while he roasted walnuts and mixed up a sweet sauce. After a while, he returned with plates piled high with the cooked grain that was layered in a dark-brown dressing. The leprechaun poured himself a smaller glass of brandy, and set it on a coaster on the end table near his recliner.

Swallowing a bite, Shakara eyed the leprechaun with satisfaction. "What is this sweet sauce?"

"An old family recipe, made from chocolate, butter and a few things that I'll keep to meself, if you don't mind." He smiled, and as he did so, his cheeks bulged, almost as if they were going to pop at any moment.

"Well, whatever it is, it is quite delicious," she said.

As they ate, Odeneus began to whistle in high tones, and from his bedroom another animal appeared: a cat stood just above the leprechaun's head, and it lowered its mouth and licked the leprechaun's face. The party stared at the cat, for it was an unusual sight, spotted exactly like a leopard with a dark-yellow coat and black spots, but it only reached the size of a city street cat. It rubbed its head and belly against the leprechaun with affection while Odeneus grabbed a live rat from a bucket and tossed it into a bowl that sat next to the recliner. The rat scratched frantically at the high walls of the bowl, but its claws could not sink deep enough into the clay to climb up and out of the death pit.

The cat peered at the party with keen yellow-orange eyes. "Why, hello. I didn't know we were having company tonight. I would have cleaned myself proper. I'm Pardris _descentari_ Thiadris, Odeneus' companion," he introduced himself. Odeneus patted the felid's belly and it began to purr while it lowered its head to the bowl and attacked the prey within.

Keltin sniffed the air, surprised that he did not recognized the scent before, as usually the smell would have alerted him instantly, but this cat gave off no such threatening odor. He blinked a few times then closed his eyes, resting his head on the edge of the couch.

"It's pleasant to make your acquaintance, Pardris. I am Shakara, and this is Keltin _descentari_ Morton, Bravis of Lyree Plyth, and Tom _descentari_ Baxter." She pointed as she went along. They all nodded in greeting.

Only a faint torch lit the room, so Odeneus flicked up a switch and turned on two electric lamps that hung over their heads. "Much better?" he asked, returning to his recliner. "Guess we'll run the electricity tonight." Shakara nodded with a pleased smile. "Yep, Pardris and I have lived together for quite a few cycles now, he found me out in the fields between here and Federol. He thought I was an appealing meal at the time, but luckily I convinced him I am more useful than that." He lit his pipe and took a drink of his brandy.

Tom opened the window, allowing the warmth of the second autumn night to flow into the already baking room, and the breeze blew the smoke away from his face. He took a drink of the brandy and coughed a little from its burning aftereffect.

"It's some pretty good brandy, if I do say so meself," Odeneus commented on his choice of liquor.

"It's a fine choice," Tom said with a rasp, tipping his glass at the leprechaun.

Silence overtook the room for a while; it was a peaceful silence instead of an awkward one. It was one that showed the weariness of the four, but suddenly the leprechaun could not stand it any longer. He fidgeted in his seat as he smoked his pipe. Shakara saw his displeasure, and so she began to think of a conversation topic. She was tired, but then it hit her. "Odeneus, do you know the best route to take to O'Ire? I have only been to the coast once, and that was many cycles ago," she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Aye, I do indeed know of the best route. In fact I can show you, I have me great-great-great-grandfather's family map that has been passed down to all traveling family members," the leprechaun reported. He sprung from his chair, pipe in hand, excited to be moving and talking once more.

The leprechaun hurriedly ran into his bedroom, his short legs like a human infant's. He came back holding a white tube; he popped off its lid and slid out a yellow-tinged map of Gillia, along with a pencil. He unrolled the map, which barely fit on the coffee table, for it was fairly large. "I corrected it just last night, had to take out the old Northern borders since Virra was amalgamated. I assume it will be some sort of canton of Haven, but if it isn't then I suppose I'll just continue to update it," Odeneus commented to the party as they gathered around the map, standing well above the leprechaun. "This is really as far as me reading goes. I've studied the map all me life."

Pardris moved to the couch when Keltin jumped up to see the old map. The cat yawned, uninterested in their talk of travel.

"Who is that?" Tom asked, pointing to the top of the paper where the map claimed to be owned by a Rily O'Hennessy.

"That's me great-great-grandfather who explored much of his oul'fella's map, and added things that were missing. No one has changed the name on it since, as the name will always lead back to me family's house on O'Ire, if ever it was lost and returned, which I doubt it would be or could, for I keep it safe and sound at all times," Odeneus told Tom. "He also made the map's key himself, but the actual continent and most of the other features were made by a cartographer out of Elas." The leprechaun was excited to share the map's history.

"So what port should we make for? Quelthol is the closest one," Shakara said, examining the roadways.

"Indeed, it is the closest, but we will find no captain with love for the South: it is a stronghold for Northern values nowacircuits. But I know a well-mannered and capable captain who docks in Ghemis most of the cycle. Our fare would be inexpensive for the lot of us, and I know we wouldn't have any trouble going so far south, unlike with most of the other captains in the North," the leprechaun said with a furrowed brow.

"All right, then what road do we take, the northern or southern fork?" She pointed to the split in the western road, leading to the coast, and the city of Ghemis.

"Well, they will have better ale along the southern road, but the northern is much quicker, so I'll leave that up to you, me dear." Odeneus laughed and took another drink of his brandy.

"Northern road it is, then," she said with finality. The party did not comment further upon her decision.

"Do you mind if I make an addition?" Tom asked politely, not wanting to invade on the heirloom.

"If it is accurate, be me guest," Odeneus answered.

Tom grabbed the pencil and drew in Anakore'in's abode, then added a description to the bottom of the key. "So I don't forget. I've already forgotten the creature once, and hopefully it won't happen again."

"Indeed, Shakara has informed me a little of the hermit and the problem with her memories. A real shame," Odeneus said. He rolled up his map and secured it in its hard tube casing, along with the pencil.

The party members settled down once more into their seats, and Shakara moved Pardris to her lap to fit onto the couch, forcing Keltin to lie on the floor. Tom finished his drink as Odeneus told a story of his great-great-grandfather Rily, who traveled throughout The Violet Sea when trade was blossoming, before war destroyed many of the small towns and cities.

Tom looked up at a clock that hung on the wall and saw that the time was close to when he assumed the military pay center closed. "I'm going to go see if I can collect my payment before the Military Hall closes, so we don't have to wait in the long morning lines," he said, thinking ahead. He always hated waiting in the long lines of hundreds. "The later you go, the more likely they will process your scrollwork then and there."

The party nodded their approval. "Be wary of those brassers, me boy, they will steal away with your coin before your eyes notice anything besides their knockers!"

Tom only smiled, for he did not follow all the leprechaun's words, and he already was on his guard.

Bravis stood up to follow. "Do you think you can untie the bags for me, please?" Bravis asked, shaking his body, which rattled the sacks and clunked their contents together, creating a few sharp, loud noises.

Tom laughed at his companion. "Yes, I think I can manage that," he responded, then unraveled his well-tied knots. He opened the door, and let Bravis duck his horns under the threshold. "We should be back in thirty minutes or less." Shakara smiled and nodded as Tom shut the door on his way out.

The streets were empty, and poorly lit in the poverty-stricken neighborhood, but once they entered the bigger districts, lampposts appeared at every turn to guide their way. Alexurgia decorations still spiraled around the poles, and clung to structures all around the city; some buildings shined with multicolored lights that flickered in patterns. Much of the white chrysanthemums had blown away in the wind.

Tom stopped briefly to ask a guard for directions to the Military Hall, and luckily, it was not far away. After a few rights and lefts, they stood in front of the huge building. Fourteen white columns lined the front of the center while twenty or more lined the sides, though he lost count near the end of the building.

The duo walked up the tall white steps and into the building through its open doors. A recruiter dressed in linen that gave the appearance of hard armor stood behind a counter, seemingly busy at work. Twenty or so other similarly dressed recruiters lined behind the counter. The closest man was the only recruiter not engaged in conversation, but he was writing something in a hurry out of their sight range below the countertop. When they approached the counter, he quickly changed his attention to them.

"How can I help you, mister? Looking to join our ranks? There is a five hundred gold sign-up bonus right now. That's five hundred gold that goes right into your pocket right after you sign the contract," the man said, proposing the offer. "We need men to go east and keep our borders safe. I have a brochure that explains everything you'll need to know before you get to camp out there, if that's what you're looking for." He picked up a brochure from behind the counter and placed it on the countertop before Tom. "We also have animal units that receive a two hundred and fifty gold sign-up bonus." He put another brochure on the countertop for Bravis.

Tom pushed the brochure back toward the recruiter. "I'm actually here to pick up a payment. It should be under Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter Navo of Bedal," he told the recruiter, who shot him an ill look.

"One moment, please, I'll have to check the files in the back," the recruiter said. He walked into a corridor behind the counter, where he disappeared out of their sight. The file room took up the largest portion of the building, well over two-thirds of the space. The duo waited for ten minutes, looking at the drawings on the brochure that conveyed easy money when joining and the great honor of serving the nation, not just as soldiers, but also as cooks and other professions. Soon, though, the man returned empty-handed. "We don't seem to have your scroll on record, vire. It might be in the ready-to-be-paid-out cabinet if you have already come in, or sent a message earlier for your scroll to be processed." The option sounded useless, for it was his first time in the building, as he always went to Quelthol's pay center.

"All right, go ahead and check there," Tom told him, aggravated. He was tired from the alcohol, and furious at having to stand in the building. He composed himself well on the surface, but underneath he was primed to chop off the recruiter's head if the man decided to cut his last string: the string was already thin and barely holding together. He had been paying the government for his service all along, thinking that his family had received the money . . .

He pushed the thoughts of his family to the back of his mind. It was too much.

The man unraveled several scrolls in a file cabinet on the other side of the counter. "Here it is." He pulled out a crisp yellow scroll. "Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter. It looks like you came in yestercircuit to start the exiting process. Did you forget?" the man asked Tom in a cold tone.

"Oh, that's right." Tom pretended to have a clue what the man was talking about. "I forgot I came in early yestercircuit. I was so tired it escaped my mind." Tom smiled slightly while he rubbed his neck.

"May I see your identification, please?" the man said. His voice turned from cold to sheer rude. Tom searched his pockets for his identification card, where it had been when he checked into the inn two circuits ago, but they were all empty now. At last, he remembered the pocket inside his buskins. He undid the laces so they were loose; in the tiny pocket, he found the card. He slid it across the countertop where the man verified Tom's features. "Authentic," he murmured, and stamped the scroll.

The recruiter returned his card, which Tom put back in his boot pocket, then laced it up. "Your payout is two thousand aurroz and two thousand unex." Tom now realized why they gave such large sums of money to him: the government would receive almost all of it back.

The man disappeared into the backroom once more, when he returned he carried four sacks stuffed with coins. He slid them across the counter, where Tom opened them all to make sure of their contents: two were silver unex and two were gold aurroz. "All right, thank you. B'night," he said, lifting the bags of money. The pair turned and walked out into the street, but after they had traveled down a few roads, they realized they were lost.

"You probably shouldn't be carrying those sacks of coin out in the open," Bravis commented.

"I don't think they'll fit in my boot pocket," Tom retorted. He contemplated alternative solutions, but came up blank, without a place to hide the bags. "Let's just hurry back." A soft flap of a bird's wings could be heard nearby; Tom looked up at a lamppost, and sitting atop it, he saw a pearly white dove. The bird eyed them in a way that Tom distrusted.

"Hurry back, how can we hurry back when we're lost?" Bravis questioned.

Tom looked back at Bravis and breathed in deep, smelling the night's warm air and the lingering scents from the circuit. Cinnamon and kettle corn filled his nostrils, as well as many other spices and herbs. But now also alcohol and smoke traveled in the air. "Use your nose," he suggested to his companion. "It's where the strongest alcohol odor is originating from."

Bravis tried Tom's idea with more success, and he started walking to the northwestern corner of the city. They ended up at many dead ends that were not the cul-de-sac the leprechaun lived down. Once they made it to the dwarven district, the stench of alcohol overpowered their nostrils, and made it almost useless to follow the gyrran's nose. They wandered up and down streets for over an hour, stepping on broken jars and mugs, and were often bumped into by drunken dwarves on their way home, none of whom knew where Odeneus lived. Most of the time, they responded in slurred mumbles of incoherence.

They passed a broken-down public house, where bare-breasted harlots made vulgar calls at Tom, and some even directed their attention to Bravis, but a dwarf soon cut in to occupy their time. From out of the squeaky hinged doors stumbled a dwarf, pushed by another, as the two yelled at each other, primed for a match. It was a clash of poor, confused swings, and before it erupted into a brawl for the city guards to break up, both dwarves hit the white stone ground, fast asleep in a liquor haze. Tom and Bravis picked up their speed to get away from such a hazardous lane.

The two finally came to a familiar bend where well-kept houses ended the row of rundown shacks. Bravis' nose scrunched. But before he could alert Tom, they saw that a tall, shadowy figure spied on Odeneus' house from behind a large bush in front of a window. The lights were off inside, but the dim lamppost gave away the silhouette's position. Bravis nudged Tom with his nose, and they decisively ducked into a neighbor's yard, out of the illumination of the street.

They crept across two lawns before the pair sat in silence next to the leprechaun's yard. The money rattled too much, so Tom left the sacks in the second yard, hidden in the tall yellow grass. Bravis caught another whiff of the fetid body odor, and with certainty, he informed Tom that it was indeed Devoto. Neither of the two could guess how the troll was able to track them down.

The shadow stood outside the door, and the light now revealed a mace in his hand; the troll raised a heavy leg, bringing it down next to the door's latch. The door flew wide open and the troll stooped down to enter.

Tom drew the cold, unfamiliar hilt of his sword and rushed in after the troll; his emotions got the best of him, and his actions were strangely without consciousness. The beats of his heart quickened, and blood thudded in his ear, but his quick movement caught his enemy unaware. The troll had his mace raised high in the air, but before the arm could force it downward, Tom impaled his sword through the troll's skinny shoulder. Immediately, he reacted to the mace, seizing it from the troll's weakening hand.

A light switch flipped on, and Odeneus stood staring in amazement, transfixed on the blue troll with a sword through his shoulder. Keltin lay in the chair near the door, where the mace was going to strike, and beneath him on the floor, Shakara shook. She propped herself up, her hand extended to just below the troll's stomach.

The troll looked down and gasped in pain, then turned to see Tom's face. The two made eye contact. Tom saw Devoto's tusked face and wondered why he did not turn more to react to him. As the troll fell against the wall by the door, he withdrew his sword. Devoto slid down the wall with his dirty brown robe folding behind him while he gulped for breath like a fish out of water.

With the troll on the floor, Tom saw Shakara, still with her arm extended and her dagger plunged into the liver of the troll. She stayed in her position on the ground until the troll no longer made any loud sounds; it was a few minutes where the party waited and watched the troll slip into unconsciousness, and right before he did, he spoke in his strange accent, "My family . . ."

Tom paid no attention to Devoto's words and looked at Shakara as she removed her dagger from the blue skin. "How did you know he was coming?" he asked, surprised to see her on the ground.

"Keltin could smell that foul beast ten meters away. I take it this is the troll whom you traveled with?" Shakara said, wiping the blood from the dagger with a cloth from her pocket.

"Yes, it is. What he came for I still haven't figured out. I don't think we have anything of value, though my exit scrollwork was already done when I got to the Military Hall. Supposedly I had been in yestercircuit, so maybe he was after my money," he replied. He deduced that the troll had been trying to steal his coin.

"No, I don't think he was after your payment. He would have waited with you until he knew for sure you had the money. He was after something you already had, and I think it was that book you found," she said.

Tom had forgotten about the book they had picked up outside the Kathronal. "Why would he want that so badly?"

"Trust me, books are worth something, if you know the right market. But whatever the reason, I think it has something to do with The Sacred Church. This troll was in league with the clergy from the start, it's the only explanation for his easy access into the North." She cleared her throat. "He should have been dead on sight, but they released him unharmed." She continued to clean the blade. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"If that's true, then we cannot linger here. Someone might be waiting for him to report in, and might come investigating his absence," Odeneus said in a clear tone.

Shakara nodded. "I agree, we must head for Ghemis without pause." She looked through the open door into the darkened sky, sheathed the dagger, then turned back to the others.

"What should we do with the body?" Bravis asked, looking at the troll's slumped corpse, where blood ran down his stomach and pooled between his legs.

"Let's hide it under Odeneus' bed. With any luck they won't find the body until the stench is unbearable and we're long gone," Shakara said with a glint in her eyes. "Tom, help me." She took hold of the troll's wrist. Tom grabbed the troll's feet, which were now covered in expensive wooden sandals. And although all wood products were costly, these were made from Rhanda Kapok Trees, one of the hardest woods to come by, for the Rhanda Forest was practically extinct, turned into pasture land, and even renamed the Rhanda Grasslands. "These are not the shoes of a simple traveling troll."

"Insooth," Tom grunted. "He did not have them before."

"Collect your provisions," Odeneus ordered like a commander to the rest of the party members. He ran into his bedroom and woke Pardris with a shake to the cat's belly. "We must be off at once."

"So I'm included in this little adventure now? I thought you weren't leaving for three circuits," Pardris remarked sleepily. The cat opened his jaws in a tremendous yawn, then he stretched out his body, shaking himself awake.

"Yes, I was, but now the circumstances have changed. There is a dead troll on our living room floor," Odeneus said solemnly, packing clothes into a leather backpack.

The cat raised his eyes. "A dead troll . . . What mess have you gotten us into?" Pardris asked in alarm. Odeneus gave no reply. "Well then, pack my sweater and a jar of rats."

Shakara led Tom through Odeneus' narrow door into the leprechaun's bedroom, and together they laid the corpse on the ground while they scrutinized the tiny bed frame. Pardris skittered out the room into the kitchen, quickly followed by Odeneus, supporting a full backpack and his map.

Tom eyed the child-sized bed. "Right, he's a leprechaun . . ." he said dryly. "Well what do you want to do now?"

"This is fine. We're not hoping that it's not going to be discovered. I just want to make sure we are long gone before anyone starts to investigate," Shakara said. "Come on, we cannot linger." She dropped Devoto's wrist, leaving the troll next to the bed frame.

"Are we ready?" Odeneus walked around the house, unplugging all the electrical devices from their outlets. "No use running up the bill," he said when they all looked at him.

"Yes, we're ready," Shakara announced. She tied her last knot, fixing a bag to Keltin. The six walked out the door into the star-filled night. On the lamppost outside in front of the leprechaun's door, the white dove from before sat and observed with attentive eyes. "Alert!" it yelled. Tom drew an arrow, nocked it, then loosed it into the wind, aimed at the bird. The shot missed terribly. The bird took to flight heading east toward Alexandroz's Palace.

Shakara watched the bird get farther out of bowshot. "We cannot worry about the spy now, we must hurry to the gate before it reaches its master!" she said. "To the Western Gatehouse!"

Tom mounted his winged companion and Shakara jumped onto Keltin's back with most of their belongings tied around the two animal's waists. Pardris crouched on the ground, which allowed the leprechaun to climb aboard his friend; the leopard-cat raised himself on all fours and smiled at the others.

Seeing the leprechaun riding the small cat was bizarre and indeed foreign to their eyes. They started off down the street when Tom yelled out, "Wait! Wait!" He sprang off Bravis and dashed into Odeneus' neighbor's yard. He quickly grabbed the four coin bags and tied them to Bravis, who sighed at the extra weight. Tom mounted his friend again, and caught up to the party, who continued on hastily.

At Heaven's Western Gatehouse, they found the great pearl gates closed and the portcullis drawn down, but a single iron gate off to the side gave exit for those who wished to leave, and entrance to those with enough coin or standing. In the entrance yard, the party passed three hooded gnomes who rode miniature ponies, and all of them nodded a greeting as they rode on by each other in the starlight. Shakara thought about hiding her face, but the others were already seen, and Odeneus was the most obvious to them, for he was even smaller than they were.

If the gnomes were to speak up, supposing that they were questioned, the party's faces were now known, heading westward, and Shakara disliked that. But it was already too late. As the last gnome passed by, just as the party started to pick up speed, a cluster of city guards gave chase on foot. The West Warden yelled out, "Stop! Stop them!" into the muggy night. The gnomes scooted aside as the men ran by.

Shakara patted the giant retriever. "Fly like a dragon, my friend." At her words, Keltin took off, running as if his feet did not touch the ground. Bravis kept stride with the canid, and Pardris zoomed along, swift for his size, but soon he could not keep up with their exceptional pace. The felid made an incredible bound atop Bravis' hindquarters, then climbed around in front of Tom. The weight was too much for the gyrran at their speed, so Tom tossed the leprechaun through the air to Shakara. She caught him with grace, placing him in front of her. They pushed their effort even more, heading down the barren road in the open fields toward the port city of Ghemis, with a distant voice booming, "Stop! Stop!"

#

### A Darker Road. An Unforeseen Foray.

### A Captain & His Captain.

Into the morning the party traveled, as the stars disappeared, and each sun rose at its own pace, two burning smiles in the sky. Not until nightfall, when the Yellow Moon was full, did they slow. They had only taken two brief breaks throughout the circuit. An easterly wind picked up, and Bravis caught a faint scent in the air, but he could not distinguish it precisely from the other smells mixed in the wind. Keltin, on the other hand, was adept for picking up this particular odor, and he quickly detected the difference. The dog picked up the traces in the wind because of a comparable companion nearby, who should have given off the same odor, but for some peculiar reason that eluded the dog, did not.

"We're being followed by some felines. Some big ones, and if I had to guess, I would say lions or cheetahs," Keltin reported, sniffing the wind with his snout high in the air. They had stopped off to the side of the road, up over a hillock, and made a camp for dinner. Both Keltin and Bravis ate more than their fill, for they were the most exhausted from the long circuit of speedy travel.

"You think we're being hunted?" Shakara lifted up her steel bowl and finished her carrot stew with field-mara, which she had caught, butchered, and cooked.

"I can smell six, but there may be seven or eight. I would say it's a hunting party. Someone must want us captured very badly," Keltin answered. He lowered his head to meet her gaze. "I suggest we press on through the night while the wind is at our backs."

"Why would they send cheetahs after us? They are not distance hunters, their hearts only allow burst speeds, not endurance," Shakara commented. She placed her empty bowl by the fire that Tom had made by spell.

"The cheetahs of the lower eastern plains evolved to run a great distance like a wolf, but with unmatched speed. It has been said they were hunted into extinction over fifteen hundred cycles ago, because of the threat they posed to the cattle ranchers," Pardris said while he circled Odeneus and rubbed his tail against the leprechaun's face.

"Let's hope that tale is true, then," Odeneus said. The leprechaun blew smoke trails into the wind after a deep inhale.

Shakara muttered something to herself as she poked the coals of the fire. She looked back at the party. "How are we supposed to evade a predator like that?" Her voice was grave.

"By traveling through the night," Keltin repeated once more. "They cannot keep up their speed forever, we can outlast them if we travel without long breaks. If we move at a slower speed without stopping, it should work. Odeneus get out that map."

The leprechaun carried the long tube across his back by a thick black strap. He pulled it over his head and popped off the lid of the container. They gathered around the map as the leprechaun laid it near the crackling fire.

"We haven't made it to the forest yet, but I am sure we are close. See this point here at the crossroad, I thought of this earlier in case we needed an alternative plan, but we should continue straight," Keltin panted. He looked around at the party to see if they understood, though when he pointed to the map, his paw covered the portion he was trying to explain. "Well, anyway, you know where I'm talking about. They cannot smell us for the moment, and if we cross the river and travel straight through the forest we will gain a distance they cannot recover from, even with their speed," he argued with conviction.

"And if the wind changes?" Shakara asked in distress.

"Well, I cannot control the elements, but it could always be against us. Yet it is the best plan regardless whether or not they can smell us," Keltin responded, pressing for his idea. "If I remember rightly, there are several fords that will make our crossing painless, so do not trouble yourself about the might of the river."

"No, we cannot go that way," Odeneus spoke up, "it is too perilous, the feral creatures of the wild will kill us. Even the long arm of Alexandroz does not extend into them, the beasts that dwell there are savage and unteachable. It is a sure death if we go that way."

"The creatures of the wild will be unaware of our presence in their land, if we go swiftly through them, do not worry," Keltin said. "And the Northerners will not give chase through the lands out of their possession."

"This is an unwise plan," the leprechaun grumbled. "The Northerners do not control the land between the roads for a reason."

"There are predators everywhere in the world, but I am more frightened by a pack of enduring cheetahs than of some lesser known foe," Keltin said sharply. "If there is evil there, then we will elude it with efficiency. Fear not! For the combined power of Bravis' nose with mine will detect any threat before it finds us."

"Then let's make for the Alcerity." Tom stood up from his bent position.

"I agree," Bravis added. "The quicker we reach the coast, the better." Pardris nodded his concurrence, though the felid cared little, as long as they escaped safely.

"Is there anything we can leave behind?" Tom asked the party. "A lighter burden will save us energy we cannot afford to lose. I can buy new utensils once we make it to Ghemis."

They gathered up their bags and debated upon what they needed and what could be left behind. Bravis and Keltin agreed and decided that much of the cookware was wearing them down, and as long as they had the desiccated meat and fruit, along with the packed walnuts, they would survive. Tom silenced the burning flame. Odeneus rolled up his family heirloom, packing it away in its tube. The party hid their abandoned gear in the tall wheat field at the foot of the hillock on the other side of the road, and in haste left the site behind in a gallop, rushing toward the cover of the Gunny Forest. The two moons shone brightly in the night sky, but the road before them remained dark and barely navigable, for clouds shadowed it. Tom searched through a bag while he maintained his balance on Bravis until he finally found the flashlight.

He tied it to the inside of Bravis' right horn with some of Shakara's spare rope, which she had argued they keep for the long journey. Now it proved much more useful than just keeping an extra bag closed. With the trail illuminated, the two mounts increased their speed, and shortly the edge of the forest appeared within sight.

The Gunny Forest's canopy lay densely packed with evergreens and broad-leafed deciduous trees that still bloomed in the heat. A small town lay near the edge of the forest and the Alcerity river, where lights shown dimly in the distance. When they reached the lights, they found an empty, quiet town; it was late and everyone else slept, for not even street drunkards roamed under the midnight sky here. The town bordered too close to the land between the roads. Noises from unknown creatures stirred the night, and Odeneus trembled as they neared.

They crept through the town without a rattle until they approached the eaves of the forest. "This is a bad idea," Odeneus said. "The road is a safer gamble."

"Odeneus, do not be frightened by the unseen. My hands can move faster than my eyes, and they are ready to draw my daggers," Shakara said, dismounting. She picked up the leprechaun as if a child and set him on the ground.

"My bow is also ready," Tom added.

Odeneus laughed. "That is only good if the arrow hits its mark . . . "

They all joined the leprechaun's laughter. Keltin rubbed his mighty head against the tiny man. "Do not worry, the company here is strong and true, we will not let any harm come your way," the canid said.

The leprechaun scratched behind the canid's ear and nodded. "Into the forest."

Into the forest the party journeyed. It was thick with sharp-needled pines, dangerous roots, and plants that promised a rash if touched. After an hour, they came to the riverbank; Alcerity was a wide and deep river, moving swiftly toward the coast. "There should be a ford not too far down," Keltin said.

"You have been here before?" Odeneus asked, skeptical. The dog shook his head no. "Then how do you know?"

"A memory from the past. Call it a special dog ability, for I do not know how to explain how I know. But you must trust me." The leprechaun reluctantly nodded. The party followed Keltin, who now led the way south along the river. For a greater part of an hour, they traced the high shore of the Alcerity, without any indication of a shallow point ahead. At best, they came to a narrow point, about twenty-five meters wide.

Shakara stopped them with a whispering voice. "We cannot wait forever. I trust you, my friend, but we must cross, there is no more time to delay."

Odeneus' face fell, full of fear, wishing that she would change her mind for his sake. "The current is too strong here, I'll be swept away," he said. "My tiny body cannot propel me forth like a muscular dog."

"But she is right," Keltin said, "the water is higher than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and the longer we wait to cross, the more our shortcut advantage dwindles."

"You can ride atop me, Odeneus," Bravis offered. "Hold onto my horns, and the water shall threaten you little." Without the leprechaun's approval, Tom grabbed him and placed him atop the gyrran's head.

The swift sound of the flowing river was all that could be heard in the silence. As a cat unafraid of water, Pardris carefully walked across the slippery rock, then when it was deep enough, dove into it first. Hastily he swam in the chilly water while he kept his head above the current at all times. Keltin, Shakara, and Tom followed Pardris next. Tom slipped on a flat rock, but caught his balance before he tumbled in. The gyrran turned to the Alcerity and eased into the rushing waters. At last, all but Bravis' head was submerged, which made Odeneus quiver, but the leprechaun's hands held resolute. He gripped the gyrran's horns with such force that Bravis felt it.

The water splashed in Pardris' face. Several times his body was dunked. The current became devastatingly strong in the middle; it thrashed against their bodies with ferocity. Bravis, the first to reach the midpoint, collided into a fish the size of Odeneus. The force knocked the leprechaun into the rapid current. Within moments, Odeneus found himself floundering about, without the strength to combat the river. Odeneus screamed and screamed. Soon he took in too much water to continue his panicky cry.

Bravis dashed after the leprechaun, with a swimming ability that far exceeded the rest of the party's skill, for his eely tail helped propel and steer him through the powerful current. Pardris and Keltin arrived on the other side of the river; the dog pushed the feline to the shore with his snout to help the cat through the current and onto the riverbank. Both animals shook themselves dry, watching the Alcerity sweep Odeneus away. Shakara reached the shoreline, only a few meters behind the two quadrupeds. Tom struggled in the current, his mail weighing him down and restricting his movement. His bow troubled him as well, and he had to be careful, for the current threatened to steal the weapon with every heavy stroke of his arms. Tom finally planted a weary foot on a rock in the shoal, stepped a few more paces, then sat in the shallow water, too exhausted to continue. He breathed all too fast, seeing black dots, and about to fall back until Shakara helped him up to the riverbank.

The light body of the leprechaun buoyed, allowing Bravis to keep sight of him. Bravis pushed his muscles as fast as they could go, and in a struggle, Odeneus clutched a long horn of the gyrran. Bravis pulled the small figure out of the water; then he dashed toward the shoreline. Shakara stretched out to grab the leprechaun, took his arm, laid him on the pebbly shore, and then gave him room. Odeneus coughed up water in a small pool.

Gasping for air, he looked up at her. "I need me pipe." He smiled as he pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

"Your map . . ." Shakara stared at the tube still wrapped around the leprechaun.

"Sealed tight, don't you worry, me dear," Odeneus responded with a cough. He shook his pipe in the air to dry it, stuffed it full of cinnamon tobacco, lit a match, pressed his mouth against the end, sucked in, and blew out a large smoke cloud. He smiled and nodded at Bravis. He was relieved to have such a brave companion. Bravis smiled back, and Tom began to laugh; soon the rest of the party broke out in laughter, delighted that all had turned out well.

Although tired, soaked, and almost frozen, Keltin pressed them on through the forest without delay, as the leprechaun recovered from the trauma, resting atop Pardris while he smoked his pipe.

"The suns will be up in a couple of hours, and will dry us, but if you can't bear it I can make a fire," Tom said, gazing up at the horizon. They walked single file through the thick underbrush, exhausted and exuding a damp stench.

"We will survive," Keltin answered for the rest. "We can rest for a while when the heat comes out." He was panting harshly. And even though he needed to recharge just as much, if not more than the rest of them, he did not wish to stop. Shakara took the lead through the forest, and Tom followed at the tail, while Pardris, along with the shivering Odeneus, filled out the middle of the line.

"Can you catch their scent anymore?" Tom asked Bravis, who walked in front of him. The wind lightly hit their backs, and Bravis took in a long breath through his nose.

"No, I cannot, but maybe the canid is able to," Bravis replied in a slow exhale. "Can you pick up the feline smell, Keltin?" He raised his voice slightly, so that the dog could understand him.

The dog stopped and sniffed the breeze. "They are beyond my range now," he reported while they continued through the forest. Fig trees littered the area and sported soft red-violet flowers. But most of the dense woodland consisted of red cedars and firs, though they were occasionally mixed with hemlocks and spruces, all with various mosses growing on them.

They journeyed for the rest of the night with little communication, and after an hour they stumbled upon a deer trail heading west, which they followed until the morning sunshine peaked up over the eastern horizon. Shakara stopped the party to rest and let the Crimson Sun dry out their clothes, and at that time they also ate some of their dried fruit, and the lush figs all around them.

Tom sat alone by an old thick cedar. Memories of his family entered the forefront of his thoughts for the first time since they had left The Great City. His mind walked through events: his children's first birthcircuit celebrations, his wedding ceremony, and all of their reoccurring faces without names. At times, his chest hurt, and he sat for a long while without movement, in the quiet of the forest, flushing out his pain with tears.

He missed them. He had had something to care about, but now his future was gripped by despair. In the surrounding silence, he vowed to himself to find out the truth, for deep in the back of his mind they were faces with names that he had somehow forgotten, and they existed in the here and now somewhere on Gillia. After an extended time alone, he joined the rest of the party in a small clearing where the trunks of trees did not so tightly pack the forest floor.

"I'll take first watch," Tom declared, taking a seat on a mossy stump.

Birds began to call throughout the forest, as the Golden Sun came up into view, and different songs filled the autumn morning.

Keltin smelled the air again and turned to Tom with worried eyes. "No, we don't need a watch. Bravis and I will smell or hear anything that approaches, and we all need our strength," Keltin insisted. Although Tom was reluctant to give up watch, he finally agreed to the dog's words. Some hours passed and the high autumn temperature still had not dried them out. The forest was muggy, and their skins maintained the moisture, making Odeneus, Tom, and Shakara quite sticky.

They slept in a deep slumber when Bravis' ear twitched toward the south. A loud, booming call rang across the forest area. It came from a hillside not far from them. The gyrran stirred awake, as well as his canid companion. They looked at each other with alerted senses. A roar deeper than a lion's hit their sensitive ears.

"What do you think it is?" Bravis questioned nervously at the disturbing sound.

"It's not a cat, I can tell you that much. The smell is unfamiliar to me," Keltin responded. The sonorous roar deeply agitated him. The sound went by them again, and this time it awoke the others. It was close, terribly close.

"What the babble is that?" Tom asked urgently, terror coursing in his blood.

"We do not know," Bravis replied, shaking his head with a scared look on his face. "But we should take our leave from this place and with haste." He stood to all fours. The rest of the party followed his actions; Shakara took out a compass that she had been using to maintain their westward travel through the forest.

They started through the underbrush, losing the deer trail, for the helpful path swerved north after the small clearing. The sound reached their ears once more, impossibly close. Everyone sensed that a predator chased their heels, but when Bravis turned to scan the area, his eyes caught nothing but green leaves and needles, brown logs, stumps and trunks.

Shakara led the way through the trees, but suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. The rest did the same when they saw that three large black gorillas approached them from the west. She scanned north and south as more gorillas blocked them. Tom twisted around to see a group of gorillas catching up from the east. Gorillas surrounded them from every possible angle.

Bravis quickly counted up their new enemies: there were thirty or so of them, maybe even into the forties. Most of them remained quiet, but a supremely large silverback, which appeared to be their Chieftain, stepped forward toward Tom from the east, and barked a few times, then roared a powerful cry. Tom nervously wrapped his fingers around the hilt at his hip, but did not draw his sword. Keltin growled, Bravis lowered his horns and called threateningly, and Pardris hissed with extended claws, but oddly, Shakara drew no weapons.

"Why are you here?" the silverback Chieftain grunted in a low and awesome voice. He waited for a reply, leering at the party with murderous eyes.

"We are trying to lose a band of hunters, ones that give chase with ill intentions," Tom stuttered to the gorilla, his voice aquiver with fear. He scanned the hostile group as his body shook, jolted from fright, and slightly dizzy.

"It is normal for a hunter to have ill intentions . . . why do you stray from the road? These lands are not for travelers, you are unprotected by the laws of the North here," the Chieftain stated. "Trespassers are not permitted on these sacred lands."

"We did not mean to trespass," Tom lied. He eyed the silverback for a second, then he averted his gaze toward the ground. "If you will allow us passage back to the road to the west, we would be most appreciative," he asked politely, but his voice quivered, fumbling with his words.

"You cut down our homeland, and then expect free passage?" the Chieftain said in a malicious tone.

Shakara stepped forward next to Tom. "We are not Northerners, we have no allegiance to the King, nor The Sacred Church," she swore in a desperate, pleading voice. At that, the silverback Chieftain roared and hit the ground with giant thunderous thumps of his hands.

"How do we know you speak the truth?" the Chieftain questioned. The group of gorillas had created a strategic circle, eliminating any chance for the party to escape, for no gap existed between their sturdy arms. They fidgeted, without a move to make next, and their doom crept into their minds.

"Take this as your proof." Shakara took from her pocket a golden necklace and tossed it to the Chieftain; it was a gold chain with an oval trinket hanging on it. An emblem was inscribed in the gold: a giant white cat roared in its center with a Tualang tree on each side of it, and a lone mountain stood tall in the background.

The silverback barked, threw the chain back, and nodded in approval. "I will take it on good faith that you did not steal your possession," he grunted solemnly. "Only a true protector of the wild could have acquired that. We will escort you to the road, but you must be light on your feet, I cannot allow you to linger. There are other threats in the forest that will not be so obliging to ask questions first." He wore a kinder expression upon his face now. Yet, the Chieftain's presence still intimidated the party, with eyes that threatened to pummel them into dust.

"We take your help and lenience with appreciation." Shakara bowed and the party members mimicked her movement. The silverback bowed his head as well, in acknowledgment of her standing, though not fully trusting the trespassers. They began to move westward to the road with the family of gorillas walking next to them on all sides.

But as soon as the commotion settled and the forest became quiet again, Bravis caught a rustle of leaves coming from the north. High screams could be heard coming furiously toward them. Feet drummed on roots and the trunks of trees. Then from nowhere, a mob of sable chimpanzees came rushing toward the party and the accompanying gorillas.

"Foray! Foray! Protect the fig population!" the silverback Chieftain screamed. He let out a tremendous roar that raised all the hairs of the party members, especially Pardris, whose poked out like sharp spikes, and made their blood pump as well; but it had the opposite effect on the Chieftain's compatriots, for the other smaller silverbacks began to roar, invigorated by their Chieftain. The gorillas charged into the raiding chimpanzees, and the party watched as the silverback Chieftain gripped the necks of two chimps, and smashed their bodies together as if stuffed toys.

The forest came alive with grunts and roars, screams and barks: a thunderous musical began that shook the leaves, limbs, and even the strong foundations of the trees. Bravis saw chimp after chimp appear out of the underbrush. He swept the scene with his eyes and tried to count the number of raiders. He got to one hundred and twenty-three before he noticed a chimp swiftly approaching him from the treetops.

"Run!" Shakara cried to the party. Tom quickly jumped atop Bravis, and Shakara did the same to Keltin. They fled west, following Shakara's compass; Tom looked behind to search for the leprechaun and leopard-cat, but they were nowhere in sight. "Odeneus and Pardris are missing," he shouted to Shakara and Keltin, who led the way.

The two quadrupeds abruptly turned around a thicket of trees and headed back into the battle. Tom witnessed three chimpanzees brutally assaulting a gorilla, which screamed back at its attackers; eventually, the gorilla grabbed an arm of one of its attackers and swung the chimp round, letting the animal fly through the air into a nearby tree with a thud that cracked the solid trunk. Bravis sniffed for the leprechaun's distinctive scent of smoke, brandy, and cinnamon spice, but had trouble amidst the blood and mingling ape odors.

With some luck, the gyrran glimpsed the leprechaun's small black cap, moving about on the brightly colored cat, who stood out in the dark colors of the forest. A chimp was in pursuit of Pardris, and the cat narrowly dodged the chimp a few times, escaping the ape's clutches with agility that only a felid possessed.

Tom seized his bow and slung it in front of him; the quiver that rested over his shoulder only had ten arrows left in it, for he had lost or broken the rest during the journey from Anakore'in's abode. He grabbed one with his right arm, and positioned himself to shoot; his grip on the bow felt awkward, as though he had never in his life fired the weapon while mounted. Yet, he had striking memories of doing so in the eastern hills of The Sepris Mountains. A horrible feeling crawled up his spine, similar to when he had shot his first animal with the bow in The Devides, only but a few sequences ago. The thought that he had never actually used the bow before crossed his mind, for it would explain his rather poor aim for a trained Scout, but the thought lasted only a brief moment, and he pushed the notion away, focused on aiding the leprechaun.

Instinct took over. He aimed and judged the distance, then let the arrow fly. The metal tip pierced its target in the right shoulder, which sent the chimp tumbling into a tree. Pardris turned, and with unsurpassed acrobatics, jumped onto the gyrran's back.

Bravis rounded a tree and headed toward Keltin, who also turned to run west. Two chimps ran at Bravis from his right side, trying to cut him off, but as they neared, a smaller silverback jumped over Tom's head from his left, roaring as it sailed into the two chimps. The gorilla bit into a thin neck while the other chimp attacked his legs; in a struggle they fought, but the strength of the silverback conquered over the group effort of the chimps.

Bravis bounded up over fallen logs and thick stumps, around large bushy thickets, and clumps of twigs. His jumps often reached four meters in the air. Tom shouldered the bow by its string, then turned and grabbed the cat and leprechaun, gently setting the two down in front of him, where he held onto them with a firm grip. He had not heard a growl or bark for a few seconds, so he twisted his head around, only to spot a large chimpanzee darting toward the gyrran with unimaginable speed.

"Faster!" Tom yelled, whipping back around to see the gyrran dodge yet another stump. Bravis pushed himself harder, but somehow the chimpanzee gained ground. The ape was close enough that it reached out and snatched at Tom. The ape's fingers missed his leather jerkin, yet they did manage to latch onto the string of his bow. The bow fell from his shoulder and the chimp along with it, rolling like a ball in the underbrush, where it ran into a wall of bushes.

Bravis continued to sprint at his maximum speed, the very limits of his body, far beyond the speed of the chimps and gorillas. But he had to be careful. One false step into a root would be fatal at this pace; the flat speed that he traveled at was designed for the open plains, not the dense woodlands. After a while Bravis slowed, and Keltin came from behind, out of nowhere, and Shakara held up Tom's bow. How she had managed to pick it up he could not figure, for the pair was ahead of them the last he checked.

They could hear the roars and cries from kilometers away, and for Bravis and Keltin still much farther than the rest, as it was a great long while until the two could not hear the noises of the apes. The battle raged on endlessly, until the party was either out of range, or it had finally ceased, but nobody wanted to go back to find out.

Keltin made sure that they did not stop until nightfall, and the road still lay elusive. Odeneus argued that they should have stumbled upon it already if they were indeed heading west, though he did not truly know, and was expressing his anger at their bad route choice. The dog allowed for a few hours of rest as the Yellow Moon glowed. Then he pushed them on through the night. Dirt covered them, and they felt the grime of the ceaseless circuits, the sweat from the suns, and the terrifying events that forced them forward. Not a word was spoken of the gorilla's advancement, or the chimpanzee raid, as no one believed anything had to be said of the event.

Keltin discovered the road a few hours after the Crimson Sun mounted its attack against the world. The roar of the South Couples made the pathway easier to find, for the river was nearby according to Odeneus' map, and his canine memory. By then, the leprechaun begged for breakfast and sleep, so they rested under the shade of the canopy until midcircuit. Neither Bravis nor Keltin smelled the pursuing felines, or any of the apes, but only the fresh air of the forest. Luckily, the wind stayed on their side and blew westward, so if the cats still pursued behind them, the chances were good that the felines would not be able to catch their scents.

For another circuit and a half they traveled hard with only a few hours of sleep, and a couple of short rest stops to eat. That was it. No one wasted time doing other things; it was sleep, or death by exhaustion.

The port city of Ghemis lay on the coast of The Vexing Ocean, built into the many hills, and surrounded by forest. A warm easterly wind blew. Cotton drifted in the air, gliding to the ocean, landing on the bright blue water. The midsized city, of no more than thirty thousand, maintained a large marina that brought in trade from elsewhere to The Great City. Running on empty, the party arrived at their destination under the midcircuit suns. The harbor: a large, well-organized and salubrious place, made mostly out of concrete and aged wood—with the entire dock system trimmed in thin plates of gold—sat on the south end of the city. Salty sea air overwhelmed their noses briefly, but settled into their afterthoughts when they saw the massive ships all throughout the harbor. From the hillside, the city's Kathronal towered like a beacon, welcoming newcomers to the coastal region.

Odeneus directed them down a ramp to the docks where he recalled vividly the place he first landed in the North so many cycles ago. He made this clear by repeating it to the party several times. Although exhausted, they had to find a ship as quickly as possible in case the felines that pursued them caught up, for their pace was now quite drained and slow. Tom guessed that they had out-distanced the cats too far for the beasts to recover any meaningful ground, but he did not know what truly tracked them, or if anything did at all.

"The Red Marlin was the boat's name, fastest around they say, if I remember correctly. Or maybe that's just what the captain will say to get you aboard!" Odeneus said as he ran ahead while Tom and Shakara dismounted at the bottom of the ramp.

They came to a chain-linked gate and a shack painted gold that blocked their passage into the actual harbor. They waited for a man dressed in scummy salt-stained clothes, who sat on guard behind the only window. Odeneus stood well below the massive glass pane, out of sight of the man, but nonetheless spoke up for the rest of the party. "We wish to find a navigator across The Vexing Ocean. Is the ship The Red Marlin available?" the leprechaun inquired of the man, his voice full of excitement.

"The captain of The Red Marlin does not sail for just nobody, you have to have coin, my dear girl, and coin does not look to be what you have," the guard grumbled, looking at Shakara, assuming that she spoke. He cracked a disturbing grin with teeth that were yellow from rot, a great many missing. The man uncapped a jar of ale after he expressed his opinion of the party.

Tom eyed the man with suspicion. He reached into one of the coin bags attached to Bravis. "How much do we need to get through the gate?" he asked in a loud voice.

"Fifty unex," the guard said drily after a sip from his bottle. He spit into a bucket behind the counter. Though equal to only two gold aurroz, Tom did not want to use his gold, so he counted out fifty silver coins and placed them in five stacks of ten on the countertop. Alexandroz's face shined upwards on the metal.

"Sure, sure, I'll go grab the captain for ya, it'll just be a moment." The guard took the money with greedy fingers. He opened the gate, then strolled off down the wharf.

The hound sniffed the salty air of the sea with uneasiness. "The cats are in the city," Keltin barked with a rasp.

"What? How?" Shakara said, surprised.

Keltin sniffed the air again. "I don't know, but it won't be long before they catch my scent. We must hurry," he warned before he sneezed at the feline's odious odor. A deep growl forced itself out.

"Look over there, is that him, Odeneus?" Bravis pointed with an outspread wing to the man walking toward them.

"Aye, that would be Captain Garbus of The Red Marlin. He will show you what haste means, me boy. No ship can match the swiftness of his vessel," Odeneus uttered in admiration. He was still proud to have been a traveler on the great vessel.

The sea captain approached the party with a disgruntled face. "How can I do ye for?" he asked in a steady voice with a slightly different brogue than Odeneus'. The man was nothing like what Tom had ever seen before, not even in The Great City. He was a plump man, who wore a dark violet jacket that went well below his waist with a faded white long-sleeved undershirt, his belt was wide and made from leather, and his pants were brown linen, severely stained and dirty. High boots covered him almost to his knee, and resting atop his head was a black triangular hat that curved upwards in a sharp point at its front.

"We need safe passage to O'Ire as fast as you can ready your ship," Shakara said tersely.

"M'lass, my ship is always ready to set sail, depending on how much kale ye are willing to part with," the sea captain said with a wide smirk.

Shakara pointed to the bag of silver coins fastened to Bravis. "Will half a silver purse fill your greed?" she said without thought or consideration. Tom peered at her with disbelieving eyes. She was bold to spend his money.

"Greed, m'lass. No, not greed, just what be requiring to upkeep a ship such as mine."

"Is that enough or not? We will find someone else if we are wasting your time," Shakara grunted.

Garbus chuckled with a silly grin. "Aye, m'lass, that is enough for this greedy sea captain."

"We have to leave at once, good captain, there is a search party seeking our capture and detainment," Tom said bluntly.

"Harboring fugitives is what I do best, m'lad." The sea captain chortled at hearing the news. He surveyed the unusual party, and finally came upon Odeneus, whose head stood just below Tom's left knee. "Well I'll be damned, if it isn't Odeneus, ye poor bastard!" Garbus shouted in excitement. "Ye haven't changed a feature since ye left for the shore."

Odeneus laughed, and went to greet the captain with a short, extended arm while the sea captain bent low, resting a hand on his left knee to grip the leprechaun's arm. "You've gotten fatter, me friend." Odeneus grinned so wide that his cheeks puffed out like two bowls.

Garbus let out another great chuckle. "I may have put on a few land rolls. It's the damn crabs that do me in. Come, come, ye'll be telling me all about life ashore in The Great City." He smiled exuberantly.

The party hurriedly followed the sea captain down the pier area, until they reached The Red Marlin. "It will take a few moments to assemble the crew and ready the ship nice and proper," Garbus said when at last he stopped in front of the large vessel. He formed his lips into an o shape and blew a loud whistle.

A moment later, a small bird came flying above the party's heads, and landed on Garbus' shoulder. It was a green-bellied budgie parakeet with a yellow head, circled by black rings; its wings were mottled with black spots ending in bright white tips. "What can I do you for, captain?" it asked in a high chirp while its vibrant blue nostrils glowed in the light of the suns.

"Captain Ron, meet our new guests. We be taking them to O'Ire." Garbus twisted his head slightly to gaze at the bird that comfortably rested on his shoulder.

"Hello, and welcome to The Red Marlin," the parakeet said with a happy voice while he bobbed his head up and down. The party greeted him all at once, and then the parakeet spotted Odeneus. "Well, I'll be, it's the old leprechaun. How pleasant to see you again, Odeneus. I hope your adventures on land were profitable."

"They weren't as great as I had hoped, but I'm making a living, I suppose," Odeneus replied. His face burned cherry red under the direct sunlight. "I hope the sea is still treating you well, captain."

"Och aye, it is, but now I must be off," he tweeted, then bowed his head before he flew away southward toward a building at the end of the harbor.

"Come aboard, my crew won't be hurting ye unless ye be hurting them," Garbus announced to the party members. "Some of them be working down at the fishery, they won't be long." The Red Marlin sat in the harbor, restrained from escaping into the great sea, with its starboard side docked to the pier. She was made from rare old redwood, and was still a beauty to behold, despite the obvious harsh water treatment. On either side of the bow in large vibrant blue letters, the name of the vessel brilliantly contrasted the aged redwood.

They walked up the ramp to find a group of stained and gloomy sailors staring back at them, unlike their captain, who wore a beaming smile. The sea captain and the crew gathered before the quarterdeck of the craft to discuss the readiness of the ship. After a few quick moments, the sea captain began to yell out orders, and the tars obeyed, unlatching the moorings and reeling in the anchor. Shortly, the parakeet reappeared in the sky and landed on Garbus' shoulder again, men followed close behind the bird, running along the pier. Once the men were aboard, Garbus yelled to them what to do, and then they went off to the bow of the ship.

"Odeneus!" Garbus roared in a high-spirited voice. "Introduce me to ye friends."

The leprechaun turned with big eyes at the loud call of his name. "Oh, right," he said, relaxing. "This is Shakara _descentari_ Vlakor, Keltin _descentari_ Morton, Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter, and Bravis the gyrran." He could remember neither Bravis' descent nor his place of origin at the moment, and although proper introductions were important to the leprechaun, he let this one slide.

"Pleasant to meet ye all. What about ye cute furry friend?" Garbus asked, pointing behind the leprechaun.

"Who?" Odeneus said, confused. "Oh, right, you mean Pardris. I've forgotten he wasn't aboard with me last time. We've been together so long, sometimes I can't remember when we were joined." He rubbed the cat's belly. "This is Pardris _descentari_ Thiadris." The group exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then the captain charged off to the helm with Odeneus following at his heels.

Tom surveyed the harbor and all the vessels docked within. The scene was clouded with cotton floating on the wind that now waned. Tom's attention turned to a group of men who rolled a cart up a smooth wood ramp, as they loaded the ship moored to the pier next to The Red Marlin; boxes towered high on the cart, almost too high, swaying as if they would fall over.

"Strange shipments leaving the harbor lately," a tar said to Tom. The sailor stood beside him, gazing at the men packing the vessel. "Never seen such queer freight before."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked the tar.

"Some of us, the crew and myself, we went ashore to bathe in liquor one night, and on our way back to The Red Marlin, we knocked over one of them boxes, stacked ready to go on another ship. It broke and spilled all over the dock. It was stuffed full with vials, strange vials, filled with a queer silver liquid, of the like I've never seen before. The harbormaster was running us down before we could flee, yelling and hollering about how it was unsafe and to stay away from the liquid. I'll tell you, that mess was cleaned real quick, never seen such a panic."

"What do you think it was?"

"Can't say for sure, but something nasty I reckon. I felt an overwhelming attraction to the liquid. I daresay I wanted it all for myself, though I cannot say why." Before the tar could say anything more, he was called away to his duties. Tom stared and ruminated on the odd conversation. All the possible silver liquids that could have filled the vials went through his mind, but they were few, and definitely none that would threaten like what the tar had described of the harbormaster's warning.

Keeping watch, Bravis sighted a pack of cheetahs sprinting swiftly toward them down the pier road. "They are coming!" Bravis yelled over his shoulder. "I count six beasts," he added after a brief second.

Keltin eyed the advancing felids. "The gate is shut and I do not think they can clear it. They won't dare to swim; most cats are not as bold as Pardris here," the retriever said.

Tom stirred from his musing and found Shakara at the starboard rails; the two squinted from the side of the boat, and after some searching, finally caught sight of the felines. Tom drew his sword, which still felt odd and uncomfortable in his grip, but Shakara had taken his bow and grabbed an arrow from the quiver, nocking it, prepared to strike the beasts. He did not think the time appropriate to argue whether he should handle the recurved bow, plus the weapon felt just as strange to hold as the hilt of his blade.

"Now would be a nice time to leave, my good sea captain," Shakara hollered, following the cheetahs' movements with one eye.

"Aye, m'lass. We're almost ready," Garbus shouted back. "But let's not be hasty, we have to keep the ship in order."

Seagulls called to each other while they flew overhead and created little shadows in the sunlight. They floated in the air, searching for food on the ship's deck, but finding none, they moved on to the next vessel.

Bravis watched the cheetahs pace back and forth, stuck on the other side of the gate, but for some reason the guard rose from his seat and opened the gate, holding a piece of paper in his hands. All in a single file line, the snarling cats ran past the guard in a hurry, their great speed allowed them to get within Shakara's firing range in mere seconds once they were through the gate.

Tom heard the twang of the bow as Shakara released the arrow. It pierced a cheetah, impaling the creature in the skull, and the animal rolled in its momentum, falling into the water. The rest advanced even faster, accelerating at an uncanny rate. She nocked another, loosed it, and penetrated a leg, which proved fatal for the beast at such a great speed. The crew finished heaving the anchor all the way aboard the ship while several others severed the remaining ropes that held them in place. They started to drift slightly from the cement dock.

Two of the beasts reached the permanent docking-ramp, and their speed carried them through the air onto the ship; one of the cats twirled as it landed and ran at Shakara. She threw down the bow and drew her twin daggers. The second beast also turned for Shakara and leapt at her, but before the feline's claws could latch into her torso, Keltin met the cat in the air, growling.

The ship picked up speed, moving out of the dock, leaving the ramp behind. The last two animals halted, forced to stop at the end of the ramp, but one fell into the ocean, not able to slow its excessive speed before the ship broke away.

Landing in a tumble, Keltin quickly snapped at the feline's neck, but the beast managed to escape the clutches of the canine. Circling the hound, the swift cheetah ran to attack the larger, rivaling dog. Keltin barked with anger and primed himself for the attack. Bravis neared, but backed away, afraid to injure his companion with his horns.

Shakara jabbed at the cheetah that slowly circled her in a taunting fashion, but missed. "I know who you are, servant of the fool, The Defiler," the cheetah hissed. "Do you think our Savior knows not of his treachery? That he does not know of the armor?"

Sweat trickled into her eyes as they popped at the cat's words. "He knows nothing," she affirmed. She lunged again, but once more, the cat proved the quicker.

"He knows Thorn's last mission was to retrieve it, until we intercepted him. Handy are those letters The Defiler gives, you should burn them if you wish to prevent unwanted eyes from reading their content." The cat laughed with a hiss.

Shakara increased her speed, her blood hot and running. "What have you done with Thorn?" She stabbed repeatedly as the cat dodged. Tom stared in terror as the cat moved about Shakara on nimble paws.

The cat smiled in delight. "One by one we get you. One by one you fall. Your fate will be no different than his!" The cat sprang with open jaws. Tom quickly stepped in front of Shakara and thrust the short blade into its exposed stomach. Where this reaction came from was a mystery to him, but it happened, and it happened fast. The weight of the animal fell upon him and carried him back onto the ship's deck. The beast clawed at him, yet it did not sink a wound, unable to penetrate the mail below his tough leather. He pushed the felid away with a loud groan, and the cat lay motionless with the sword impaled in its gut.

Keltin and his adversary still circled each other in a battle of growls until the cat lunged, grasping Keltin in his sides. The pair rolled about the deck until the canid's teeth met the throat of the cat. He clamped down hard on the windpipe and did not let go. The cheetah struggled wildly against him, but soon the cat ceased its aggressive actions, drained of life. Keltin stood with scratches on his stomach; the wounds bled all over the deck, and trickled off the sides of the redwood and into the sea.

Shakara advanced on the cheetah that gasped for breath with Tom's sword in its belly. "Do not think we are the last. Our Savior's eyes see everywhere, shadow will not be your ally." The cat gasped and gasped until its breaths stopped completely. She turned to Keltin, who wobbled not far away.

"I'm all right," the hound panted weakly, "just some minor scratches."

The boat retreated out of the harbor at a slow pace and stopped at a checkpoint where they waited for clearance to leave while another ship close by approached the harbor.

Blood spilled from the throat of the cat in front of the dog, and pooled around the body of the animal. The canine staggered, until at last he fell over, unconscious.

Shakara rushed to the hound's side. "Keltin, can you hear me?" she asked in a panicky voice. He did not respond. She turned to Tom. "Do you have anything that might help?"

He went to Bravis and grabbed the bag he thought had his cream. He found the tin at the very bottom of the bag, and he hastily handed it to her. She popped off the tin's lid and rubbed the cream onto the dog's wounds. The cuts stopped bleeding immediately, and began to mend slowly but visibly.

"Thanks, Tom," Shakara said. Her lips spread wide in a gracious smile.

Tom gazed at the wounds. "How is it healing him so fast? I still have sores from over a sequence ago."

"Works differently on different species, I guess," she said, shrugging.

Captain Garbus walked over with Captain Ron perched atop his shoulder, and Odeneus on Garbus' heels. "Is the hound all right?" Garbus asked worriedly.

"He will be fine with rest," Shakara answered. "The wounds are not too deep for the cream to heal him. He should recover in a few circuits with luck, considering a cheetah's claws have a minor poison secreted from their tips." She looked up at the captains, remembering all she had recently learned from Pardris about the evolved species.

"I didn't know those critters had poison in their claws," Garbus gasped. "I'll remind myself to avoid them whenever I go inland. As for the dog, my crew will help ye carry him down to the cabins below." He waved a few men over to him.

"Thank you, my good captain, your kindness is most appreciated," Shakara said, smiling at the sea captain.

"Compassion is in my nature, m'lass." He chuckled, staring down at the unconscious canine.

"Oh, it is?" remarked one of the deckhands who helped lift the dog, carrying him down the stairs to a cabin room below. Shakara and Bravis followed behind, still worried for their friend.

"Aye!" Garbus bellowed with a wide grin. He watched them disappear under the deck, then ordered men to dispose of the carcasses overboard.

Tom peered over the side of the boat. A large bird sat on a jetty near the vessel. It perched on a rock, looking over the harbor with its giant body that stood a meter in length, the yellow beak was massive and curved down at its tip. Black covered the bird from head to tail, with a thick white stripe across its wings. The bird jumped off and flew at The Red Marlin; the length of its wings spanned over two and a half meters at least, and created a giant shadow as it approached.

A tar threw the bird a fish that he grabbed out of a bucket near Tom's feet. He watched the deckhand throw another dead fish toward the bird, which caught the first fish with an outstretched talon, and the second one with its massive beak. The bird flew off back to the shore. The man eyed Tom, then walked away down to a lower deck, leaving Tom alone at the ship's starboard bow.

Odeneus walked over to greet Garbus. "Faring well these circuits, me good captain?" he questioned, approaching the much larger human. The leprechaun stood below Garbus' knees.

"I'm not complaining, I suppose. Did I ever tell ye that ye be the only leprechaun I've ever had the pleasure of meeting? Not many of ye kind looking for passage to the Northern lands, ye know," Garbus said while he started to walk toward the great wheel of the ship. Odeneus followed close behind his boot.

"Saw a Murphy Gnome once, though," Captain Ron chirped. He hopped on Garbus' shoulder, turning around to face the leprechaun.

"That's right, we did see one of those, still taller, and much wider than ye kin. I think they have some sweet tooth, those gnomes," Garbus stated.

"Well, don't be fooled by me thin nature, we have fields and fields of cocoa on O'Ire," Odeneus exclaimed. "It will be good to see me homeland, and it's good to be aboard such a fine vessel with a capable captain." He looked up with a grin while he crossed his arms, grabbing his elbows. "Your favorite drink still mango rum?" Odeneus asked with a toothy smile.

"Och aye, it is," Garbus replied. He bent down and pulled out an orange bottle of rum, plus two thick glasses, from a box near his feet by the great wheel. "It is good to be at sea again. We've been in harbor nearly four orbits, and I can't stand firm ground . . . makes me nauseated." Garbus took over the helm. The sea captain and Odeneus reminisced about the leprechaun's voyage to Ghemis when they first met, drinking the mango rum for many hours.

The sea stayed calm through the rest of the circuit as Tom rested his elbows on the rail at the bow of the ship. He watched the water go by, wave after wave, and thoughts of his nonexistent family entered his mind. There was a wooden chair behind him that was well padded, which he decided to rest in for a while; eventually he drifted off to sleep. Soon the Crimson Sun settled over the ocean, and the Golden Sun followed not far behind. Overall, the party was happy to be done with the danger of the North, and most excited that they were finally heading to the South.

#

### Quiet On The Waves. Sea Marauders.

### A Forgotten Treatise.

The waves had been smooth and steady throughout the night and into the next circuit. A pair of gulls followed The Red Marlin overhead, along with another bird, some sort of sea eagle Tom had never seen until yestercircuit. The eagle devoured the fish tossed to it rather quickly, almost impossibly fast. It flew lower and closer to the boat than the gulls, and at times it would go on ahead of the boat, then reappear a few hours later, stalking the vessel.

Tom had not moved much since the boat left the harbor, for he even slept outside at the deck's bow in the dirty chair. The weather heated enough at night, and blazed during the circuit, which severely itched his new growth of facial hair, eating at his nerves. He slumped in the chair and looked out at the water through the railing. The ocean soothed him in his deepening depression. All the while, he cogitated on his family. He also pondered what else in his life did not exist, perhaps his time in the Brigade. That seemed unlikely, but nothing had focus anymore, and nothing was solid.

Shakara emerged from below the ship, and came over to stand next to Tom. There was silence between them. She walked to the railing and rested against it.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"How is Keltin?" Tom ignored her question.

"He is still asleep, but his wounds have almost entirely healed," she reported the good news.

"I'm glad to hear it," he responded, giving a minimal smile.

She turned around to face him and leaned back on the rail. "Look, I know how you feel, I've been where you are. Oh troubled graces! I'm still where you are. Having the same feelings I did orbits ago. We can talk about it, you know, with each other. It might help. I think it will help," she said empathetically.

"I don't have anything to talk about. I realize I don't have a family, that's it, it's a done deal," Tom said in an irritated voice. His face changed to anger.

"But you have friends whom you can talk with, and open up to." She leaned down as she tried to make eye contact with him.

"Like you?" Tom said, raising his voice. "I hardly even know you. It's been what? Less than a sequence?" He avoided her eyes.

"It is true, you don't know me that well, but you don't know them either, Tom," Shakara replied in a flat tone. "You never did."

He had been mulling over that fact, which had kept him awake most of the previous night. "I know, but it feels like I do . . . I just want to be a lone for a while to grasp it. I haven't been alone to think about it, and that's what I think I need. Just a bit of time to think," he said quietly in a low, dispirited voice.

Shakara nodded, but before she left him alone, she threw out one last question. "You want to hear what I want to know most of all?" she asked him. He sighed, but nodded anyway. "I want to know what I truly did during the time of my memories. Maybe I did have a family to go home to, maybe I had a better life then . . . maybe I wasn't a killer." After that, she departed from the deck, leaving Tom with his questionable memories.

Bravis stayed away all through the night at Tom's request, until the morning of the next circuit when the gyrran decided that it had been a long enough time for the human to brood sullen and alone. He joined his friend at the front of the ship, who smiled faintly when the gyrran approached. "Feeling better?" Bravis questioned, absorbing the intense rays of the two suns upon his body.

"Insooth, I think so. How are you this morning?" Tom asked with a cheerful grin.

"I'm enjoying the fresh air of the sea," the gyrran responded, sitting down at his companion's side. He swiveled his neck to examine Tom. The human's face glowed brighter now, and it appeared that the dark moroseness had faded from him, though his eyes were still puffy.

"Yes, it's nice to breathe it in." Tom patted the gyrran in gentle strokes while Bravis nuzzled Tom's shoulder. They talked until midcircuit when the suns boiled the sea. Shakara sneaked up behind the two until Bravis heard a footstep clink against a metal chain that lay on the deck. She made a funny face as the two turned around to see her in a slightly hunched position.

"Trying to spook us?" Tom asked, grinning.

She was overjoyed to see him with a smile again. "Maybe," she replied. Returning to her normal stance, she walked over to join them. "Feeling happier, I see." Satisfaction carried in her voice.

Tom did not respond to her comment, but instead got up from his seat and sauntered over to the railing. "Is he better?" he asked while she came up beside him, resting on the rails.

"Still the same, I thought he would be awake by now. Pardris has been keeping him company the whole time, and will alert us if anything changes," she informed him of the dog's condition.

Tom sighed at the ill news, then turned to gaze at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"What was that cheetah talking about? Who is Thorn?" He scratched under his jaw.

She sighed. "Thorn trained me to be what I am tocircuit, one of Anakore'in's assets. I haven't seen him in three cycles . . . I guess Alexandroz knows of us, of Anakore'in's circle, and now he knows of the armor, too."

"The cheetah said Alexandroz is killing you off one by—"

"I heard." She stopped him, grabbed one of his hands, and squeezed. "Don't worry, we will be fine. We will retrieve the armor before him, and take it to Anakore'in, so that we may learn the secrets behind it all."

Her face showed that she wished not to continue on the subject, so Tom brought up another topic that had been grinding away at his nerves. "What happened back in the forest? One minute we're surrounded by gorillas, the next you throw something at the silverback to sway him to help us, and then all of a sudden we're on the run again."

"I don't know what the feud between the chimps and gorillas was over. If I had to guess, I would say territory. But the trinket I gave the silverback was that of The Wilderness: an organization known to stand against the devastation that war has brought across the lands and to its feral inhabitants. All in the wild know what it means, except maybe in Lyree Plyth," Shakara apprised Tom. She turned to glance at Bravis, who stared blankly at her.

She dug deep into her pockets and pulled out the necklace. "See the mountain?" She pointed to the white peak on the emblem. "That's Mt. Surez, the tallest mountain in the world, at the center of Gillia."

Tom gave a slight nod in understanding.

She moved her finger to the trees. "The extinct Tualang trees, one of the beauties of the world, now gone forever." She paused for a second, then pointed to the cat in the center. "And do you know who that is?"

He shook his head no.

"That's Kenyatta Zenawi, the _tiopard_ , Lord of the Wild," she told him. "Together, they are the three symbols of The Wilderness."

"What is a _tiopard?_ " Tom inquired, unfamiliar with the term.

"His mother was a white tiger, his father a snow leopard, and he is their result," Shakara elucidated.

"And did you steal this from another?" he asked, for he did not take her to be a save-the-animals type.

Shakara glared at him for a second, but then forgave him for thinking so. "No, it was given to me by a man from Le'Adra. He said I had earned the right to wear it, but I can't while I'm in the North, it's forbidden." She clutched the trinket in her hand, looking down at the chain that draped around her neck. "I think you should take it, Tom." She proffered him the trinket.

"What? Why?" Tom gaped at her in bewilderment.

"Because you deserve it more than I do. Saving that wolf in Bedal, you are a true friend to the wild," she asserted. "Plus, I already have something around my neck." She forced the trinket into his hands.

He accepted it, hooking the ends behind his nape, letting it dangle across his leather jerkin. He grinned at her. "Thanks," he mumbled, "but saving one wolf isn't saving the world."

"It might one circuit," she said, "you never know."

"Beautiful part of the circuit isn't it?" Captain Garbus greeted the trio, coming up behind them with Captain Ron resting on his shoulder. Smoking his pipe, Odeneus followed not far away. The two had not separated since they left the harbor, except to sleep. They had shared many endless stories throughout the past three circuits, and appeared to be far from done.

"Most beautiful part of the circuit," Captain Ron said. He flapped his wings almost violently to clear out his old feathers, which fell out over the deck and into the sea below. He chirped a few times and moved sideways along Garbus' right shoulder, then finally settled down again. The bird loved the heat of the circuit, and basked in it with closed eyes.

The boat traveled within sight of the shore to their left, and Garbus pointed a finger to a chain of mountains that came into view. "Those are the mountains of Lyree Plyth." He raised his eyes to the group. "They call them The Untouched Lands, and legend says that not a soul has ventured into them for over four thousand cycles of the Golden Sun," he whispered in a spooky voice. He winked at the group for dramatic effect.

Bravis did not comment, and neither did Tom, instead they both looked at each other and laughed quietly to themselves. At that point, Odeneus remembered where the gyrran was from, but it was too late to rectify his mistake from when he had introduced the creature.

The entire group focused on the snow tops. The massif sported a few mountains with reaching peaks that shadowed parts of the shallow seas. The vessel slowly sailed by the mountains, only to be replaced with more mountains of the long chain. Resentment rose in Tom at the thought of Anakore'in and his false friendly errand. His body shuddered while his face contorted in disgust, but it quickly passed as he forced himself to think of the calmness of the sea.

Tom looked at the erne that followed them now. "Captain Garbus, do you know what kind of sea eagle that is?" he asked curiously. He pointed over the rail. "The one stalking us." Worry coated his words, for the threat of spies was always in the back of his thoughts, as the cheetah had spoken that the feline beasts would not be the last to hunt them, and Alexandroz's eyes left no place uncovered. Birds were useful allies. Just then, Tom remembered the ivory-headed eagle that had followed them throughout the Northern fields, tailing them even on the circuit when they reached the very gates of Heaven. _Spies indeed_ , he thought.

The sea captain answered, "Och aye, I do. It be a Steller's Sea Eagle, named after the explorer George Steller, who settled in a bay north of Ghemis about six thousand cycles ago." Garbus eyed the bird in the sky. "Great explorer he was, discovered and named quite a few species back then. Ye know the black and blue jays of Bedal?" the captain questioned, looking at Tom.

"Half jays? I do, quite of few of them up there," Tom replied.

The captain smiled. "Their real name be Steller's Jays. The explorer fancied naming things after himself." Garbus chuckled, his laughter boomed across the ocean expanse.

Tom joined in with a laugh of his own, then pointed at the erne. "Why does it follow us now?" He had not spoken much in the last few circuits, and it felt good to communicate with the living again.

"Because Freddy insists on feeding the bird wherever we go. The two have never talked. He just is throwing the bird some fish from time to time. I've told him to stop, but he doesn't listen. He be a quality lad, though, be hard to replace," Garbus said. "The bird be no spy, if that worries ye; he's saved us on a few occasions, that one," he avouched in a sincere voice. The eagle sharpened its eyes on them, and maintained its distance from the boat, floating at a leisurely pace.

The party entertained themselves in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, as they breathed in the captivating scene. Then a question arose in Tom, one that he had wanted to ask the circuit they boarded the vessel. "I have another question for you, my good captain," he said.

"I'll answer it as best I can," Garbus responded.

"I had a very peculiar conversation with a tar of yours, the circuit we arrived, and it has been bothering me ever since. It was about a shipment of vials heading out of the port."

"Och aye, strange and mysterious those certainly be. Been coming and leaving the harbor for orbits, all shrouded in secret they remain, I can't explain much on the subject."

"Do you know what the silver liquid is?" Tom asked.

"Nay, I do not. Been asking, though, but it seems I'm not trustworthy, not all too loyal to the North and all," Garbus said. "No allegiance to anything but my crew, and of course, the guests I choose to ferry."

Tom was disappointed at the news, though he did not know why, but he was thoroughly intrigued by what the tar had told him, and desired to know more about the liquid in the vials, as if compelled to find one for his own greed, despite the fact that he had never even seen one. "Do you know where the shipment is going?"

"I do indeed. To Le'Adra, I gathered. But that be all I know." Garbus fell quiet for a while. "Come! Let us eat and talk no more on gloomy subjects," he yelled, plodding off to the stairwell.

The rest of the party followed, but before Tom and Shakara moved, she threw the Northern headband from her head into the sea, sighing in relief.

"Why did you do that?" Tom asked.

"Because I'm no Northerner." She said no more and walked to the stairwell. With a growl from his stomach, Tom went after her.

That night Tom slept down below in a shared cabin with Bravis. The seas were no longer calm, but rocky, almost violent, and twice he fell to the floor from his raised bunk; his weak stomach threatened to spit up his evening meal. His family entered his mind less that night, but he still fell short of sleep, for the waves kept him awake for the better part of the time.

By midcircuit on the next circuit, Keltin still lay in a coma; Shakara chewed up dried aurochs meat and fed it to her friend, and poured water down his throat, hoping that he would wake soon, but nothing helped. Tom and Bravis were on the foredeck, gazing ahead at the open ocean, when Tom noticed the erne fly over them, which created a shadow as it flew. He saw the bird scan the waters from above; it looked to be in search of something, and Tom guessed it was craving a fish for lunch.

Suddenly, though, the bird turned back for the ship, and flew directly at the duo. Tom ducked under the rail, thinking it was going to grab at him; instead, it grasped the railing and landed soundlessly. It cocked its head at Tom as he corrected himself upright. The erne squawked a few times, and then opened its beak to talk. "Call for Garbus and tell him he has an enemy on the horizon," it commanded to Tom. He stared at the bird blankly. "Go now!" it yelled to him.

Tom made for the helm on the quarterdeck at the stern of the vessel, running as fast as he could. Logically, he did not know why he was running when the bird flew much faster than his legs could take him, but in under a minute he reached the quarterdeck. "Captain, captain, the Steller . . ." He paused, catching his breath. "The Steller reports that danger approaches," he announced, sucking in air. The boat spanned a great distance and the trip from end to end took the air from his lungs. Bravis came behind him at a relative dull pace for the gyrran, and Tom was annoyed that he had not offered him a lift to speed up their important errand.

The captain's face changed to a serious one, now alerted to the possibility of a threat. "Did he say what?" Garbus asked sharply.

"No, he just said that an enemy nears on the horizon," Tom repeated what the bird had told him.

The captain nodded. "Sound the alarm," he ordered Captain Ron, who sat nearby on the railing of the raised upper deck.

"Aye." He flew away, chirping all the way down into the lower levels, where his high singing was lost. Moments later, men ran from the decks below, armed with swords and knives at their hips.

Garbus appointed a man to the helm in his stead, and went with Tom and Bravis back to the bow of the vessel. The erne still sat on the railing, but said nothing when the three approached. The captain took out a long scope from his side, and peered out over the waters. He lowered the scope and scrunched his brow in dismay. He raised the scope again to the last area he searched.

" _Marenifdae?_ " Garbus asked in an incredulous voice to the erne; the bird squawked a yes in reply. He swiveled back to his crew. " _Marenifdae!_ " Sailor after sailor repeated his bellow down the line, so no one misheard. The erne flew off to scout ahead some more, but shortly after, the enemy already drew upon them, too close to evade completely.

Bravis spotted three large tan fins poking out of the water as they closed in on the vessel at a hasty speed. The gyrran was flummoxed as to why the captain was so worried about sharks, for they certainly could not tip a ship so large, _or could they?_ He thought it highly improbable; the largest shark he had ever seen only spanned a couple of meters. But then he had also never heard the term _Marenifdae_ before, _perhaps they are some unusually large breed?_ He became curious to know the word's meaning, but the captain was far too busy giving orders to disturb with a question.

The vessel started to veer from the coast toward open water, while the sailors stepped lightly, fervid in their movements, but the arduous work required all of its members to pull off the captain's plan to outrun their enemy. Their passion to escape was scarcely in control. They feared these sharks beyond any of the party member's understanding, and not a one would stop to answer why they worked so feverishly. The wind picked up, blowing southwest, and the ship's sails used the force to its advantage, traveling with the current.

Only one shark caught the boat, and the crew fired upon the beast's head as it swept in for an attack. The shark missed the boat by a narrow margin, within a meter of the red wood.

Night came and covered the ocean in darkness, and with the help of the erne, the crew kept watch as everyone was on the _qui vive_. With the wind's aid, they worked to outdistance the sharks, and there was nothing for the party members to do without standing in the crew's way, so they went below to rest in their cabins.

The wind had become violent by the morning, careening the ship from side to side in a horrific manner. Tom went topside to get a report on their situation. "Have we lost them?" he yelled to the sea captain, who steered the ship at the helm. The wind stole his words. He repeated himself, but this time he leaned into the captain when he spoke.

"Aye, it would appear so, m'lad. The wicked sea creatures have fallen behind us somewhere," Garbus answered, adjusting the wheel, turning the ship westward.

"How long until we reach port?" Tom asked, hoping it was soon. He was starting to get sick, and irritation at the long sea journey ate at him.

"I will have ye there before the night falls," Garbus answered with a chuckle. "Don't ye fret about it, m'lad." He slapped Tom on the back.

Shakara emerged from the bottom of the ship with a face filled with worry and exhaustion. Her eyes were ringed with a dark, purplish hue, which made her look ill. "Have we escaped them?" she asked Tom as they hid behind the barrier of the quarterdeck.

"It seems that we have for now." Tom unfolded his arms, wrapping one around her. "How is Keltin, has he woken yet?" he said with concern.

"No, he is still resting . . ." Shakara stared off into the windy horizon, where the clouds swept by.

"He'll wake soon, you shouldn't worry," he whispered, hugging her softly.

"He should already be awake, but the cream has done nothing more than heal his wound. The poison remains and we have nothing to cure it with, and I am losing hope that his body is strong enough to defeat the feline's venom on his own." Shakara buried her head into Tom's shoulder as she began to sob quietly.

"I'm sorry . . ." Tom murmured into her ear. "I wish there was something I could do to aid him . . ." He tightened his arms around her. Shakara wept in his closed arms, her tears soaking his new tunic as he embraced her. Garbus, in his kind hospitality, had supplied the party members with fresh new clothes, but Tom kept his old jerkin as a spare. His bronze mail lay on his bed, for it became uncomfortable and heavy on the vessel, and since he had been confined to his quarters for the last several hours, it did not make much sense to wear it.

"We have not but a few hours before we reach the port of O'Ire, there we can find a physician to help him," Tom said, trying to ease her worry. "If Keltin remains in the same state until then, the leprechaun's medicine will be able to heal him, right, Odeneus?" He turned to face the leprechaun, who silently approached them, chewing on his pipe. Tom had adapted an eye for looking at the ground in search of the miniature man. The scent of cinnamon and smoke also gave the leprechaun away to anyone with a nose. Now the smell of rum added to his perfume.

"Aye, me folk have very strong anti-poisons for the pesky spiders that crawl about on the island, very dangerous they are, give you a bad dose, kill you even. Long ago we thought the poison to be a plague, their bites spread like dragonfire upon a timberland, until we found the cause of the devastation." Odeneus paused to pull his pant leg up, showing a discolored scar that had marked him for death. "Then we quickly began to eradicate them, and over time we made a strong enough cure to save the remaining infected. The bugs still manage to murder from time to time, but now it is a rare death," he finished with a smile.

Shakara pulled away from Tom's chest, to gaze at the two with flushed cheeks and swollen eyes. "I fear shadow will take him before then, his breathing grows weak against the terror that flows within him."

"Hope is all we have now, hope that the hound will endure, but for now let us eat, for lunch is upon us, and I smell a pleasurable aroma about," Garbus shouted as he walked down the steps of the quarterdeck to join them.

"He is right, we need to eat, and it does smell incredible." Tom directed Shakara to the stairwell. "I'll be right there, I have to grab something real quick. I'll join you at the table in a minute," he uttered at the bottom of the steps. As Shakara made for the dining quarter, Odeneus and the sea captain followed close behind.

Tom entered his cabin room and began searching through their travel bags. Digging through each one, he threw the bag's contents about. "Yes," he hollered in excitement, finding what he desperately sought. He held a book in his hand that he had forgotten all about, and walked down the hall to the dining quarter to join the others, who waited for him with patience.

Many of the ship's crewmembers greeted Tom until he reached the table where his companions sat. He planted himself in an unoccupied chair next to Shakara; he nodded at the party in a greeting. "I think I might have a way to help Keltin. I had forgotten about this book that Bravis and I found, on the steps of the Kathronal in Heaven. You were talking about the evil that spreads throughout Keltin's body, and that reminded me of it." He set the palm-sized book on the table in front of them. The black cover bore a gold title and was bound with thinly cheap pages.

Shakara sighed. She had forgotten about it as well, and the troll. "Why do you think it will help?" She glanced over at the dusty cover of the book.

Tom wiped away the dirt, showing the title of the text, which she read for the first time. "Because of the title it bears." He read it out loud: " _A Treatise On The Guild of The Paladins_." He lowered his excited voice. "There might be a spell in here that can save him."

"How did ye obtain a book of The Paladins?" the sea captain asked, intrigued. "There are so few books in the world, and even fewer able to get their hands on such a scarce scripture, and even fewer people can read them. It's forbidden to reprint old works such as that, and only a few copies are known to have survived when The Sacred Church exterminated the guild." He sounded as though he were an expert on ancient writings.

"Then it is ironic that I found it at the very heart of The Sacred Church. It was supposed to be the payment for our assassination, at least we think so. The details are still veiled to us," Tom uttered in a gloomy voice. The party members, except for Odeneus of course, had not spoken of the troll, or their escape from Heaven. "It's a good thing trolls are so conspicuous; it is their dreadful scent, makes for a terrible assassin, otherwise we might not be enjoying this fine feast right now."

"Insooth," Bravis said. He glanced at the sea captain for a second, then at the rest of the table while he stood behind Shakara with a plate on the floor. "My trust did not go deep with the troll, and I never suspected him to be anything other than a villain; I'm glad to be rid of the vile creature."

Garbus looked up from the meal before him. "If that truly is a book of The Paladins, it will have a spell that can heal this poison that has overtaken the hound," the sea captain spoke with certainty. "But none of us will be able to wield it, for none of us have had any of the proper training, and even with it, it is not a sure thing that the spell will not kill the caster." It was true, none of his crew knew anything about the magical arts, or himself, and he assumed from the look of the ragged bunch that none of his passengers possessed such skill.

"Well, I can try, I have tried using the arts before," Tom said eagerly.

"Yes, but you lost the use of your arm for a time, and put yourself to sleep on another occasion," Bravis countered.

Tom ignored his friend. He opened the book and examined the first page, underneath the title bore the writer's name, Parameswara Iskander, whom he had never heard of before, but he presumed that the author must have been an esteemed leader in the guild. He flipped to the next page and read the bold letters: _The Troth of the Paladin,_ but he went no further on the page, and began to scan through the rest of the treatise, searching for an anti-poison spell.

"Even if ye have tried using magic before, this kind of spell power would be beyond a simple run-of-the-mill sleeping spell, and from the sound of it, that did not go well for ye. The Guild of The Paladins possessed advanced skills beyond mere child's play. These kinds of spells can drain a life to a slow and terrible death," Garbus argued, attempting to prevent Tom from using the magical phrases in the book. "It's much worse than the quick death of ruining an elementary spell."

"And how would you know this?" Bravis asked. He gazed at the sea captain with doubt.

"I've seen it first hand, m'lad, when I be transporting a would-be paladin from Brilam to a port in Le'Adra on his way to Turrey, more than fifty cycles ago. He saved my ship and crewmembers from certain death by a giant squid, and I tell no lie when I say this, it spanned over one hundred and twenty meters in length. I saw what it did to him, the strength and energy he used to save us, it be turning his body into a sponge for circuits," Garbus said in a disgruntled voice, eyeing the gyrran for a long while. "And he be not even a true paladin, only a mere swordsmen who dreamt of reviving the guild." He stopped for second to regain his breath. "Ye can't even begin to fathom what it did to him, and I suspect it would do something far worse to ye, if ye commit to something so far beyond ye knowledge and expertise." The sea captain chewed a piece of boiled chicken. "It would be the doom of ye, m'lad."

"Yep, he nearly died," Captain Ron threw out as he pecked at a bowl next to Garbus, filled with seeds. He twittered in breaks as he ate, and moved his head around in fast movements, on his guard at all times.

Tom made no reply, but instead ate his meal in quiet. Suddenly, scratches could be heard outside the door, and a sailor jumped up to open it. Pardris came running into the room, and down to where Shakara ate, as he sprang into her lap. "It's Keltin!" he yelled. "He's getting worse, something is happening to him."

The party members scrambled to their feet and dashed into Keltin's cabin, where the dog lay on the floor between two bunks. Tom held the book under his arm. Shakara kneeled on the floor beside her friend, and touched his nose; it was as hot as the boiled poultry. She gazed at Tom with a terrible fear in her tired eyes.

"I have to try," Tom exclaimed. "I have to try to save him."

"Ye can try, m'lad . . . but it will only end in death, his and ye own," Garbus said grimly. He walked out of the cabin and back down the hall to the dining quarter.

"Search for the spell," Shakara cried. "He might not have much time."

Before he could answer, the surprising voice of the sea captain cut in, as he entered the room with quiet feet, something none of them thought possible. "He must eat first if he be going to try this foolery, for he be needing as much energy as he can muster." Garbus gestured, putting a plate of chicken in front of Tom. "Eat as much as ye can, m'lad."

"There isn't time." Tom flipped through the book's pages, reading the bold titles as fast as his eyes could focus.

"Aye, there be enough," Garbus insisted. He grabbed the book from Tom's grip, and forced the plate into Tom's hands. "I'll look for the spell while ye eat."

"Can you even read?" Tom asked rudely.

"I can understand the symbols at the top, m'lad." The sea captain narrowed his brow, glaring at Tom, who complied with the captain, mostly because it would waste more time to argue, but also because the sea captain overpowered him. He gorged down the entire plate in a matter of minutes. Subsequently, his stomach rebelled against him and his gluttonous behavior. He put the plate on the floor as a burp bubbled out his mouth.

Skimming through the chapters, Garbus halted when he came to a drawing of an upside-down rat. "I think I found it," he said, handing over the book to Tom. Just then, a sailor dressed in cooking attire came in behind the sea captain, carrying a mug full of steeping black leaves.

"As you ordered, my good captain," the cook said. Garbus nodded graciously as the man left.

"What is that?" Shakara asked.

"A concentration tea left behind by that would-be paladin," Garbus answered. "No one able to use heka has boarded my vessel since, and I had no cause to rid myself of it, so I kept it safe and dry. Tom will have to drink it, if he be set on pulling through. It will help him keep the spell in his mind, so I'm told, and it can't hurt to try it."

Tom nodded and accepted the tea with gratitude. He drank the raw tea through a steel strainer-straw, finishing within a minute, despite the boiling temperature of the liquid. Instantly Tom's mind found focus. His peripherals blurred as he examined the page Garbus found. " _Healing Potent Venoms of the World_ ," he read the title aloud.

The party members crowded around Tom while he knelt beside the canid. Garbus took the mug while Tom raised his hand over the dog's stomach, but kept his gaze on the words in the book. " _Expellerous Potio Cavina deo Carruseer_ ," he murmured. Nothing happened. He repeated himself, but still nothing happened. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the words. They formed clearly in his mind. " _Expellerous Potio Cavina deo Carruseer!_ " he screamed as his body convulsed. He fell face down to the floor; the world went crimson around him until only red filled his vision. Then blackness.

Shakara rushed to Tom's side. "Tom, can you hear me?" she yelled, and rolled him over onto his back. She gazed at his half-closed eyes. The whites of his eye turned crimson, and blood slowly began to leak from his eye sockets onto the floorboards. "I've killed him." She held his head in her arms.

The sea captain peered down at Tom's stiff body. "No, he be not dead yet, but he soon will be," Garbus said, then cursed.

After a few minutes of silence in the cabin, Tom's eyes shifted back to normal, so that his pupils stared back at the group surrounding him. His sight fixed on Shakara, whose tears dropped from her cheeks onto his shirt. The oozing blood ceased as he came to his senses, shaking away the nausea that attacked him.

"Did it work?" Tom managed to whisper in a weak, exhausted voice. He coughed several times in bursts.

Shakara looked at the unconscious hound. "No . . . it did not," she said drearily. Tom tried to move to see the dog, raising himself off the ground. "You need to rest." She stopped him with a hand to his chest, and pushed him gently back to the floor.

Tom rolled his head to the side, which allowed him to see Keltin's face. "He is getting worse, isn't he?" he said in a hoarse voice. He closed his eyes from the ache that now ravaged his body.

"Yes . . ." Shakara mumbled in anguish, softly stroking the dog's fur while she held Tom with her other hand.

"I have to try again," Tom urged, lifting himself out of Shakara's grip. Reading the bottom half of the page, he found his error, and with great speed, positioned himself at the hound's side on his knees; he held the book in his left hand and extended his right hand over the dog's belly, exactly like he had done before. "I know what I did wrong and what I must do now to correct my mistake," he spat out in a rush. A fit of coughing struck him, and his entire body shook every time he expelled air from his lungs.

Garbus hastened to inhibit Tom from casting the spell again, knowing that the magic would surely kill him this time around, but by the time Garbus reached him, it was too late, and Tom released the powerful words from his lips.

Focused, Tom's mind lingered on defeating the poison. Reading a spell was a tricky thing, even with it in front of the eyes a word could be forgotten or dropped at the last moment, all thoughts had to be concentrated, precise, and clear, especially on longer, more advanced phrases. The tea worked hard now, and the only thing that coursed through Tom's thoughts was the spell, as the words stayed visible to the eye of his mind. " _Expellerous Potio Cavina deo Carruseer Desari!_ " he shouted, then yowled in agony.

A flow of green shot forth from his mouth, and with each word a new color jetted into the air, then into the dog's ear. When all the words entered the canid, a blinding burst of light filled the small, crowded cabin room, but subsided as quickly as it had erupted. For that brief time, the party members had to shield themselves from the brilliant light that emanated from Tom's hand.

Tom collapsed just as Garbus' arms caught him, right before he hit the rough floor. The group huddled around to see what had happened, but Garbus blocked their vision. The sea captain hauled Tom onto one of the bunks. He then moved the dog to the other empty bed.

"Everyone out!" Garbus commanded furiously, "get out now or I will throw ye overboard!" His order rang out of the cabin and down the ship's halls. The party and crewmembers complied with the sea captain, exiting the cabin. Only Shakara and Bravis remained in the room. Garbus placed his fingers on Tom's throat, easily finding the large artery. "He be living, but with a very weak pulse, yet it feels constant, I'd say he be living for at least a few more hours."

Shakara whimpered over Keltin's body while the sea captain checked the dog's vitals. "He be resting in the same state, alive but dormant, all we can do is let them rest and hope they recover," Garbus said, trying to comfort her.

Standing up, Garbus looked at the doorway where a tar now stood. "Captain, scope has spotted _Shakri,_ and this time they carry riders!" the sailor cried in a panic.

"How far?" Captain Ron asked in a chirp, flying from behind the crewmember to land on Garbus' left shoulder.

"About fifteen hundred meters southeast and closing," the sailor reported in a nervous and squeaky pitch.

"Aburros be damned!" Garbus shouted. He ran up the stairwell to the open sea air where the suns greeted him with afternoon heat. Odeneus and Pardris followed not far behind the sea captain when they saw him sprinting to the quarterdeck. He relieved a sailor and took over the helm, grasping it tightly; he veered the ship's course a little and steered to the south.

"Captain, we won't make the island before we are intercepted," a sailor shouted to him, springing up the steps to the quarterdeck.

"Prepare the crew for an attack, we must be ready to meet these beasts," Garbus responded. He directed his attention to Captain Ron, who flew in the air above him. The parakeet sped away below deck to sound the alarm once more.

"LAND!" a sailor yelled from the bow, standing on the foretop, his scope in hand, the sailor peered through it again, to make sure. "LAND HO!" he screamed with full lungs.

The crew prepared large fitted crossbows. The turrets swiveled and launched massive steel arrows into the sea or in any direction they needed. The sailors also prepared a few short black tubes, as well as long black tubes with arrow-like projectiles sticking out of the ends that Odeneus had never seen before. "What are those?" the leprechaun asked.

"The short tubes are called grenade launchers, and the arrow things are called rockets, so I'm told. I bought them on the dead man's market a while back, stolen from the elves, to use just in case these pesky fish decided to become bold and tangle with the wrong captain," Garbus answered, keeping an eye on the waters ahead. "It is very strange that they are up this far north, I thought if we were to engage it would be south, near their homeland. I wonder what they be doing all the way up here . . ."

The leprechaun shrugged, staring at the enthralling elfish technology.

The vessel approached the island of O'Ire at a steady pace, but the sharks swam close, almost upon them. "Fire!" Garbus yelled to his readied crew. Captain Ron settled at his side, and watched the men launch the rockets for the first time at their enemy targets. Two rockets went flying into the air and crashed into a large shark some distance off; a cloud of fire and smoke burst on the impact while blood and water went soaring into the air. A few of the men launched the grenades with much the same effect, with less of an explosion, yet hitting a few more sharks.

Tom awoke to a tongue licking his face. "What is going on?" He wiped the saliva away. He opened his eyes to see the golden retriever peering back at him.

"I didn't think you would wake, I've been licking you for quite some time now." Keltin laughed his cheery low laugh. "I think we are under attack."

The boat shifted violently. "Something big must have hit us," Tom said, falling from the bunk, but he caught himself with sturdy feet. Keltin leapt from the bed to the floor, and yawned a long, tired yawn. The room lay empty besides the two, and they agreed to check topside on the deck to investigate the commotion, but not before Tom suited up his mail armor, rushing to his cabin. He left his mahogany cloak behind as he hurried.

When the pair reached the top of the stairwell, smoke greeted them. Through the blackness came the sight of yellow fire and more smoke, as the ship's crewmembers fired exploding arrows into the sea, as well as steel arrows from mounted turrets that Tom could not remember seeing before. Shakara stood near the edge of the railing and fired one of the rockets toward an enemy in the water.

Tom watched the projectile penetrate a large gray shark; the Evolvuea beast stood on the back of its legless brethren. Its two huge, stout arms held a heavy dual-edged axe. Its dorsal fin protruded behind its large, bulbous head that displayed mostly a mouth filled with daggers. Its torso narrowed greatly in comparison to its head. The monster still had gills under its ribs, but also respired with lungs, which it appeared to switch between when going above and below the water. The Upright shark exploded before his eyes. He shielded his face from the flying blood and viscera.

"You're awake!" Shakara shouted with glee. "I was afraid for your life. The captain said you had slim chances of pulling through." She wrapped her arms around him. Then, she spotted her riding companion. "Keltin!" she screamed with rapture. Keltin ran to her side, and she embraced him with a big hug. The dog barked, overjoyed to see her once again.

A lanky shark scraped the hull at midship, near where the three met, and Tom slid to the side, leaning against the rail, where he watched two more Evolvueas jump with mighty legs onto the redwood deck. The two differed in appearance than the one Shakara had killed; one had a flat head like a hammer, and the other shimmered light blue with a short fin. Both of the beasts carried large axes in their grasps and advanced toward the trio with vicious gaping mouths.

Tom had never seen a creature with such temerity and rage mixed together. The beasts swung at a sailor, and hacked him down relentlessly. "What are these foul beasts?" he stammered in fear, as the hideous monsters came closer, baring their teeth maliciously.

"They are Marenifdae, or what some of the sailors call _Shakri_. They are what the crew feared pursued us yestercircuit," Shakara answered, her voice strained. She pulled the trigger of the elfish contraption, but nothing fired. Out of rockets, she unslung the bow across her back, but when she reached for an arrow, she found the quiver empty. With no spare or used arrows in sight, she tossed the bow aside, and drew her twin daggers from her belt. Keltin growled ready to charge. Tom unsheathed his sword. The steel was becoming more familiar to his fingers, but the touch of the hilt still sent an awful, sickening feeling up his back. His heart began to beat wildly, and all he heard was the pumping of his blood in his ears. He grew hot and shaky.

The short-finned brute heaved its axe toward Tom, which he barely avoided, for the swing was fierce and quick, and he had no time to counter. At the second swing, he fell to the floor, but rolled away and jumped to his feet again; this time he drove his blade into the gut of the beast, and pushed it back to the rail. He breathed the warm air in quick, short bursts. He shoved the shark, with its teeth just out of range of ripping him apart, over the edge of the vessel, withdrawing his sword at the last moment.

Tom stumbled, dizzy from the encounter, and fell to his knees with his back against the rail. He shifted his head to his left and watched a crewmember fire a steel arrow into a shark below; the beast swam away wounded. He refocused his attention back to the other Upright that now threatened Shakara.

She threw a dagger into the shark's left eye, half-blinding the creature, but it still managed a sweeping swipe of its axe in her direction. She dove to the ground and somersaulted away. Leaping to her feet, she turned and threw a second dagger into the beast's other eye, completely impairing its vision.

Keltin sprang into action, latched his jaws around a leg of the Upright, and shook his head violently back and forth. The canine tore the beast's flesh. Shakara retrieved her twin daggers, then, with a great kick, she sent the shark overboard.

Neither of the three had noticed that a third shark approached from the stern, near the port side of the quarterdeck, charging at them with a raised axe, ready to bring it down on Tom's head. The beast stood a mere meter away when two horns gored the shark in its abdomen. Tom saw that Bravis ran behind the beast with his head lowered, propelling the shark to the edge of the ship, until he forced it through the railing. The strength of the creature was unable to stop Bravis' powerful legs.

The gyrran twisted around to see Tom lying on the floor in fear. He was elated to see his companion alive and seemingly well. Bravis met Keltin's eyes, and the two greeted each other with smiles. Odeneus came riding down the quarterdeck on Pardris' back with a grenade launcher in his hands, the black tube much too large for the leprechaun to carry properly, and he fumbled with it, almost unable to hold onto the machinery at all. The leprechaun still had his map tube slung over his back, never parted from it.

The cat went to the edge of the ship, and Odeneus shot a grenade through the railing and into the waters at random. Moments later an explosion filled their eyes in the distance where he had fired the weapon. The leprechaun had made a hole in a shark's backside. Blood from the beast flew into his face, along with water and other innards of the creature.

A massive great white shark crashed into the starboard side of the vessel, careening it drastically, sending some of the crewmembers overboard and into the teeth of the voracious sharks that swarmed the ocean below. Another of the giant sharks rammed into the hull of the boat, but this time the force splintered the wood, which caused the section of the boat to collapse and wash away into the sea. The Red Marlin, propelled by the force of the wind, drew near the shores of O'Ire, but the rapidly sinking vessel advanced too slowly for those aboard to escape the jaws of the frenzied sharks.

"Abandon ship!" the sea captain bellowed into the wind from the quarterdeck.

"Abandon ship!" Captain Ron repeated in a high cheep while he fluttered above Garbus.

"Abandoning ship would be suicide, captain," Tom yelled back, flummoxed by his command.

"Shore is not far off, m'lad. I will divert them away from ye; go, and ye may have a chance!" Garbus replied in a stern tone. He spun the wheel, so the boat changed its course, traveling westward.

"That is absurd, Garbus, you aren't thinking clearly," Tom shouted into the wind. He ran up the stairs to the quarterdeck to talk some sense into the sea captain.

"It be the only chance for ye." Garbus grabbed Tom's shoulders. He stared into Tom's eyes with a crazed look upon his face. "It be the only way, m'lad . . . she won't make it to shore. Now go!" He pushed Tom away down to the main deck.

A sailor ran to the side of the boat and jumped while a Marenifdae chased after him, axe in hand. The creature stopped at the railing, but then turned his focus to Tom, who stood only a few meters away.

The argument was lost, and the sea captain had won—there was nothing more Tom could do. Adrenaline shot through him. "Hurry!" he shouted at his friends. They ran to the edge of the port side of the boat and faced the invisible island, lost in smoke. Shakara placed Odeneus on Bravis' head, and they prepared to jump into the bloody waters.

The party members backed up a little to get a running start. Looking at each other, they checked to make sure all were ready. Together the group dashed to the edge at the same time. Bravis and Keltin cleared the railing while Pardris and Shakara used the railing to jump farther into the ocean.

Tom stopped himself at the rail, and Shakara caught him breaking. "No, Tom!" she screamed as she plunged into the water. He twisted his head to gaze at the captain, who continued to steer The Red Marlin. Garbus nodded at him, saying goodbye. The ship's crew jumped from every point of the ship, for they were out of rockets and steel arrows; some resorted to the steel at their hips, and fought off the Marenifdae as they continued to leap aboard the vessel.

Tom turned back to the stairwell below, sheathing his sword, but the Marenifdae darted to catch up, close behind him. He ran down to his cabin and shut the door, then quickly moved the two bunks and barred the entrance. A fist punched a hole through the door. He grabbed the palm-sized book that lay on the floor and began to search through its pages.

The party members swam as fast as they could through the warm waters, and Bravis led the way with the leprechaun on his head, holding on tightly to his horns. Deadly jaws hunted down sailors and the party alike, but the party had a slight lead on most of the crew, giving them an advantage while the tars were picked off one by one.

Three sailors surrounded their captain as he continued to man the helm with Captain Ron resting on his left shoulder. "Ye have to fly to the island, m'friend. There isn't an escape for me now," Garbus told his co-captain.

"A captain always sinks with his ship," the bird chirped obstinately in reply.

"Not one so young as ye. Now go, it be my last request," Garbus pleaded in a raspy voice.

"A request I cannot fulfill."

"Ye must live to captain another ship, ye be too young to be dying like an old fool," Garbus said in a serious, low voice.

The parakeet bobbed his head. "Goodbye, my friend." The bird rubbed his cere against Garbus' ear, and then took off into the smoky sky toward the island. The sea captain watched his co-captain soar away like an arrow.

Screams could be heard from the sailors behind The Red Marlin while the sharks tore the crew to pieces, and shared in the men's demise. It was a feast that turned into a frenzy of prodigious sharks devouring all within their bloodthirsty range.

A blinding flare of light suddenly covered the surrounding area from ship to shoreline, followed by an explosion of red and yellow fire. The energy sent massive waves toward the shores of the island. A giant plume of smoke rose high into the air where the ship had sailed its last course. The smoke spread rapidly across the ocean like a heavy fog. The party members were caught off guard by the shockwave that carried them through the water; the force removed their senses and disoriented their minds, along with their enemies around them. The group hit something solid that sent their worlds into an unforgiving darkness.

#

### My Annals: On Frost The Mother of

### The Deathlar

We traveled through the high peaks of The Sepris Mountains. The Spinebreakers they are called, for they are so cold your back becomes hunched until it is broken. I was frozen for most of our journey. Alexandroz pressed us forward into the high snowy lands without delay. A snow petrel guided us, who scouted ahead now and then to track signs of what we searched for. Alexandroz preferred doves to do his scouting and message carrying, but they did not fare well in the snowlands.

The all white bird was small like a pigeon of the city. It easily climbed through the mountains, unlike our expedition. We barely managed to survive. Death knocked at our door, as the saying goes. The journey was slow and tiresome, but I had volunteered to go, so I did not complain to my Sovereign.

I was close to turning back several times during the journey. Unfortunately, I was the only one who voted to turn back, and I would have been lost on my own. The cold was severe and unbearable. The nights were even worse than that. It was at the end of the second sequence in searching that we found the first sign of what Alexandroz tracked.

The snow petrel found a dark-blue scale on a slope not far from a cave opening. There was nothing in the small cave, but a circuit later, we found an entrance to a cavern. Our dreadful search had finally ended.

We entered the cavern. The petrel stayed outside and said he did not dare to venture farther. The cavern was lined with silver and clear crystals. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, but there was a terror in the deep that sounded a brutal roar, which confused my senses. The Honor Guard with us had their fun when I soiled my trousers. But I had good reason to do so, and they soon found that out.

The entrance was unprotected, and we were well into the cave when we caught our first glimpse of the Deathlar. A young male dragon hid behind a cliff above us and attacked our group, killing and eating one of the soldiers. The beast barely stuck its neck out, easily grabbed the man, then flew off to another cliff above the first one.

We continued down into the mountain, huddled together. Alexandroz protected us with a clear shield that bubbled around us. I could not see it, but he said it was there, and I trusted his word. The light disappeared. My Sovereign spoke the words to brighten the staff he traveled with, which he normally did not carry. He said it was important on this journey, and it proved to be true.

Another dragon appeared before us, but this time he stopped us where we stood, and did not attack. I was gripped by _terrofear_ , but my Sovereign was not affected by the beast's presence. "Go back to the mountainside, human, you are not welcome in this holy place," said the dragon to us. He extended his claws to show us his sincerity. I cowered to my knees behind the guards and Alexandroz, who all held their ground.

"I will not go back. I wish to speak with your Queen," stated Alexandroz firmly to the Deathlar. He made his staff glow ever brighter and lifted it toward the dragon, which hated the way our Savior shoved the light nigh him, and squinted at the harshness.

"How dare you threaten me, human," roared the dragon. "No vessel other than a pure dragon can afford to see our Mother. Turn back before your life is taken from you." His warning fell on obstinate ears.

"If you do not move, dragon, your life is at risk. Move now, and your body will come to no harm," yelled Alexandroz in response. I remember his words clear in my mind, for the dragon scrunched his eyes in annoyance, but also in slight fear, which I never thought possible of a dragon.

The Deathlar roared once more, and then swung a mighty claw at us, but my Sovereign, our Savior, raised his staff even higher, and ceased the dragon's movements. The claws paused meters before us, still as a spring morning in the courtyards of Heaven, after a fresh shower.

"Submit dragon, and your life will be shown mercy," spoke Alexandroz to the blue beast. The dragon wiggled its head in agony, spitting the darkest of blood from its mouth onto the cavern's floor in front of us. It roared for a minute or two, but finally agreed.

"I submit, I submit to you," said the dragon to my Sovereign. "I will guide you to her chambers," told he to Alexandroz. The dragon gasped to regain its breath. He walked down the path to the lower levels, and we followed until we came to an entrance of another large cave at the floor of the cavern. It had an opaque film that shielded the entrance. Two blurry bodies moved behind the wall.

"My Queen," said the Deathlar with a trembling voice. "We have a guest," informed the dragon to his Mother. There was a supremely loud roar that came from the inside. The dragons on the other side did not like this interruption in the slightest, and they made it very clear we were not welcomed.

Alexandroz's fury was visible in his eyes. He raised his staff to the film wall, shattering it from the ceiling down to the ground, shards missing us they fell. A large male dragon flew off the Queen and landed before us at the entrance. "Why is my circuit with the Queen disturbed?" asked the dragon. The male was much larger than our guide, clearly one of the Queen's consorts.

"I am here to speak with your Queen. We have business, she and I," informed Alexandroz to the consort. The dragon eyed our Savior, and he met the dragon's gaze not with fear, but with resolve. The consort bellowed a groan that rattled the cavern. He turned back to his Queen. She nodded at him to depart for a while. He jumped into the air and flew up the empty shaft of the cavern's center.

Only Alexandroz and I went into the chamber, and I remained a few steps behind our Savior at all times. The Honor Guard waited with our guide in the main cavern. Alexandroz bowed slightly to the Queen when we approached, and the Mother of the Deathlar returned the gesture, bowing her neck low to the ground.

Her body was a little larger than that of her consort, the biggest of the blue behemoths. Her claws were thicker, but her horns were much smaller than the males. Her skin was a light shade, instead of the midnight blue like the rest of her brood.

I was deathly afraid, overtaken by the _terrofear_ yet again, though I had not really overcome it in the first place. I watched from outside of my body, until Alexandroz brought me back into my normal state. He grabbed my neck and shook me to my senses. I kneeled on the floor by his feet and stayed there while I listened.

"You recognize my garb, Mother of the Deathlar?" asked Alexandroz in an austere voice.

"Yes, I recognize the symbols that adorn your clothes," said she with a rasp. "Alexandroz, Sovereign of Haven, Lord of the Empyreans."

"I am known by many names, just as you are, Frost, Dealer of a Fiery Death," responded Alexandroz. I remember his wide smile when he spoke to her. I cowered behind him as she bared her teeth.

"Why have you come, O Lord of Lords?" questioned Frost in an irritated voice.

"You know who my father is?" asked he in a low and calm voice, ignoring her question.

"Yes, I know who your father is," answered she quietly.

He nodded. "And you know of the troubles that lie on The Bordergrounds?" said he while he looked her straight in the eyes. I stood up at this point to get a better view of her snarl.

"The troubles of lesser species, I deal not with their ills," stated she with hatred.

"Then why do you ask me why I am here, when you already know? You can make this meeting short, and yet you drag it out to its fullest," said my Sovereign, squinting at her to show his anger. "You know there is war coming to the North, and you know the South might unify against me. There is talk that even the elves will leave their walled-off lands to come see our demise, and I will not stand for it." Spit erupted from his mouth in fury.

"And you seek my aid? How witless have you become in your later hours? All this time, I thought you kept reign for so long with a sagacious and prudent mind, but you are deceiving, aren't you, Alexandroz _descentari_ —"

"Enough!" screamed Alexandroz, cutting off her speech. "Whether you agree with my religion, or my politics, is of little importance now. You will submit to my rule, O Queen of Fire. You will flee your mountains and help my people, or you will spend your lifetime in shackles and watch your brood be slaughtered by my hands over a thousand lifetimes! With every head displayed on a pike before your eyes!" said Alexandroz with sincere malice in his voice.

The Queen laughed a sonorous laugh that shook the floor our feet stood on. I fell to the ground, as if my legs were timber and her voice an axe. I could not hold myself up on the unstable ground. My Sovereign stood unaffected by the trembling rock. "Never in the lifetime of races has a dragon aided another race, nor will it commence now. You do not have the power to bind me as you wish, Alexandroz. Your threats are hollow, and your mind is a vacuum. Be gone with you," commanded she while she continued to laugh.

The opaque wall began to build itself from the floor up. Soon we were sealed within the room with no way of escape, but then I realized this was Alexandroz's doing, not Frost's. Alexandroz raised his staff and whispered something I did not understand, and am unable to write down, but I know it was Heka, a phrase of magic, because from his mouth a red stream of air came forth. The strands turned to blue, then yellow, invading the Queen's ears. A beam of light projected from his staff, and hit the monstrous dragon. She roared with pain, and her face contorted, but her mind was thick and obstinate.

"Submit!" yelled Alexandroz. "Submit to me, Frost!"

She could hear him, for she made an effort to speak, but her words were almost inaudible. "Death." That was all I made out, and as she said that, she ejected fire from her mouth toward the ceiling. From separate glands on each side of her mouth, different gasses shot together to create one stream of flame, which exploded into a massive cloud that filled much of the upper part of the cave, above our heads.

Alexandroz shook his staff, increased his spell, making the Queen scream and cry in anguish. She endured this treatment beyond a measure of time that I can fully remember, but it was over half an hour, I'm sure. Every so often Alexandroz would amplify his efforts, and the Queen would cry, and a burst of fire would shoot from her mouth. I ducked every time. It seemed it would engulf us, but it never did. I believe this was our Savior's doing, but he said nothing on the matter.

Claws could be heard scratching on the other side of the wall. They were wild, irate swings that tried to break through the barrier. The wall muffled roars of many dragons, as they could sense their Queen's torment.

Finally, she could bear it no more. "I submit! I submit!" cried she, gasping. Alexandroz lowered his staff and stopped the beam of light. The dragon gasped for breath. Tears fell to the floor, as enormous as buckets filled with water. They splattered the ground and created pools beneath her.

"Say it once more, so that our contract is bound," ordered Alexandroz.

Her body fell to the ground. She curled her neck to face away from us. "I submit to your rule, O Lord of Lords. My brood is at your command, we will aid you in your war," spoke the Queen into the wall, which made it hard to understand her, but it was good enough for Alexandroz.

"Excellent," said he in a dark and dangerous voice. "Our contract is sealed, Frost, Mother of the Blue Brood. I will call upon your sons and daughters shortly to prepare them for battle with my army. Agreed," stated he, not truly asking for her approval.

"Agreed," replied she in a sob. The barrier disappeared as if it had never existed. Her consorts came rushing into the cavern, paying no attention to Alexandroz. They swarmed her, and comforted her as she whimpered.

The largest of the consorts focused his attention on Alexandroz, and bellowed an enraged growl. He went to attack, but was stopped by his Queen's voice. "No, leave him be," said she in a weak tone. "Our allegiance is to this Lord now. We will help in defeating the enemies of the Empyreans," uttered she to her mate. Dark blood drooled from her open mouth. "Summon four of my sons to me," ordered she to her consort.

Without question or hesitation, he flew out of the Queen's cave and into the cavern. He arrived anon with four smaller males, who roared when they saw their mother weakened on the ground, almost helpless. "Take these men to the city of Heaven, and be not a burden to them, or punishment will we dealt."

Alexandroz bowed to the Queen, who eyed him as we left. We rode on the backs of the great beasts while they leapt from the cavern floor. We flew out in a spiral, and I held on as tightly as I could out of fear that my grip was too poor.

Our journey was short. Alexandroz made sure that no one saw our arrival, for he knew the city would be overcome with _terrofear_ , as I had been. Our Savior began to integrate the Deathlar into the camps that watched over The Bordergrounds. A new division of The Conqueramada was created for those who possessed the courage and skills necessary to ride the blue beasts. Very soon, the South will see the might of these beasts, and nothing will avail them from the dragonfire.

This is the truth of how our Savior merged the Deathlar into our cause. Vale.

34/14/2150: Armistice. My Annals: On Frost The Mother of The Deathlar by Ian Azikwe

#

### Faces Full of Sand. The Home of The

### Leprechauns. A Decisive Plan.

Shakara found herself buried in soft, mucky sand, but with grace, she lifted her upper body out with her elbows. The tide of the ocean gently hit her feet, then it quickly retreated back out to sea. She wiped her mouth and eyes with the side of her shirt that was not layered with sand. She sat up on her knees and examined her surroundings. The shores of O'Ire were barren, except for the tall yellow grasses that grew on the upland above the berm.

She surveyed the ocean, searching in the direction where last she saw The Red Marlin. Smoke filled the air all around, and clouded everything; small fires burned amongst the wreckage, but as the strength of the ocean's waves picked up, the flames were quelled.

"Are you all right, Shakara?" a familiar voice asked. She twisted her neck around and spotted Keltin standing beside her. Her heart pumped with relief.

"Yes, I'm fine. How are you, are you injured?" she asked her companion with an exhausted smile on her face.

The dog licked her nose and smiled back at her. "Nothing a little rest won't mend." He wagged his tail happily. He looked toward the wreckage. "What do you supposed caused that?" he asked her in a troubled tone.

"I'm not sure, but I bet it had something to do with Tom staying behind," she answered glumly. "I wonder where the others are." She searched the beach for their friends, straining to see through the murk. Her cheeks were sunburned, speckled with sand, as tears flowed down them. She went to the incoming tide, cupped her hands together, and splashed water on her face.

Keltin shook himself dry, expelling the water onto Shakara, who swiveled her head around and watched her friend throw his moisture onto her body. "Thank you," she said with a playful grin.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to be wet, you're standing in the ocean," he replied in laughter. She walked over and patted his head, then grabbed his cheeks and kissed each one. The shoreline caught her attention for a second, but there was nothing but smoke and water in the distance.

Keltin smelled the sea air for the other party members, but the smoke infiltrated his nose instead, and diluted his sense for detecting anything else. His accurate vision remained unaffected, and he scanned the surrounding area, but saw nothing.

All of a sudden, Bravis poked his head up out of the grass with the leprechaun still firmly holding on to his horns. The gyrran nodded at them, shaking Odeneus slightly. Shakara and Keltin ran up the berm to the grass and met the pair.

"Is Tom with you?" Shakara asked urgently. Bravis shook his head.

"Have you seen Pardris?" Odeneus asked with a nervous and trembling voice.

"No, but the cat is an exceptionally good swimmer, so he must have made it to shore," Keltin responded to the leprechaun, sounding hopeful.

"We came from the north, so maybe he is farther to the south," Bravis suggested, and started to move in that direction down the berm into the sand. "I can't smell anything with this smoke everywhere."

They traveled down the shoreline for a few minutes without any luck, and they were ready to turn back when Bravis spotted something in the distance along the shoreline. They hurried to the location, where they found the felid mostly buried in the sand next to a few barnacled rocks. Odeneus jumped down Bravis' neck to his back and from there slid down the animal's side. He knelt beside his friend, uncovered him, and lifted his drenched furry body out of the wet sand.

Shakara knelt beside the two. "Is he okay?" she asked. Odeneus put his hand over the cat's mouth and checked if he was breathing, but the leprechaun could not tell. Suddenly, Pardris' stomach rose. The cat coughed in a fit, and seemed to be choking on something, so Odeneus placed his hands on the cat's chest to try to eject whatever obstructed his respiration.

He pressed down with a few short bursts, but nothing happened. He tried again and Pardris' eyes opened in pain. The cat choked up a tiny fish mixed with hair and other contents. Strained, he began to gasp. Pardris was too weak to walk, so Shakara cradled him with one arm, using her other for support. The cat closed his eyes while everyone stared at him. Soon he fell asleep in her hold, and the party decided to continue their search for Tom down the coastline.

"There!" Shakara pointed to the shoreline with her free arm. "That must be him!" She sprinted across the sand. The others rushed after her, but when they approached the site, they found nothing but rocks upon scattered rocks. One of the rocks resembled a person's figure from the distance; Shakara kicked the rock in frustration. It had only been a few minutes since they started to search, but the danger that had swam in the water around the ship made her fall to her knees, for it appeared that none of the other sailors had survived the sharks, and Tom's doom seemed certain.

"I can't pick up his scent through the smoke, but I would say if the blast didn't kill him, the sharks would have," Keltin uttered despairingly. "We should make for the protection of the inland. Where is the nearest city, Odeneus?"

"Not far from here, over that hill, if I remember right; the city of Iris lay beyond to the south." Odeneus pointed to a few hills west of them. His speech was bleak, full of grief for the loss of their companion.

"You don't know that he's dead." Shakara eyed Keltin. "That blast could have killed all the sharks, he could still be alive," she cried.

"Shakara, you saw how many sharks were around us, at least twenty, probably thirty, and who knows how many Uprights. Even if all the sharks died in the blast, how could Tom survive it as well?" he asked harshly. She did not respond. Her eyes began to tear when she looked toward the ocean and the wreckage.

"I'm sorry, Shakara, but he's right. That blast carried us to shore swifter than those rockets flew through the air, and I saw the explosion, it was more powerful than those rockets were by tenfold," Bravis commented in a voice of sorrow. He had only known Tom a short while, but his lament for the human was great, for the impression the human had made on the young gyrran went deep.

"Why must we go now? I still have hope . . . and a feeling inside tells me that Tom needs our help somewhere on this beach, so can we please just search for a little while longer?" Shakara begged them. She wiped her face with her fingers and rubbed her brow. "With or without you, I'm going to search for him," she finally said when they responded with silence. "But it would be easier with your senses by my side."

Keltin glanced at her swollen eyes. "All right, but we mustn't dawdle, the suns will not shine forever, and we can't stay by the shore after dark with the threat of Marenifdae near," he stated to the ground, avoiding Shakara's stare. She nodded her approval.

They searched the coastline for hours; the party looked in every crest and nook of the beach, but the fading light stopped the hunt before they found any evidence of Tom's survival, or to the contrary. They made their way to the city over the countryside, and found the main path to the entrance. The fields around them went on for kilometers, with row upon row of shaded cocoa trees that stood nine meters high, bearing green, yellow, and orange pods.

Most of the area had been cleared along the path; it had been done forcefully, with trees plowed over and deracinated, though farther away from the path, stumps were left behind. "This is new," Odeneus remarked while he scanned their surroundings. The nets that shaded the trees were also ripped apart and left lying on the ground.

"It looks like someone tore up these trees to walk and make the path larger," Bravis observed.

"What makes you say that?" Odeneus asked, leaning forward on Bravis' head.

"There are tracks going through them, lots of them, and they are big," Bravis responded with a wary look upon his face. "Be on your guard."

"Right . . ." Odeneus said while he gazed at all the large footprints. He looked up at the hill with remembrance, and said with glee in his eyes, "Well, just beyond that crest lie the gates of Iris, me home city and capital of O'Ire. Look, see, you can spot the lights of the city now." The optimism carried in his voice. "I shall see me brother again and the rest of me family." He wore a cheery smile like that of a child.

With heavy steps, they journeyed up the incline, and at last reached the summit of the hill as an early dusk settled and covered the area in darkness. Odeneus rode quietly atop Bravis as they lagged a little behind Shakara, who still held the unconscious cat, and Keltin led the way. Shakara spun around in horror as she sighted the city.

"What is it?" Odeneus questioned, worried. Bravis arrived at the peak of the hill, and Odeneus gazed at the ruins of his beloved city. Fires still burned and shone brightly, smoke and ash continued to add to the already encompassing cloud from the explosion of The Red Marlin; together they shut out any remaining sunlight. From the hillside view of the city they could see that most of the buildings were demolished, nothing but debris, which scattered into the streets of the surrounding areas.

"I'm sorry, my friend," Keltin said, seeing the leprechaun's agony.

"The destruction . . . the carnage," Odeneus muttered into the breeze while he fell into a dolor visible upon his face. "Me gaff . . . this cannot be." He repeatedly gasped. The blood in his veins thumped out of control, rage and sorrow beating with every pump of his heart.

"There still might be survivors, and if there are, they might need our assistance," Keltin said, peering back at Shakara. She nodded and started down the hillside.

Bravis followed behind. Walking through blazing fields of cocoa trees, they reached the splintered gates that originally arched at the end of the grove, but now it lay cracked in the middle with shattered pieces on the ground.

Shakara roamed ahead of the party by herself and scanned the ruins. She saw the street signs knocked over and smashed into the dirt. Suddenly, the thought of Tom's demise shot through her head, with a quick image of his dead body torn apart by giant sharks. Her eyes once again filled with tears with the realization that his fate had been sealed when he decided to stay aboard the vessel. She collapsed to her knees and gazed at the burning piles before her.

"Everything has gone wrong," she whispered into the dense smoke. "What business did the troll have in the North? How did Alexandroz ensnare Thorn? How did the King know where we were in The Great City; I wonder how long his spies have watched me . . . us? Why is the homeland of the leprechauns set ablaze?" Unanswerable questions overcrowded Shakara's mind. It was all supposed to be simpler. "Tom," she whimpered, "we were supposed to solve why our memories were altered, why Anakore'in wanted us to lurk in the shadows as his spies, and to find out what exactly the reptile has been up to; but most of all, why we cannot know the truth. But it was not supposed to be like this, with death all around . . . I need you, Tom; and now your body lies at the bottom of the ocean, or worse, in the stomach of a beast . . ."

Shakara, beyond exhausted, desired to curl up into a ball and sleep, and the thought of never opening her eyes again entered her head and soothed her misery.

Odeneus' heart paused as he rode atop the gyrran, his left shoulder went numb, and an ache throbbed in the back of his head and neck. His vision blurred. Dozens upon dozens of leprechaun bodies filled the main streets and alleys. Blood stained the surface of the buildings and roads. The bodies were torn and shredded asunder, littering the streets like the broken jars in Heaven's dwarven district. He grabbed his left shoulder and pushed it back with a crack. The leprechaun gazed at the butchery and realized a force much greater than he could have ever imagined had exterminated his brethren.

They had lost Shakara somehow, so they searched the hot city in gloom, going through the streets that reeked with death and decay. Finally, they found her on the ground in front of a dark-red brick building that had three massive holes crushed into its front. Shakara lay in the fetal position with her eyes open, staring at the flame, with Pardris cradled in her arms.

Odeneus sprang from Bravis his usual way by climbing off to the gyrran's back first. He knelt down beside Shakara and looked her in the face, but her eyes looked past him. He waved a hand in front of her, but she did not say a word, or blink, or follow his movement. Keltin approached and licked her face. Still she did not so much as twitch.

"I think she is in shock," Odeneus said, squinting an eye at her. He took off his hat, and wiped the sweat from his brow with his soaked red hair exposed to the smoky air of the night. He quickly placed his hat back on his head so no one could say anything about his slight cowlick. He was self-conscious about his hair, and kept his hat on at all costs. Luckily, he was atop Bravis when the boat exploded, and he had held onto his hat through the entire event.

Odeneus turned to the devastated building that Shakara seemed to stare at, and he saw the entrance doors, then an image appeared in the leprechaun's mind and he remembered what the city had once been like. The building before them had been a beautiful apartment, with all of its doors being the appropriate height at half a meter. Four of the stories still stood, and Bravis noticed that each one only reached a meter high, as it appeared the leprechauns did not expect much company from outsiders.

Odeneus stepped forward toward the entrance. "No!" Shakara shouted. "No, don't go in there!"

"What? Why? What's wrong?" Odeneus asked, but as he finished, the top floor started to creak, and within moments, it toppled in on itself. Debris flew at them. They shielded their eyes. Bravis moved rapidly to protect Shakara and Odeneus from the flying rubble with his feathered-wings. A cloud of broken rock puffed up in the fire-lit sky. Dust filled their noses, mingled with the putrid smell of corpses, and the thick noxious smoke.

Bravis uncovered them when the dust settled, and Odeneus made eye contact with Shakara, shivering in terror. "How did you know it was collapsing?" he asked her curiously.

"I don't know. I just sensed that it was," Shakara answered, returning his gaze with large shocked pupils.

"Are you all right?" Keltin asked Shakara. "You look ill."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. It's nothing to worry about right now," she replied to the party members, who crowded around her. The grating of metal scraped against metal echoed beyond the fallen building. A shadow moved in the darkness.

They had no lighting except for the fires that burned around the streets, which made spotting anything difficult. Luckily, Keltin and Bravis utilized their ears much better than Shakara and Odeneus. The two easily pinpointed the origin of the noisemaker. "Hey!" Bravis yelled into the firelight. "You!" A figure in the shadows disappeared down a collapsed avenue. "Wait! I'm here to help." His shout rang out in the rubble of the street.

"What is it?" Odeneus asked. "What is it that you see?"

"A survivor, I think. There is something running in the shadows, can you see it climbing through those buildings?" Bravis pointed with his horns down a bystreet connected to the main drive.

The figure stopped and turned around, and two sapphire orbs watched them from the distance, concealed by the darkness of the ruins. Only the creature's eyes were visible in the dim lighting that the various fires provided. It appeared to be examining their movements with extreme caution.

"Look, you see? There." Bravis whipped his tail in the direction of the watchful eyes.

"We are friends, not your foe . . . it's me, Odeneus!" the leprechaun shouted to the ghostly figure. "Come out of the shadows, me friend!"

"Odeneus? I have not heard that name in cycles," a voice spoke in the distance. It was shrill and frightened. "Odeneus O'Hennessy? From the Meadow County District? If you are looking for that traitor, he deserted us a long time ago, headed to the North," the voice responded in the darkness.

"No, me friend. It is me, Odeneus. I have returned!" Odeneus shouted exuberantly. He ignored the traitor detail, for he already knew how many of his kinsfolk felt about his absence. His labeled desertion to the North put most in ill spirits, but his immediate family understood that they needed the income, though they were reluctant to let him leave for the first cycle he had brought it up to them.

The apparition moved closer, then a figure of a fiery-haired leprechaun appeared from out of the shadows beside the party members, and peered at them in surprise.

The crafty figure stood before them in a bright orange suit and white undershirt, an orange bowler cap slanted to the right atop its head. Odeneus choked at the sight of his kin. The two locked eyes with incredulity.

"Uncle . . ." Odeneus mumbled in disbelief. "It's been so long." He wrapped his arms around the other leprechaun, and embraced the older male with a tight squeeze. "What happened here? What caused this decimation?"

"The Marenifdae . . . they . . ." he stammered. "They attacked the port three circuits ago. When they reached the city walls on the second circuit it was havoc—it was utter havoc. We could do nothing to defend ourselves against such numbers, and if by chance we managed to take one of the beasts down, two or three rose and took its place."

"Are there any others who survived?" Keltin asked the leprechaun.

"Where is Kieran?" Odeneus asked in a loud but faltering voice. "Where is me brother?"

"I spoke with Lucky O'Moran yestercircuit, he took a group of survivors and headed to Brilam. He said at least nine waited for him at the harbor, but his mind struggled to remember any of the survivors' names. If Kieran were on that ship then it would be a miracle, nephew. We couldn't find him amongst the ruins, nor could we find Deirdre, and the rest of our family is dead. Slain by those vile monsters," the leprechaun reported in a low, broken tone.

"All dead . . ." Odeneus whispered to himself. His uncle nodded with red eyes. He put a hand on Odeneus' shoulder and squeezed it hard. A sharp pain shot through Odeneus' left shoulder, then the back of his neck became numb. He stood frozen in place.

"Come, follow me, I will tell you all. By the way, I am Remetus," he said with a sniffle, then started to walk down another street. The party introduced themselves, as Odeneus stood motionless, processing the news. His parents no longer lived. His family no longer breathed the fresh island air. His entire sojourn in the North meant nothing now, he had been parted from his family without purpose, and a rush of chaotic thoughts and emotions swamped his tiny body.

"It will be all right, boy. Come, I'll give you something to eat," Remetus said, shaking Odeneus, whose eyes now welled like a great springtime flood. Remetus hugged his nephew hard for a few moments until the tears ceased. He nodded at his nephew to make sure his only known kin was not completely broken by the horrible news. Odeneus nodded back in response.

They kept pace behind Odeneus' uncle while they followed the leprechaun through the ashes of the fallen buildings. The heavy air made it hard to breathe. They soon went beyond the city walls and into a field on the south end of the island; there, tall grass grew like the grass by the upland of the beach, but even higher and a bolder green. Remetus led them to a slanted steel hatch that appeared to go somewhere deep underground. With one arm, Shakara helped the two leprechauns open the hatch, which made a loud bang when the door hit the ground, and at the noise, Pardris' eyes popped.

He looked up at Shakara. "Where are we?" Pardris asked with a mild cough.

Shakara fixed her eyes downward to the leopard-cat she held in her arms. "We made it to the island of O'Ire, but not with good news," she said in a weak, cracking voice. The cat stretched his arms, and then begged to be put down; she knelt and released him from her hold.

"Thank you for saving me, for protecting me," Pardris said to her. She smiled in return, then looked toward the opened hatch. Remetus flipped a switch on the left wall, and a series of lights lit the hall's ceiling, the passageway was narrow and short, less than a meter and a half high; it was plenty tall for a leprechaun, but uncomfortably confined for much larger creatures.

They made due with Remetus leading the way until they reached a much larger room, where everyone could stand erect, for it was a regular-sized room for a human, at least three or more meters high. "What is this place?" Odeneus asked, flummoxed by its size and location.

The room was built of thick concrete walls and appeared to be very stable. "It's our armory. Something our folk never use, but we try to keep it updated, in case we need it. Little good it did us, though," Remetus replied in a desolate tone.

Odeneus' eyes were shocked as he gazed around at all the different sorts of weapons. Metal spears lined a wall; they were short, even small enough to be an arrow for a human. Daggers and other steel lined another wall, and steel cabinets filled the rest of the room.

"How come you stayed behind, uncle?" Odeneus asked silently in the darkness of the armory's poor lighting.

"I stayed just in case more survivors surfaced, but I haven't found anyone yet . . ." Remetus sat down in a chair.

"So the beasts came without warning? Why are the Marenifdae making war now? They have always left our island alone in the past," Odeneus said, full of disbelief. "It doesn't make sense."

"Aye, it doesn't, but I can tell you one thing, they were after the armor that your brother helped find," Remetus answered solemnly. "And they got it."

"What? Why would they want that?" Odeneus asked, but his uncle just shrugged his shoulders, not knowing the answer to his question.

"Their masses flooded our gates before the alarm was raised . . . their strength and size we have dealt with for many cycles, fending off trivial forces in the ocean, but this was the first time they had attacked in great numbers . . . and organized," Remetus said. A whispering sound penetrated his ears. "Did you close the door?"

"No, I thought someone else would," Odeneus said. He got up and ran back to the heavy metal door, closing it tight, as its hinges shrieked under the pressure of the old frame. The aged and rusted metal was easier to close than it was to open. He spun a wheel that locked the door from the inside, then ran back to the party, and sat down to talk to his uncle once again.

Remetus sighed, a deep sorrowful sigh. "It took generations to build our walls, and their destruction laid waste to our lands in mere hours, all of it before me eyes. I stood by to watch me brethren die at me feet. No one survived on this end of the Island; I haven't heard from Derii or Conor in the south, but judging from their silence I don't think they made it," Remetus uttered in regret. "I—I could have done something . . ." He cracked his knuckles and rubbed his face in misery. Melancholy overwhelmed the leprechaun as remorse and shame pierced his heart.

Odeneus swallowed his tears. "Uncle, how is it that you survived?"

"I don't know, I just remember running through the streets with a group of Marenifdae charging behind me until I ran into a shoe shop down off Main Street, you know Larry's Shine and Dine. I guess at some point I blacked out," he said pensively. "When I awoke, the beasts had all gone, leaving only a trail of blood and fury in their wake," Remetus continued with a grim face. "I should be dead with the rest of our kin, gone out fighting . . ." Tears rolled down his blushed cheeks, and he wiped them away swiftly.

"Maybe—" Odeneus began.

"But there is more," Remetus said, "more you must hear, about the armor."

"You hear that?" Bravis said, looking at Keltin as his ears picked up a voice that cried out near the door.

"What?" Keltin asked, listening for a noise. He lifted up his ear in alarm. "I hear nothing."

A muffled shout sounded in the distance above the shelter, but Bravis could not make it out. "A voice," the gyrran remarked, staring at the hound. Bravis, Keltin, and the two leprechauns headed for the door of the hidden armory.

There was a hole in the door at Remetus' height. He peered through it and saw a figure who held a stick that beamed light without a flame. "Are there more of you?" Remetus asked.

"What?" Odeneus replied, bewildered.

"Are there more in your company, there is a human man outside," Remetus said with one eye closed while he focused his better eye, looking through the hole.

"Yes, there was a human man with us named Tom, but he couldn't . . ." Odeneus said, but choked up.

"He has a small figure on his shoulder, I think it's a bird," Remetus whispered. The shadowy figured called out once more, and waved the light around in search of something.

"It's Garbus, the sea captain who sailed us here!" Odeneus said, happy to hear some good news at last. Remetus turned the wheel to the left, and the four pushed open the hatch. They looked at the figure and they saw a recognizable face.

Bravis sniffed the air. "Tom?" he said in an incredulous voice. The gyrran stepped forward, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the night sky.

"Who goes there?" Keltin growled malevolently, for he disbelieved his senses.

Coming closer, a man stood before them with four heavy bags tied to his waist, and a bird perched on his left shoulder, unmoving in the darkness. "Bravis?" the man said while he stepped into a clear view of the light that came from the hole in the ground. His eyes focused. "Bravis! Keltin! I found you!"

"Tom!" the two cried in unison when he ran to embrace the pair. The bird remained still, even in the new light.

"We thought you were dead for sure with the explosion of the ship," Keltin said. "How did you survive such a blast?"

"I don't know, but it has something to do with this." Tom raised the small black book in his right hand.

"The paladin book?" Bravis asked as Tom wrapped his arms around his neck, squeezing hard. The bird flew from his shoulder and hovered in the air within the light of the hallway.

"Captain Ron, is that you?" Odeneus questioned.

The brightly colored parakeet landed on Odeneus' left shoulder and blinked at the leprechaun, then bobbed his head. "Good to see you again, friend," the bird said with relief.

"And you. And the other captain?" Odeneus asked with a look filled with despair.

Captain Ron flapped out his wings and beat them furiously in distress. "As they say, the captain always sinks with his ship," he replied to the leprechaun. He began to preen his longer tail feathers.

Odeneus looked down at the ground in silence, but then directed his vision at Tom. "It is good to see you again, me boy!" he said, trying hard to be cheery. "Still got your money, I see."

"It is good to see you, too, Odeneus," Tom said. He placed the flashlight in one of his sacks, then put a hand on the leprechaun's right shoulder, bending to reach him. "Yes, well I earned it." He shook the bags filled with coins.

"Come, come inside where it is safer," Remetus ordered, waving his hand in a rolling motion toward the light of the hall. "Evil lurks on the island." They walked and crawled through the hallway.

"He was a good captain, and I'm sorry for your loss, but you're welcome to stay with us," Odeneus said, turning to the bird on his shoulder. Captain Ron nodded his appreciation.

Shakara watched them return one by one from the hatch, and on Odeneus' shoulder, she saw Captain Ron. She stood up, expecting to see Captain Garbus, but her eyes met someone entirely different. "Tom?" Her mouth grew to the shape of an O. Excited, she ran toward him across the room.

She threw her arms around him, and he did the same, lifting her up off her feet. They embraced each other with a tight squeeze. She locked eyes with him. Tenderly, she pressed her lips against his with joy.

Her heart pounded, and Tom's blood rushed as they kissed one another. She held him longingly. But then, Tom's wife's face flashed in his head, and he gently pushed Shakara away. "I thought you were—" Shakara whispered.

"I know. I think I should have been, but this book . . . it saved me somehow," Tom replied in a low, quiet voice. His eyes shifted to the book in his hand. A strange feeling of guilt hit his stomach like a sour drink; instantly, he regretted the kiss, the hug, the good feeling that coursed through all his limbs. His daughters came into view in his head, and he was caught in silence. Shakara said something, but her words were lost in his ears.

Odeneus interrupted their private whispers. "Tom, this is me uncle Remetus O'Hennessy. He survived the siege of the city," he introduced his kin. "Uncle, this is Tom Navo _descentari_ Baxter." Odeneus gave the proper introduction this time.

"Pleasant to meet you, Remetus. What happened out there?" Tom asked, but already had a guess in his mind.

"The Marenifdae," Remetus confirmed Tom's speculation.

"I'm sorry," Tom said to the leprechaun.

"What happened?" Bravis asked, changing the focus back to the human.

Tom sat down along with Shakara, and looked around at the party members. "Well, after you guys jumped over the ship, I went back down below into the cabins, and there was . . ." He paused for a second and dropped his eyes so that he gazed at the floor. "There was this Upright beating its way through the door, and all of a sudden, I dropped the book, and it fell open to a page that had a shield across its top. I read the words out loud." He stopped and glanced at his friends.

"There was this blinding light that came from the book; I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I was surrounded by fire and water and wood." Tom reflected on the incident, motioning with his hands. "I put my hand out and I was trapped inside some kind of bubble. Then I awoke on the shore, coughing and spitting up loads of water," he explained. "Captain Ron found me, but no one else was around, so we went searching for you all."

"The city is burning, and we had to hide out here, for safety," Remetus responded abruptly.

"How did you find us through the ruins?" Keltin asked when he finally sat down on the other side of Shakara.

Tom answered with a smile, "Oh that was easy, you left a trail in the grass. I didn't know it was yours, but it looked pretty recent, so I followed it."

"Did the beach look clear?" Remetus questioned, worried about the Marenifdae's return.

"Indeed, at least it did a few hours ago, but it was dark, so I can't say for sure. I think the blast killed most of the sharks, which I'm pretty sure allowed me to escape their jaws." Tom sighed in relief and exhaustion.

"We are glad to see you, Tom," Bravis said, overjoyed that his friend had escaped the sharks alive. "When I thought—"

"It's fine . . . you would have been looking forever if you stayed at the beach, not to mention vulnerable. I washed ashore on the northwest side of the island, nowhere near where Odeneus said you came to land," Tom told them. He nodded in appreciation. "In the night hours I would have made the same decision." He was just glad not to be alone, though Captain Ron had kept him good company; he was comforted that Shakara was again by his side.

Though the memories of his unreal family still haunted Tom, he tried to let them pass, focusing on what was in front of him in the present. "So what is the plan? Did you find the armor?"

"No, apparently that is why the beasts attacked me homeland in the first place. They stole the armor from the island, so we don't even have that going for us," Odeneus said in gloom.

"There is more that I wanted to say earlier, about the armor," Remetus spoke up. All eyes veered to him. "Yestercircuit I saw a company of Noklathar searching the city. I faded into the shadows and eavesdropped; they, too, were hunting for the armor. They were ready to slaughter us as well, but they arrived too late to retrieve it. Their commander made a ruckus, moaning and groaning over the loss, for he said they required the armor to change the fate of the coming war with the North."

"It would appear that everyone is searching for the armor," Odeneus said. "The North, the Noklathar, the Marenifdae, and your lizard boss. I wonder how they all knew it was here in the first place . . ."

"I don't know, but none of that sounds hopeful," Shakara said.

"Insooth," Bravis agreed.

Tom peered at the leprechaun. "What do we do now? Should we not look for more survivors?" He pictured leprechauns stuck in burning buildings, unable to escape the world of fire and smoke.

"No, the search is over. There are no more survivors. I've been looking for over a circuit, and it's a small island," Remetus informed him.

Odeneus shot his uncle a look of disbelief. Already full of despair, he grew disappointed that his uncle did not even bother to feign hope. "We have to find their bodies, our family members. We have to find them," Odeneus spoke in vexation.

"Have you been outside, boy? The ash in the air isn't all building; most of their bodies are cremated! Face it, boy, there is nothing left for us to find," Remetus said, swallowing his pain. He wiped the sweat from his brow while he held back his tears.

They all pictured the ash floating in the breeze of the city. Grief stunned them.

After a long while Tom spoke. "Then what? Are we going to sit here and let the city burn to the ground?" Odeneus contemplated Tom's question for a while more, and the room became silent as the party reflected in a somber quiet. Tom started to peek around the room, and noticed all the weapons. "What is this place?" he asked, baffled by the weaponry.

"It's our armory," Remetus replied. "Almost everything we had to combat the sharks is in here, somewhere."

All of a sudden, Odeneus jumped up to his feet. "That's it, uncle!" he yelled. "Do we have any _augmite_ left?"

"Yes, there is a large quantity down the hall," he said, pointing to another hallway that continued on for a way. "Why?"

"We need it," Odeneus responded vaguely.

"For what?"

"We are going to strike our revenge on the Marenifdae's gaff in The Perivian Trench, and take back what is ours. They killed our families, now it's time we returned the favor," Odeneus said with an angry gleam in his eye.

"What? We're not murderers," Bravis said, cutting into the family conversation.

Odeneus looked up at the gyrran, who stood much taller than the leprechaun, and by any right should have intimidated the short figure, but he was used to everything being much larger. The leprechaun narrowed his eyes and his face darkened. "I'm sorry, but was your family just massacred? Was your city just razed to rubble and burned to ashes?" he spoke in a cruel and bitter tone.

"He is right, boy. We have a right to strike our revenge, and you have a right to decline your help in the matter," Remetus said, defending his nephew's argument.

"What is _augmite_?" Tom asked, trying to lower the tension in the room.

Remetus turned his attention toward Tom. "It is something our forefathers invented under the conditions of being on an island, for mining the depths," he replied. "It's an explosive that is able to be used under water. We can use it to cave in the Marenifdae's trench dwelling, we certainly have enough, but detonating it everywhere at one time would be a problem."

"I think we should do it," Shakara added to the conversation. "We need to get that armor back. It must be important, especially if the Marenifdae are willing to kill off an entire population to retrieve it."

"But, do we need to take innocent lives?" Bravis raised the question, hoping that at least Tom would back him up. He met his friend's gaze, but the look upon the human's face was one filled with uncertainty.

All eyes looked at Tom. "What about you, Tom. Are you in?" Odeneus asked.

Tom quietly mused upon what course of action they might take next. "All I know is that those things tried to kill us on the boat, and murdered our friends, including the good captain, and now we find out that they also destroyed a whole society, along with its homeland. I'd say that is a pretty good reason to retaliate," he stated. "But I wish not to head into such danger. It is beyond my courage."

"Tom, we must go; we must find that armor," Shakara said. "It is the only thing that will make Anakore'in talk, without it we will never find out the truth . . . Do you not have the courage to seek the truth?"

"I fear that I do not," Tom replied. "We have already come across these beasts once and lost, what chance do we have in their own homeland?"

"We have surprise as our friend. They will never see a counterattack coming. Plus, you have me and my daggers at your side; together, we'll find the strength and valor to succeed."

Though Tom was loath to begin such a perilous fight, Shakara gave him courage with her words, and with her by his side, the errand did not sound so bleak. After a short silence he spoke, "Then together we shall find the truth."

Outnumbered, Bravis' heart sank. Although the gyrran disagreed with such large-scale killing, he agreed to help with a tired nod.

"Aye, a body for a body," Remetus spoke with animus toward the sharks. "Only one choice."

"Only one choice," Odeneus repeated.

"What does that mean?" Shakara asked. She eyed the two leprechauns, puzzled by their speech.

"It is our family words. Something inherited in our blood," Odeneus responded. "There is only one choice before us, and we must, for the sake of our family, fulfill this task."

"We have a problem, though," Remetus said.

"And what is that?" Keltin asked, standing, too antsy to sit any longer.

"All of the boats were said to be burned in the port, save one, but the survivors took it to Brilam, so it is likely we don't have a vessel to get us there, and it is a long, long way to the trench."

"How far?" Shakara said, raising her brows, afraid of the answer. She knew little of the South, and even less about the coast and its seas.

Odeneus still carried his tube, and he unslung it, taking out his map. He laid it flat on a workbench between two cabinets, and measured the distance with his fingers. "It appears to be about three hundred and seventy-five kilometers to the northwest part of the trench," he said in despair. "But cartographers tend to get water distances wrong, much different than land, harder to calculate. I say it's about fifty kilometers. Still too far to swim." He shook his head. "There has to be one boat left in the port," he thought aloud.

"Well, there is only one way to find out." Shakara used the wall to stand. "But for now we should gather what we need, then get some sleep, and we can find us a boat in the morning," she suggested. Odeneus raised his head in defiance, but the rest of the party agreed that they needed to rest before any other action was done, and one by one, they followed Remetus down the hall into another similar room.

The space was littered with chests filled with bars of gold, and also brown, square packages of augmite; they packed forty bricks into leprechaun traveling packs. "What's with all the gold?" Tom observed.

"Me boy, it's not gold, it's chocolate. Why don't you take a bar," Remetus said. He threw Tom a bar, then unwrapped one for himself.

Tom removed the wrapping and bit into the smooth, dark bar. "Very bitter, but sweet," he commented.

"Best chocolate in the world," Odeneus replied. "Won't find nothing like it on the mainland." He handed everyone a golden bar, and insisted that they try it, almost shoving it down their throats.

Along with finely wrapped bars of chocolate and other meager food supplies, they also grabbed a few weapons. Albeit they were made for the hands of leprechauns, Shakara argued that they would come in handy to pull off their plan. They piled all the bags and equipment on top of the workbench. Remetus found a few blankets to cover themselves. The chilly room gave no comfort with the concrete, and to add to their strained state, the beach sand crept into places nothing should go, gnawing away at their nerves.

Remetus dispensed his reserve of hard cheese and bread. Stomachs all around growled fiercely in the late hours. "We may have to scrounge for more in the morning. I know there is more food in here, I just don't know where."

"Do you have any seed?" Captain Ron spoke up in a chirp. The little bird had not eaten in several hours, and was about to fall over dead from hunger.

Remetus peered at the bird on Odeneus' shoulder, who had looked small on the sea captain's shoulder, but at half the leprechaun's height, the bird was very large atop Odeneus. "I think there could be some millet in here. It's the main grain on the island, grows almost everywhere. Hard to believe that just this sequence the island used to be so golden and green, and now so . . ." He looked through the bottom cabinets, where he found several jars stuffed with golden millet seeds. Remetus poured the seed onto the workbench for the parakeet, who immediately leapt from Odeneus' shoulder and cracked away noisily.

Remetus went to shut off the light after Captain Ron ate his fill and drank a few drops of water. The room went black, leaving nothing visible. Noises of the old leprechaun bumping into things around the room could be heard as he shuffled into his blanket-bed on the floor, then silence overtook the room. Captain Ron stood on the brim of Remetus' orange bowler cap, next to the leprechaun's bed. The younger, and perhaps more stubborn, leprechaun kept his hat on even while he slept.

Shakara rolled over to Tom and held him against her covered breast, and his heart grew warm again, but the guilt would not let him go. Tired to the point of breaking down, he fell asleep almost instantly, like the rest of the party, as the images of his family faded into darkness. Yet, as Shakara cuddled with Tom, her mind reflected on the draining events of the circuit, until the power of sleep finally won.

It was midmorning when they started to shift and bustle awake. Tom had rolled away from Shakara, and faced the wall; it was cold as he pressed his hands against the slab of gray. In the night, he had awakened not long after he had fallen asleep, and had waited for the right opportunity, so that he could secretly slip away from her grasp. The rest of the night he slept with his family's eyes staring at him, haunting him.

The party ate more bread and hard cheese, and drank imported milk from the mainland; then they gathered everything that they needed, discovering more food supplies in one of the steel cabinets, full of desiccated meat and fruits, nuts, bread, along with a bountiful supply of hard cheese, and of course, millet seed for the budgie. Remetus also found a stash of the favored cinnamon tobacco and a few flasks of stiff brandy.

Ready for the journey, they set off into the toxic smoky air that set off coughs. Both suns shined above, but the smoke clouds that lingered in the sky dimmed their light to that of a dull candle.

Immune to the smoke, the leprechauns had no problems with the clouds that blurred their vision. Captain Ron maintained his position on Odeneus' shoulder, slightly wheezing, as his tiny lungs did not filter the smoke so well. They mounted up: Remetus rode with Shakara on Keltin, Tom hopped onto Bravis, who carried the heavier load with more bags tied to him, and Odeneus bestrode Pardris, who ran around with vigor. Tom still would not part with his coins. Odeneus also hoarded a curious bag that he let no one open, or touch, and guarded it by clipping it to his belt for safekeeping.

Within a half hour, the port drew near; its wreckage had stopped burning some time ago. The wooden docks no longer existed, and all the boats that had been in the harbor were gone, probably sunk at the bottom, or torched. But on the far side of the port was a dry dock that appeared to have been left unharmed.

The gray metal building stood tall, even for human standards. Its door was locked. Tom attempted to kick it in, but proved unsuccessful, so Shakara added a leg, yet it did not budge. Finally, Bravis hit it with his muscular hind legs, and busted the door from its hinges. A loud screeching noise rang across the ocean and through the silence of the dead port.

Inside they found three incomplete small boats and one large vessel. All of their eyes searched the building for a good twenty minutes, looking through the large vessel to see if it had a lifeboat, but it was barren. Just when they were about to give up, and Odeneus let out an exasperated cry, Keltin spotted a rowboat—roughly the size of the hammer-headed sharks—at the very end of the building, hiding behind the big unfinished ship. The leprechauns cried out with relief, as did the rest of them. A little luck had finally come their way.

Tom and Shakara, with the help of the leprechauns, dragged the boat to the sandy shoreline, where Tom unfastened the bags tied to Bravis, and Shakara did the same for Keltin. They loaded the boat, and Captain Ron flew from Odeneus' shoulder to the head of the vessel, where he landed on a piece of wood curled upward, artfully crafted as part of the design of the boat.

They positioned themselves inside the vessel, with the leprechauns in the middle, along with Pardris, and Bravis took the front. Tom and Shakara pushed off from the shore and jumped in at the last minute. The two humans rowed off to the southeast in the rising temperature of the midmorning, toward the kingdom of the Marenifdae, and the razor teeth that awaited them in the treacherous waters.

#

### Marendia. Revenge of The Leprechauns.

### A Tragic Escape.

Night had fallen. Tom and Shakara wore a strange leprechaun gel that prevented blisters from forming on their sore hands, as the circuit had been spent rowing, though the current did most of the work for the two humans. They found out that leprechauns were gregarious creatures, and also very garrulous, in the right company of course. And with the right food, eating a surfeit of chocolate, the leprechauns knew nothing of quiet. On The Red Marlin, Odeneus had spent most of his time with Captain Garbus, so no one noticed how much the leprechaun loved to talk, but through the circuit, the chatter of the two miniature figures nearly drove the others insane.

Uncle and nephew caught up on family events, and what had happened in the cycles since Odeneus traveled to the North. They paused every once in a while when one of them came upon a topic that reminded them their homeland had just been demolished and burnt into ashes. But they quickly moved on to another subject, smoking the cinnamon tobacco, and drinking the brandy; finally they were too inebriated to talk, and as the stars appeared twinkling in the night sky, they fell quiet in the sobering darkness. The farther south they went, the clearer the sky became. The air remained warm and sticky.

Tom had the single flashlight left that Anakore'in provided for him, and he handed it over to Remetus, who scanned the waters ahead of the vessel. "How will we know when we've reached the trench?" Tom asked in a whisper. He was scared of making any noise that might warn the sharks to their coming, but his rowing was cause for more alarm than his voice, as his paddles smacked the sea.

"They have markers. At least that is what I've been told, but to be honest that could be a fabrication," Remetus answered, keeping his voice at a whisper as well.

After six hours in the dark, they finally sighted something sticking up out of the black waters not far from the small vessel.

"What is that?" Shakara whispered, squinting at a red blur.

"It's a red flag." Pardris' vision zoomed in on the marker. The cat climbed to the bow of the boat. "There is a silver shark upon its field. It's probably marking the beginning of the trench," he added confidently.

Tom and Shakara ceased rowing and floated with the current for a while. "Okay, so let's go over the plan once more," Tom said. Odeneus took out his map from his dry tube, and Remetus held the flashlight above it while Tom tapped the paper lightly with his fingers. "Do you think the map is accurate about the size of the trench, Odeneus?" Tom looked at the trench's great length.

"Not exactly, no one has actually been to Marendia, so it's all a guess," Odeneus replied, placing his fingers next to Tom's. He distanced his fingers across the trench again to measure its span.

"So it could be bigger or smaller," Tom remarked.

"More than likely smaller. I'd say it's less than fifty kilometers instead of the four hundred on the map, but that's just a rough guess," Odeneus said.

Remetus nodded in agreement. "But it is told that a current travels south through the trench, so our objective should be manageable, though I will not dull the reality, fatigue will most likely attack us hard. Hopefully we accomplish our goal before our bodies grow weary beyond recuperation."

"Insooth," Bravis said. He peered down at the leprechauns with grim distaste for what he was about to help them achieve.

"All right, hopefully it will only take about three hours to get all of the charges set, which should give Shakara and myself enough time to retrieve the armor, assuming we can find it," Tom stated with tense nerves. "But if we can't locate it in that time, we'll meet you back at the boat. Pardris and Captain Ron will maintain a course to the southeast. So far, so good?" The party nodded.

"Right, and during that time," Shakara continued from where Tom had stopped, "Odeneus and Bravis will set the augmite along the east side of the trench, and Remetus and Keltin will place the explosives on the west side."

"How will we keep time?" Odeneus asked, confused since they had nothing to keep synchronized with each other.

"Good point . . ." Tom sighed. "I guess we'll have to go off when the Crimson Sun rises, which is about four and a half hours from now." He gazed up at the stars, but they were different than he was used to, so he just estimated what he thought was correct.

"No, that's too long. They'll surely be on to us by then," Remetus spoke. He examined the map again. "Here, take this." The leprechaun proffered a gold pocket watch to Tom that he took out of his waistcoat. "At least you will know the time, for the rest of us will return to the boat when we have the charges set, so you need it most. Three hours, that's what we will shoot for, and if it takes us longer to place the augmite, then at least you will be safe at the boat." Tom took the watch from the leprechaun's tiny hand; the timepiece was barely the size of a copper coin.

"Three hours," Tom repeated. "We'll meet you in three hours, then." He grabbed one of the masks for the leprechaun from the bag of diving equipment. The small facemask allowed them to keep their sight underwater. A small silver tube was attached to the mask by a steel clasp.

"It's a breathing device that filters out the oxygen in the water," Remetus explained when Keltin asked about the tube. The leprechaun accepted the mask, and then changed out of his clothes into a black suit made from an unusual material that stretched when pulled on, but stuck tightly to the body when at rest.

Shakara took a knife to one of the masks and cut the tube from it, then placed the silver mouthpiece in Keltin's mouth. She tied two strings around the ends of the mouthpiece and wrapped it around his neck. "So you don't lose it," she said when he gave her a funny look. He smiled an awkward smile with the mouthpiece clutched in his jaws.

Tom traded Remetus the flashlight for a steel crossbow that the leprechauns used underwater for fishing. He then gave the leprechaun a pack filled with metal arrows, and then another pack filled with the augmite equipment. Remetus slung the bags over his back, but had trouble fitting both of them securely, since they were almost the same size as his own body, so Tom tighten the straps to both.

Remetus held up a flat rubber shoe, and started to put it on his left foot, but struggled for a moment.

"What is that?" Tom shined the light on the footlike extension.

"It's a flipper, it makes swimming faster and easier. I brought enough for all of us," Remetus answered, putting on the other flipper.

"They're a bit small," Keltin commented as he sniffed the rubber foot. The dog found the material to be quite foul.

"We can tie them to your feet," Tom suggested, snatching some rope from a bag near him. Keltin reluctantly rolled onto his back in the middle of the boat, and Tom tied four of the small flippers to the canid's feet. The flippers were just a little bit larger than his paws, but they tied well enough to them, almost as if he wore them properly. Keltin rolled back onto his stomach and stood to face his companions. The canid nodded at his friends, then jumped into the water making a loud splash as his effort rocked the boat and nearly tipped it over. The wide vessel settled.

Remetus snatched his orange jacket and pulled out a finely crafted pipe. Odeneus gazed upon it with surprised eyes. "Me oul'fella's brier pipe," Odeneus gasped.

"I found it in the rubble of your family's gaff," Remetus said. "I thought you should have it. When we return, we'll celebrate our victory; I brought a cache of honey cinnamon, your oul'fella's favorite."

"Aye, and a good one at that. His memory will speak in our success," Odeneus said. Once the leprechaun stowed away the pipe, Tom lifted Remetus up into the air and placed him on Keltin's back while the dog paddled hard, trying to keep himself afloat. "Good luck, uncle!" the young leprechaun yelled when Remetus tossed his bowler cap to his nephew. Keltin swam away toward the marker. "And be careful!" he added before they were lost in the darkness. Neither of the two moons provided much lighting, so Tom and Shakara relied on Odeneus to hold the flashlight while they rowed east.

"He'll be fine, Odeneus," Bravis told the leprechaun. "Keltin is an excellent swimmer for a hound. They'll be swift and will go unnoticed." Bravis attempted to reassure his friend, but regardless of the gyrran's efforts, the leprechaun still wrinkled his face in worry.

"Dammit!" Tom cried out in a panic. "How will they see underwater, they don't have any light?" Tom stared at Odeneus, who prepared his own gear, changing his clothing in the middle of the boat, where he also placed his map in a secure location under a seat.

The leprechaun grabbed the bag in front of him, and pulled out a skinny clear tube. "We call them lightsticks," Odeneus said. "But they only last a few hours when activated, so me uncle thought it best to keep them a secret until we absolutely needed them in the depths of the water." Odeneus gazed at Tom. "We have a limited amount of them, me uncle has two, Bravis and I will carry two, and there is one left for one of you."

"You didn't have to keep it a secret from us, we wouldn't have used them," Shakara said sharply. She started to row harder.

"It was a precaution that Remetus suggested. He wasn't in the most trusting mood last night, and I didn't want to argue with him. I'm sorry," Odeneus responded sincerely, faintly smiling at her.

Shakara returned a slight smile, but she was not pleased at all. "Is there anything else you want to inform us about?" she questioned as she tried to slow her rowing down to Tom's pace.

"No, no, there are no other secrets," Odeneus replied. He finished putting on the small black suit and mask, and maintained holding up the light so Pardris could search the waters for another marker. The cat found it and warned them to stop.

Tom and Shakara halted their rowing, and helped Odeneus prepare for their mission. Tom tightened the straps to Odeneus' bags, and Shakara cut another mask up, so that Bravis could use the breathing device. They were ready.

Bravis spread his wings to their fullest, flapped them in the warm air, and a second later he dove into the water, using his wings to ease the pressure on the boat. The boat still swayed a little. The gyrran fully submerged himself; then he poked his head out the water after a few moments. "The water is warm, just like the muggy air," he informed the remaining companions.

Shakara handed Odeneus his crossbow, and then Tom grabbed him by his sides and gently placed his feet down on Bravis' head. "It better be," Odeneus said, then reached for the gyrran's horn, seized it aggressively, making sure there was no chance he would fall into the ocean. The leprechaun disliked the water, ever since he was a small child, and he would not touch it unless necessary. The memory of falling into the Alcerity now built upon his old fear. If he was going to dive into the deep, he was going to do so gripping the gyrran as tightly as he could.

"Good luck, you two, and be on your guard," Tom said while he leaned over and patted Bravis on the nose. "But you already know that."

The gyrran dipped his head slowly. "See you back at the boat," Bravis said to his friend.

Odeneus turned his eyes to Pardris, who also leaned on the side of the vessel. "Be safe, me friend. Keep the boat dry," the leprechaun said with a cheery smile. He smashed his cap into his brow to tighten its fit so that it would not fall off. Bravis began to back paddle in the water when Odeneus took out a lightstick and snapped it, the skinny tube glowing brightly in the night. He tied the tube to Bravis' left horn with a short rope. The gyrran swam off toward the trench flag, and then finally he dove under water, out of sight from the boat.

"All right, Pardris, we will try to row the boat hard and fast enough southeast that it should just keep going. Keep a watch out for another red marker; it should be on the other side of the trench. Stop the boat at that point by knocking this steel block off the side. The vessel should stay in the area. We'll do our best to be back before the Crimson Sun rises," Tom told the cat. Pardris nodded in comprehension.

Two extra-extra-large masks remained for Tom and Shakara, and she loosened the straps all the way, so that they were as big as they could be. The two humans readied everything else before they put on the masks. Shakara had grabbed four of the leprechaun's swords, which were like small daggers in her hands, and she fastened them around her belt. A pair of crossbows lay at her feet for the two of them, and a bag full of the metal arrows. She shouldered the bag and put on the mask. It stuck to her face supremely tight, as it bulged her eyes, but it had to work because it was all that they had.

Tom did the same. The masked squished his head under pressure, but the strap held firm; if it broke, there would be little hope of locating the boat again if the pair accidentally separated. Shakara stared at him. "What is it?" he asked her.

"Your mail?"

"What about it?"

She eyed him as if he should have known. "It is too heavy to wear in the water. Don't you remember how much you labored with it when we crossed the Alcerity? The river almost defeated you."

"But I'm not trying to stay afloat, I'm trying to sink," he argued.

"But our return will already be burdened by The Impermeable Suit . . . I think you should leave the mail behind," she insisted.

Tom nodded with a heavy sigh. Her point made it difficult to argue. After he stripped off the mail, he slipped back on the leather, swung a pack over his lightened shoulders, and tightened the straps. Unfortunately, the leprechauns did not make a suit large enough for humans, though the masks were made for visitors, albeit guests of a smaller stature, such as gnomes.

The ocean awaited them with a wet smile that threatened to make their journey an unhappy one. Tom looked down at his sacks of gold and silver. "Oh, and Pardris, keep my money safe," he said jokingly with a laugh. He turned to Captain Ron, who sat upon the art piece of the bow, still on lookout duty, even though the bird could not see in the dark. "Captain." He drew the bird's attention. "Keep her in good health." The bird was actually half-asleep in the darkness, yet he chirped his acknowledgement, knowing the _her_ referred to the vessel.

Shakara took one of her twin daggers and cut the hole in the rubber flipper so that her foot could fit into it, but it was useless, for her foot proved too big. "We'll have to do without then." She threw the flipper to the floor. "You ready?" she asked, twisting her head to look at Tom.

"As I'll ever be," he answered. His fingers trembled. They began to row with all their strength; luckily the current traveled with them, and even if it remained slow, it nonetheless helped a great deal.

After a minute or two, the pair stopped rowing, and rushed to grab their equipment. Tom held the flashlight in one hand and a crossbow in the other. Shakara gripped her crossbow. They both dove over the edge of the boat. The vessel proceeded to travel with the current at a decent pace, and Pardris leapt to the bow on soft, nimble paws, where he joined Captain Ron. In good company, Pardris kept watch for markers and shark fins.

Shakara located the light that Tom waved around in his hand. The mask sucked in to his face, and pulled his skin apart near his eyes. Small bubbles floated out one side of the breathing device and made their way to the surface of the ocean. She swam toward him, and they started to swim, side by side, down into the blackness of the trench.

Soon, nothing was visible in front of their eyes beyond the reach of their arms, so Shakara took out the lightstick and snapped it, which gave the pair enough light to see a few meters in front of them. The luminous stick worked much better, cutting through the water. They continued to dive into the darkness, and shortly after they had broken through the surface, she noticed that the water was getting easier to see in.

After another five minutes they spotted lights that lined the trench walls. The lights emanated from the city of Marendia. Tom had hoped there would be light in the shark city, but he never dreamt it would be so well lit.

But then, all of a sudden, the pair began to feel the pressure of the deep water, it compressed their bodies painfully, but they dealt with the pain as best they could, and labored on in a slow descent.

Shakara sighted a flat surface that extended out from the trench; to her surprise, it was a platform. The platform connected to another surface cut into the side of the trench. Neither of the two spotted any guards, so they descended to the platform, and as they reached it, something pulled them closer to it. They were sucked down to the flat surface where they both landed on their stomachs in a crash. Tom lifted himself to his knees. Eventually he stood to his feet. With an extended hand he helped Shakara do the same.

They were able to walk across the platform, but not with ease; each step went slow and required strenuous effort, for the water still pressed upon them. Tom looked to his right and saw that more platforms, similar to one the two stood on, were spaced out all along the trench within his limited sight range. He turned back and stuck out his hand for Shakara to take hold of; she did, and held on tightly.

The duo gradually marched forward, and as they came closer to the wall of the trench, it became harder and harder to move. They stood one step away from entering under the trench ceiling. Tom raised his right foot, moved it to the rocky ground of the trench, and when his foot crossed under the dugout room, it became free from the obstructing water. He continued with his other foot, until his whole body went under the ceiling of the dugout. Shakara followed him close behind.

The air inside the room felt normal, like being on the land above. Tom stuck out his hand toward the platform, and watched as a clear barrier rippled, like a rock thrown into a calm pond. "It's some kind of barrier to keep the water out," he mumbled with the breathing device still in his mouth, as he snapped his hand back in alarm.

Shakara freed her hands by setting her crossbow and lightstick on the ground, pulled the breathing device from her mouth, and tested the air with a quick inhale. It was breathable.

Tom watched her cautiously while she did this, and saw that the air did not kill her, so he did the same, cringing as he drew in air. A foul smell overwhelmed their nostrils; an odor of fish and death plagued the room. They took off their masks and laid them in a corner, near the platform, ignoring the stench as best they could. "This must be the city for the Uprights." Shakara picked up her lightstick and placed it in her pack, then touched her shirt in astonishment. "My clothes," she said, "they're dry."

Tom stroked his leather. "Mine too. The barrier must have absorbed our moisture," he concluded after a moment of examining his clothes. "Where should we start looking?" He grabbed his crossbow and flashlight. They surveyed the room; it was long and narrow, with four different staircases carved into the opposite wall from the clear barrier.

"I guess here." She pointed to the closest staircase to their left.

"All right, let me set a charge here." He swung the straps off his back and searched the bag for one of the brown bricks of explosives.

"I didn't know you brought augmite," Shakara stated, surprised to see him with a bomb.

"I thought it might come in handy, so I took two of them." Tom placed the pack next to the wall. He stuck the charge into the rock and covered it with dirt, but the dirt did not stick well. "Oh well, it blends fine enough for our purpose," he said when he failed to cover the pack entirely.

Shakara piled dirt on their swimming gear in the same corner, and then raised her hand to form a circle and three fingers in an OK. Tom grabbed the watch that he had stuck in his pocket earlier.

"How much time do we have left?" she asked him, afraid of the answer.

"Two hours and twenty-two minutes," Tom responded, sighing a little.

"Dammit, it took us much too long," she said to him, irritated. She adjusted the pack on her shoulders, and Tom did the same, tightening the straps.

"Then we better start looking." He started off toward the stairs. Shakara followed him in silence.

Keltin reached the red marker and decided it was the best place to start, so he dove under the water, and paddled downward. Remetus had cracked a lightstick and held it out to his side. They could see a few meters in front of them, which was enough to see the beginning of the trench walls. The depth proved not all too devastating, for it did not crush the pair, and only slightly pressured their frames. Keltin landed on the flat ocean floor before it dropped off at a steep angle; then he made his descent into the trench itself.

The canid swam alongside the rock wall for a while, with the flippers easing his strokes, until Remetus tapped the dog on his head. The touch signaled Keltin to stop, and he waited for the leprechaun to set a charge. The work required two hands, but Remetus had nowhere to set the lightstick down, so he tied it to the rope that Shakara used to make sure the dog's breathing device did not plummet to the ocean floor. Once the lightstick was secured in place, Remetus loosened the straps of the pack, and grabbed a block of augmite.

The explosive stuck to the rock. The water acted as an adhesive, allowing Remetus to place the brown package anywhere he wanted to on the trench wall. The leprechauns planned to line the entire top of the trench every ten kilometers or so, bringing enough charges to cover two hundred kilometers, if needed. And if they did not cover the entire wall, they would accomplish major damage to The Perivian Trench, which remained their chief goal.

The first charge was set. Remetus flipped the switch on its side, and a light lit up in a faint green glow. The leprechaun tapped Keltin on the top of his head once more, and the dog paddled off down along the trench, until Remetus figured they had traveled far enough, and signaled the dog to stop.

They exhaled bubbles that floated to the surface. Remetus unexpectedly saw the bubbles swim away in a current above him. Something pulled the bubbles along in a stream, at least his eyes told him so, but then he could have been imagining the moving bubbles out of fear. He was not positive of anything in the gloomy depths.

They worked steadily, and he finished setting his eighth charge without a problem. Thanks to Keltin, who kept him fairly stable, the job was easy. Neither of the pair could say a word to each other with the mouthpieces fixed between their teeth, so the work went fast and quiet.

Then something swam by them. And this time Remetus felt the water being pushed around. Keltin felt it too, and turned toward the open water, but he moved too quickly, and the lightstick wiggled loose from the rope around his neck. The light descended into the darkness below. The pair watched it fall. Keltin swam after it, so that Remetus could grab it, but it fell too fast for the dog to follow in the deep. The canid ceased tracking the lightstick and swam back up to the top of the trench; all the while, he expelled more and more bubbles from the device. His breathing began to quicken in fear.

Remetus reached around his back for the arrow bag, and grabbed the second lightstick. Another wave struck at his body; instinctively he clutched the bag for safety, and out of alarm for what lurked in the dangerous waters. He knew a shark was teasing them in the darkness, so he gripped the crossbow tightly, and readied himself to fire it. He hit the lightstick across the weapon, raised it above his head, and shined it toward the middle of the trench.

There in the darkness, he saw a shark with white tips on its nose and fins; the beast swam swiftly back and forth until the light hit it. The fish charged. Remetus hesitated to fire the metal arrow, for the shark spanned at least five meters long, and the leprechaun gauged the shark to be at least ten times faster than Keltin in the water.

Overwhelming fear gripped the leprechaun. The only battle he had ever been in, he had passed out at the sight of danger, and the few brawls he participated in outside a pub were never serious, and never amounted to anything beyond a few scrapes and a black eye. He paused. His finger sat on the trigger as the shark drew near. Keltin swam slowly, almost frozen in the water, trapped by the rock wall of the trench; he had nowhere to go regardless of the horror that impaired his movement.

The shark opened its mouth and displayed the thin serrated teeth of its lower jaw, and the broad serrated teeth of its upper. The shark closed the distance between the two so rapidly that Remetus had barely enough time to take one hurried, short breath before realizing the shark was going to tear them to pieces. The leprechaun squealed with his mouthpiece still between his squeezing lips, the sound traveled through the water, and Keltin sensed how terrified his companion was. At the last second, Remetus fired his crossbow. The steel arrow went rocketing through the water toward the immense shark.

The arrow struck the white-tipped shark right between its eyes. The shark swerved away before it smashed into them, and hit the wall about a meter away from where Keltin swam. The canid paddled southward. The leprechaun pulled the second bag from his shoulders and loaded another arrow onto the crossbow.

The shark came from behind them with a swish, and Remetus turned toward the figure, then accidentally fired the second shot at the beast. It hit the fish exactly where the first arrow struck; it created an even larger hole in its rounded head. The shark swam past them, slowing its movement, but after a few moments, it ceased moving its tail back and forth altogether, and fell into the blackness below.

_Whew! The second arrow must have lodged the first one into its brain_ , Remetus figured. Even with the shark apparently dead, he took no chances, and nocked a third arrow onto the crossbow. Keltin continued to swim along the trench wall, his heart pounding with terror in his nerves. He swam quicker in the water, for now he knew what lay out there, defending the trench.

Just before Remetus was going to tap the dog on the head to stop, another shark came into view, swimming along the wall in front of them. The beast swam too quickly out of the darkness and left Keltin little time to attempt an escape. The dog placed his flippered forepaws against the rock and pushed off from the wall, but the difficult action hurt the canid. The shark moved much faster and easily maneuvered in the depths, effortlessly knocking Remetus from Keltin's back. The leprechaun fell into the trench dwelling below.

Tom and Shakara made their way to the end of the steps; it opened into a capacious rock room. The area was well lit, filled with couches and other seats; there were tables with maps strewn across them, along with decaying meat leftovers that smelled extremely unpleasant. Three Marenifdae sat in the room, facing the opposite way, and two were gathered around a map on a table. The Uprights talked low, and neither of the pair made out what the beasts were discussing.

Shakara spotted another entrance to a corridor at the other side of the room. She patted Tom's shoulder and pointed to the hallway. "How are we going to get past them?" he asked her in a whisper, waiting for an idea to spring into mind. They had already come to a problem, and they had only spent two minutes in the place.

"The augmite?" she suggested, keeping her voice low and quiet as well. She peered around the corner once more to see if there were any other Uprights. Only the five occupied the room.

"It's too risky. We could collapse the whole damn place," Tom replied. "I don't want to die before we even get started."

She frowned at him. "I don't know, then, we could go back and try another staircase," she said. He liked that idea more, and agreed to try that first before setting off the explosive. It was a last resort.

The two walked silently down the second set of stairs from the room where the barrier lay. They came to a smaller room that chilled like a freezer, filled with hanging fish. The tails dangled from the ceiling on ropes, leaving the fishes' eyes level with the duo's, and the fish stared at them with bulbous, dead eyes. The smell of fish in the tiny room made Shakara gag, and nauseated Tom; the horrid smell clogged their noses, and made their mouths sour with disgust.

A sound came from the staircase, so Shakara turned and crept to the bottom of the stairs to investigate. One of the Marenifdae approached them; Shakara ran on her tiptoes back to Tom. "We have a guest," she whispered, and raised her crossbow. She went around the fish to the other side of the entrance by the stairs, and Tom crept to the opposite side, their crossbows loaded and prepared to fire.

The Evolvuea neared the bottom of the staircase, showing his shadow; Shakara signaled to Tom to wait, so he did. The shark entered the room. Two eyes immediately blinked at them. The dark-brown shark had a flattened head with its eyes looking mostly to its sides; it spotted them instantly. Shakara shot first, hitting the beast's left eye, and then Tom followed, pulling the trigger to let the arrow fly into the Upright's other eye.

The shots were unexpectedly loud, and echoed up the stairs, adding to the noise as the Evolvuea screamed in pain. The Upright grabbed its bleeding orbs. Shakara unsheathed two of the leprechaun's swords, bent low to the ground, and repeatedly stabbed the brute in the heart and stomach. Crimson blood oozed from the Upright onto the floor.

The beast opened its mouth and lunged at Shakara, but she dodged its slow reaction, and the creature went crashing to the ground, dead. Tom scanned the room quickly while Shakara moved the body off to the side of the room, away from the stairs. The small area had no other entrances or exits, so Tom pointed to the stairs, and she headed up them in a hurry as he tailed her closely.

They skipped the next entrance and went down the very last staircase. It was much longer and wound in several directions, but finally it emptied into another large room, occupied by smaller Evolvueas. Paintings hung on the walls, and colors brightened everywhere; it was a play den, and the tiny beasts before them were only younglings. The duo paid little attention to the children, except to yell for them not to follow as they ran into the next corridor at the other end of the room.

The younglings stayed behind as ordered, and from there the two found a vacant room to rest in, allowing them to catch their breath. Tom turned to her. "Those were children," he gasped, air filling his lungs in quick bursts.

Shakara sniggered. "Did you not think they had offspring?"

"I just didn't think about killing children," Tom answered while his breath returned to normal.

"The blood won't be on your hands, Tom. Odeneus and Remetus are the ones setting the charges, we're just here to collect something stolen, that's all." She put a gentle, comforting hand on his upper back. The visualization entered his mind of killing innocent children, and repulsion instantly struck him.

Shakara saw the look on his face and knew what went on in his thoughts. "If it's any better, think of all the leprechaun children who died. The Marenifdae committed genocide against them, and their parents have to be dealt with for their crimes." She paused to take a long breath. "A body for a body Remetus said," she added. "Come, let's go find this armor."

He nodded and put the gruesome image to the back of his mind, but it still remained, lingering in his stomach.

Bravis swam with great speed and accuracy in the water; his thorny eel tail allowed him to move through the water with ease. He folded his wings back, and tucked them in a curling fashion. Odeneus held onto his horns as the lightstick shined modestly in the deep ocean. The pair found the trench's beginning without a problem, and Odeneus primed the first augmite block, attaching it to the rock wall.

Bravis tried to keep guard while Odeneus set the charges, twisting his neck back; he kept his eyes open for danger. The light illuminated the wall perfectly, which made Odeneus' job a lot simpler, but he staggered in effort to keep his balance on top of Bravis' head.

They were already over halfway through the charges when Bravis smelled a difference in the current. There was a strange tint of death, an odor that made the gyrran's nose wrinkle in disgust, for the foul smell became stronger and stronger as the time slowly passed. A few minutes later their entire surrounding was layered with the rank sea. His nose still functioned under the ocean, where one of his nostrils kept somewhat dry, and the other filtered out the water, adding more bubbles to those already created from the breathing device.

He sniffed the water with his clear nostril, and shot a stream of water out of the other; at once, he recognized the difference. He had smelled it before: it was that of the striped sharks that swam after them in chase when they had made their escape from The Red Marlin. It was the most memorable scent of all the sharks that attacked them, and Bravis made note of it. It engulfed the duo in every direction. Odeneus motioned him to continue down the trench wall, but instead the gyrran turned his back to it, and watched the open ocean.

He heard noises of movement not far away from them. Odeneus noticed the sounds as well, and abruptly fixed his crossbow in a position to fire, putting the bag full of augmite back over his shoulders. He scanned the black waters. Nothing. They waited for a shark to spring out of the darkness as they continued to listen to the sound of the sharks swimming back and forth in the water out of their range of sight.

Then, for a brief second, Bravis' eye caught a glimpse of a hazel colored shark with black patterned stripes covering its back. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished, gone in a flash. Bravis tried to time when it would attack, but as he waited in anticipation, fear overtook his nerves, and he became jittery. He attempted to calm himself, but with little success, swaying his legs in the water.

Odeneus shifted atop Bravis' head; his sole slipped, and he tried to regain his foothold. It was no use, and the more he tried, the more his foot slipped; and after a second or two, he fell. He landed on his buttocks on top of the gyrran's head, and his finger slipped on the trigger upon the impact. The arrow glided through the water just as a shark attempted to slam its body into the pair.

With tremendous marine agility, Bravis escaped, and the shark hit the rock wall; the arrow penetrated the beast's side, and went straight into its gills. The shark descended after its impact into the rock, and soon it was below them, out of sight. As the shark fell, its odor went with it, and the water cleared of the awful stench. Odeneus snatched the pack that carried the arrows and loaded the crossbow again. Then he swung the other pack filled with augmite to his side and grabbed a brown brick, proceeding to attach it to the trench wall. He flipped the switch and watched the green light turn on.

All of a sudden, Odeneus was hit from behind, and when he flipped in the water to see what had struck him, he spotted a smaller blue shark with short fins. It swam after him. Without thinking, he fired the crossbow right when the smaller shark was about to land an engulfing bite. The arrow went straight through the shark's mouth and out the back of its head at an angle. Odeneus made an attempt to evade the beast, but the creature's momentum carried it toward the leprechaun and smashed against him. The crossbow slipped from his hands, and fell away underneath the shark's belly.

Bravis swam after Odeneus while the leprechaun grabbed at the shark's skin, and pushed off to the side of the beast. The gyrran stopped to let him catch his horns. He pulled himself back to Bravis' head, and found a good spot to set his feet. With the crossbow gone, he tossed the pack filled with useless arrows, for it was becoming a burden to have both packs slung over his tense shoulders. The body of the dead shark disappeared into the shadowy void below.

Bravis returned to the rock wall, and began to swim along it again; Odeneus squatted and pointed at the spot he wanted to set the charge. The leprechaun extended his reach to put the augmite on the bumpy surface, then activated the charge. He searched the pack and added up what remained of the explosives. He counted six, which meant he had set fourteen, but he had just counted thirteen on the last one, so he figured he must have lost one during the battle with the shark. He was glad that was all he lost.

From his pocket he took another device: it was a little black box with a screen that displayed red numbers. He read the number fourteen; it was the number of augmite explosives activated and set to the device's frequency. Beforehand, he had discussed with Remetus what frequency channel they would take, so not to mix each other's explosives together. Neither wanted to blow the other one up by accident.

The black square had a few other buttons on it; one was a large red one that blew the charges it was matched with, and a dial that changed its frequency. But there was also a dial that changed how many explosives one wanted to blow at a time, just in case the operator did not want to explode all the charges at a single instant.

Bravis started to swim again, using his thin, but extremely strong tail to propel and steer him around in the water. His legs did little to help, as they were adapted for land, and if it came down to outswimming a shark, he would surely be the loser, for his body was built with more agility than speed. The gyrran could hold his breath for a great long while, but not indefinitely, so he required the device just the same as the leprechaun. The sea world was much different with prolonged exposure, and at such a great depth, it made the gyrran extremely uncomfortable. And the sharks that appeared from out of the blackness did not help at all.

While he swam along the trench with his nerves shaking in the water, he became more and more afraid of an imminent Marenifdae attack. The crossbow was gone. They had no way to defend themselves. Odeneus patted the gyrran's head to ease his heart. It helped.

The next five charges went as smoothly as the first half. Odeneus pressed his chest against Bravis' horn, and used it to stabilize his body while he fitted the last charge into the trench wall, pushing the package into the rock.

But before he activated the augmite, the lightstick started to fail, so he grabbed the second one from the bag. The light from the first stick faded, and then completely died. Odeneus cracked the second stick against Bravis' hard horn. When he looked up again, a massive mouth of a gray shark, with mottled brown smears, swam at them. The belly of the beast sparkled white like a pearl. The mouth looked so large that it could easy swallow Bravis whole in one thrashing chomp.

Bravis instinctively started to swim away in fear, and as he jolted off, Odeneus slipped against the wall. The leprechaun managed to grab the charge from the rock, and quickly he turned the dial until it read one: the closest charge within proximity.

The shark closed the gap between them within seconds, and was millimeters from Bravis' tail. Odeneus threw the charge into the beast's mouth, and hovered his finger above the red button in panicky hesitation. For a few seconds, he saw just how large the body of the shark was, and he guessed it spanned at least twelve meters in length.

After his second of pausing to think about the size of the shark, he watched the beast smash down its jaw on Bravis' tail. He pressed the red button. The body of the shark turned red with smoke; the rock wall burst into pieces in the explosion. Then the duo was thrown forward, away from the shark, along with the beast's insides. A lone eyeball followed close behind Odeneus' gaze.

Remetus fell with the light and crossbow in hand; Keltin swam away from the shark, and the beast turned its attention to the leprechaun, sprinting through the water in pursuit. Remetus held up the crossbow and launched his third arrow into the water; he kept count because he knew he had a limited supply. He had four more, and that was it.

The metal arrow pierced the shark in its opened mouth. Quickly, it adjusted its course and swam underneath Remetus while the leprechaun reached for another arrow from the pack. His fingers located one, and he clutched the arrow madly, stabbing the shark in its back. The arrow stuck and Remetus held on for dear life as the shark dragged him through the ocean. During his maneuver, the leprechaun lost both packs from his shoulders, and they sunk into the wretched trench.

The shark changed its course and headed south not far from the trench wall. Keltin saw the beast with the leprechaun holding onto its back somehow, and he followed the light in haste. The shark swam much too fast, and quickly it disappeared, along with the light Remetus held in his hand. The canid pursued alone in darkness.

The long corridor that Shakara and Tom followed had several rooms branching off from it, but none of them had what they searched to acquire: the prized suit of armor. Neither of the two knew what it looked like exactly, however, Shakara said she would recognize it when her eyes fell upon it. He hoped she was right, and that they were not down in such a treacherous place, looking for some piece of tarnished armor that a Marenifdae warrior threw away as waste.

Tom glanced at the pocket watch; it had been over two hours already, and they had come across many Evolvueas, numerous empty rooms, and a dozen fish-stocked rooms. He was beginning to care less and less about this armor, and began to disbelieve in its existence at all.

The search vexed him. His agitation began to show on his brow. Shakara crept in front of him slowly, and finally she turned to him and examined his expression of anger.

"If we are going to find anything out about our pasts, we have to find this armor," she said. Her scratchy voice sounded dry, but they had no water with them to ease her thirst.

"Why?" Tom asked, and it was not the first time he threw out the question. Still she did not answer. "I doubt the lizard will give us what we desire. We should just turn back."

"I'll die before I turn back without it. It is what he wants, you'll see, he'll tell us all soon enough." They came to the end of the hall and a large open metal door. The ceiling of the corridor shook for a second, and rock particles fell to the ground.

"What was that?" Tom looked up at the dirt that fell. Shakara shook her head indicating that she did not know either. They went through a metal door, and entered yet another empty room. At least at first glance.

This was the first unlit room they had come across, and they sneaked along the wall in frigid darkness. Tom held his flashlight, and helped Shakara take out the still glowing lightstick, though it flickered, almost depleted of its power.

Clear glass cases lined the wall with different items mounted in them. The first case contained two large, worn battle-axes. The second had two single-edged shortswords, and in the third one, two twin sai: the swordsnappers had scarlet artistic handles with symbols of an ancient language written on them.

Other weaponry hung between the evenly spaced cases; differently decorated shields were most prominent on the walls. The duo started to walk along the back wall. There they found finely crafted spears, and many of them were still stained with blood from ages of yore.

Shakara walked a few steps ahead of Tom, and made it to the other wall before him. There, at the back corner, she gasped loudly. He swiveled his head toward her, drawing his attention away from the weaponry. "It's here," she said as her lightstick faded out completely. She dropped her crossbow in the shadow. Tom flashed the light in her direction and stepped toward her; she picked up the weapon and inspected it. "The trigger is jammed." She pulled on the bent handle, shrugged, and released her grip. The two turned their attention to the armor and together they examined the artifacts.

Scattered across the wall in a giant glass case were pieces of a crimson metal suit; black and bronze swirls, along with intricate designs, were carved into the armor. Two beautiful black roses covered the pauldrons with dividing stems spiraling down to the edge, and thin thorns spiking out all along the stalks. Three short bronze spikes protruded from the back edge near the top of the shoulders, in a line, curving slightly outward, away from the body. Toward the chest jetted a metal haute-piece that protected the sides of the neck against sweeping horizontal cuts.

A bronze sai with its tip facing the ground was located in the middle of the breastplate; another black rose climbed up the middle blade of the three-pronged weapon. From the sides of the helm, two bronze-tipped bullhorns curved upward. Bronze swirls covered the great helm, with one thick black stripe flowing down its center. The faceguard protected the cheeks, but narrowly left the eyes and nose open.

Shakara touched the glass, and as she did so, the electric lights of the room flickered on; the pair shifted their nervous eyes upward to see the lamps that hung above their heads. A grunt came from the doorway. They both turned to see three Evolvueas standing by the entrance; one had its hand on a light switch not far from where they came in.

The Marenifdae did not have on any armor, but their appearance alone was enough to make the two humans quiver with terror. The two guards on the side of the center one were smaller. One of them had white tips on its fin and pointed mouth, as well as its hands; it was a stark contrast to its body's dark-blue tint. Black horizontal stripes covered the other guard's burnt umber body in a pattern. But the middle Evolvuea struck the most fear into the duo, for the beast stood taller and bulkier, conveying its descent from the Great White. Dark-gray covered its backside and upper part of its head, and was mottled with navy; its lower jaw and belly shimmered a brilliant white.

"Alexandroz would not like his prize to be stolen. Kill them," the center Marenifdae said, the leader of the three. Each guard carried a single-edged, two-handed axe in its hands, and they charged across the room, gripping the weapons tightly. They did not roar a lengthy and deep cry like other large predatory beasts, but they snarled and drooled long shoots of saliva onto the floor from their large, gaping, teeth-infested mouths.

The striped shark darted for Shakara, and instantly she pulled two of the leprechaun swords from her belt and threw them at the beast's eyes, for that had seemed to work pretty well the last two times she tried it. One hit precisely, the other hit its abdomen instead. It shrieked in pain, though it did not stop its charge. She threw the last two of the leprechaun blades, cutting into the Marenifdae's flesh just below its kneecaps; it fell over in stride, dropping the axe it carried.

Razor-sharp teeth gleamed at Tom while the white-tipped Upright dashed toward him. He backed away from the attacking Evolvuea, and fired the arrow, missing the beast; he threw the slow-reloading weapon to the ground. The bulk of the beast rushed upon him within seconds, and he was cornered with nowhere to hide. He unsheathed the shortsword at his hip, and attempted to parry the beast's swing. It worked. However, the mighty blow knocked the sword from his gripping fingers, and it fell to the floor meters from him.

The striped shark picked itself up from the floor, even with the two blades sticking through its thick shins. Spit went flying to the ground from the shark's mouth; it focused on Shakara while it grabbed the fallen axe. The beast swung the weapon furiously, but Shakara was the quicker of the two. She dodged the oncoming attack. Quickly she somersaulted to the side of the shark in three rapid rolls.

Tom spun around to run, but the white-tipped shark tripped him with its axe; he fell nose first to the floor. Blood poured from his nostrils as he rolled onto his back, using his forearms and legs to crabwalk backwards. His body bumped into a glass case, and he cowered, his body scrunched together when the shark raised the sharpened axe above its head. Forcing the axe down with all its might, the shark smashed the glass into bits, and pieces of it went flying all over. A shard caught Tom in the wrist.

Shakara gripped her last pair of blades, her twin daggers. Primed, she lunged at the unsuspecting Marenifdae. Caught off guard, the shark still stood its ground, when she shoved the blades into its chest. She repeated the action again, and then again, making six deep wounds around its heart. The shark's blood gushed and covered her hands. By then adrenaline took over. Rage overwhelmed her, and her veins pumped with energy, more energy than she had possessed in orbits. The striped shark lay dying of blood loss.

Against the bottom of the shattered case, Tom trembled, where he pulled the glass from his wrist; the superficial wound bled a small amount onto the floor. The white-tipped monster snarled as it raised its axe with a clear shot at him, but before the beast brought down the deathly blow, Shakara leapt from her dead combatant. She stabbed the attacker through its ribs several times. Then, she kicked the shark to its knees and thrust the two daggers deep into the shark's head. She put forth an arm to the ground where Tom lay curled up and frightened. He saw the hand and took it.

"Grab the armor, I'll deal with the Evolvuea!" Shakara said to him in a harsh tone. Tom did not argue with her, rushing to pick up the enormous axe, but found that it was too heavy for him to lift properly, so instead he flung it from the floor toward the glass case in the corner of the room. The axe made easy work of it. The tremendous weight of the blade shattered the glass.

Shakara turned to face the third and largest Marenifdae. During the fight, she had not noticed that the shark took to sitting in a stone throne, centered by the wall near the entrance. It sat with its feet flat on the floor, and its axe handle up with the blade resting on the ground. The shark was monstrous. It smiled at her with its jagged teeth, showing its bright pink gums.

Tom ran to collect the armor, but then he turned and saw the giant shark resting in the throne. "We'll be stronger if we attack together," he wheezed, "I can help you." She ignored him. He repeated himself.

Shakara twisted her upper body around. "Help me by putting on that armor!" she half-ordered, half-begged him. Her clear crisp voice carried loudly throughout the room. She returned her attention to the shark, who laughed at their panicky scramble.

Tom did not hesitate and had no voice to argue. He forgot Odeneus' words that the suit might carry a curse, and he quickly grabbed the greaves and sabatons, and hastily, if not clumsily put them on first, for he did not know how to properly don the armor. The faster he tried to go the longer the process took him. He calmed himself for a second. The blood in his head ached, his nerves were more jittery than sharp, and everything was hot. He waited, hoping that any second adrenaline might kick in to focus his mind. His fingers found the buckle that locked the sabatons to the shin-guards; the pieces closed together as one unit. The units were heavy, and at least three sizes too big, but nonetheless, he fastened them as best he could. Next, he fitted the cuisses around his thighs, covering both his front and back, and connected to the greave by a poleyn to create a solid unit from thigh to foot.

He snatched the cuirass: a breastplate fused to a backplate that opened like a shell, fitted to a broad tasset that protected the hips. As he finished buckling the pieces, he stopped when he heard a low, sonorous voice, coming from the direction of the throne.

"Do you think you can steal the armor from Alexandroz, King of the North?" The Marenifdae laughed low and contemptuous. "He has charged me to defend it until he arrives. Do you know who I am, child?" the Marenifdae asked. His voice penetrated the duo's ears with a deep bass, and rattled their insides. The Evolvuea scrunched his brow, and stared at Shakara with interest.

Tom continued to adjust the large unit of armor once he was finished tying and buckling it all together, which proved difficult, for the core unit was also too big for his body.

Shakara eyed the shark with cold eyes. "No, should I?" she replied. She clutched her twin daggers fiercely; her heart still raced wildly.

The Evolvuea grimaced at the sound of her voice. It was harsh to his small pored ears, and the sound raised his displeasure at her sight. He cackled for a second. "Of course you should. I am King Tearfurio, ruler of Marendia. And this is my torture room," the Upright said with a malicious smile. Then Shakara noticed a small drain before his feet, stained crimson with blood.

She did not waver when she spotted the blood, but became more resolved to exterminate the menacing King. "Well, my King, you should smile while you can, for it is a good circuit to die," she spoke loud and clear. The shark's head panged. He bared his teeth and let out a short grunt. Shakara waited until the beast stood to his feet, and before the Evolvuea had a grip on the axe, she kicked it away, and jabbed at his left arm. The dagger penetrated his skin.

The shark seized her throat with his right hand and threw her to the ground. The King left the dagger in his arm under his bulging bicep while he darted to clasp his axe. He bent over to grab the weapon, and she leapt at the opportunity, for the Evolvuea was not used to hand-to-hand combat with a nimble human. She relied more on her agility and deftness, rather than pure strength like the shark.

Shakara stabbed him in the lower back, and the beast let out a cry of pain. The King shook her from his back, standing upright; she held onto her last blade tightly, and pulled it from the beast's body. The Marenifdae's reaching hands clutched the massive axe now. Turning around, he furiously swung the weapon at her. She dodged it in a roll, and the King's second attempt missed. The two continued in the same motion for a few seconds, in a circle, where Shakara rolled continuously from the King's heavy attacks.

With the gorget, pauldrons, and bracers done, Tom assembled the second-to-last piece of the armor to his body: the crimson gauntlets. Lastly, he donned the great helm. Once he finished, he turned his palms to face his muddy eyes. There, on the bracers was calligraphy etched in black, written down the length of his forearms. Five words were marked on the left, and another five were marked on his right. From the left he mouthed the words: _we are bound in unity: there can be no escape_. When he read the words the armor started to tighten around him like a second skin, glowing in a subtle blue. The glow transformed into a haze that left Tom in an inescapable void.

The leg unit contracted around his thighs, knees, and shins. The boots shrunk three sizes while the cuirass compressed against his chest, back, and hips; the pauldrons no longer extended far beyond his shoulders, but fixed to his size. The entire suit of armor contoured exactly to his body without constricting his movement. Within a few moments, the haze lifted, and the glow faded from the bound suit. Tom stared at the armor in awe. He grew aware of the suit's presence, and with almost every centimeter covered, he felt invulnerable.

The moment Tom looked up from the suit, he saw the heavy swing of the axe that sliced through Shakara's neck, cleaving her bones and nerves. She stood in a defensive position, as she still clutched the single dagger. After a few seconds, her body wobbled and her head toppled to the ground first, then her body followed quickly after, in separate pieces. Blood pooled, flowing toward the drain.

Tom's eyes stretched open beneath the helmet. Nonplussed, he did not move, distrusting his own eyes. The scene before him was unthinkable. Shakara's coffee hair covered the features of her face, the tips soaked in her own blood. His heart stopped beating for the few seconds as he gazed at her sundered body. Then his eyes darted to the beast that stood shadowing high above her. His ears and cheeks became even hotter, and flushed a deep crimson, no tears came from his eyes, but sweat swam down his brow on the inside of the helmet. Choler overtook him. Without hesitation, he ran toward the Marenifdae, weaponless. The shark laughed at his asinine behavior, and raised its axe in preparation to kill once more.

The beast swung violently at Tom with extraordinary strength. But with one raised bracer, he blocked the blade from his body, bouncing it off in a scratch. The shark maneuvered a step to the side, and gazed at him, shocked by the impossible deflection. Tom shifted his footwork to match the shark, continuing after the beast; but then all of a sudden, he could not take another step. The armor prevented him from moving.

The King stepped back a few meters and raised his axe, prepared to strike once more, but this time with more accuracy. The suit charged forward on its own accord, Tom's anger feeding its power. He outstretched his left arm, and suddenly his lips moved, and he spoke in a whisper; color shot forth and reached for the hilt of his shortsword. The sword flew at him in the air, and his hand clasped the handle in a twirl with his thumb down to the ground. His legs bent. Suddenly, the solid boots leapt from the dirt floor.

The King brought the axe down in a powerful blow, but the moment Tom left the ground, he was already rolling; his right arm barely escaped the edge of the axe as it sank deep into the floor. With the sword gripped tightly in his left hand, he stabbed the beast through its ribs at an angle, right through its heart. His right arm swung around the Evolvuea, and he tackled the shark to the floor.

The shark twitched. The large mouth filled with blood, making the shark cough in a fit, spitting the blood at Tom until the beast no longer drew breath.

Tom instantly turned to Shakara's body and severed head. He touched her black clothing with shaky steel hands; shock still swarmed within him, and blocked out all reasonable thoughts. His emotion swelled, and tears mixed with the sweat beneath his helm. He tried to remove the headpiece, but the armor had other plans, and without his approval, or by his will, he stood to his feet.

He tried to stop his legs, but they did not listen. He slowed his breathing and concentrated on taking his movement back, yet it was not enough. He was a prisoner to the suit. Tom walked to the glass display, where the twin sai hung; his arm punched through the glass, and he gripped the sai. They were shorter than Shakara's twin daggers, and the three-pronged weapons fit perfectly on the inside of his forearms, sliding into two aligned looped holes, and the end of the middle blade attached to a clip that held the sai in place. The handles lay at the end of his wrist, and were easily assessable to the opposite hand. With one of the sai, he broke the glass that held many ancient swords; they were much longer than Anakore'in's gift, the shortsword that now rested within the King of Marendia. He raised one of the swords above his head and placed the weaponry into a wide sheath behind his back, which conformed to the sword like the armor had done to his body.

The armor started to move for the entrance, but then released its hold over Tom, and he shifted his path, running for Shakara's body. While the armor had retrieved the weapons, he had time to think, and realized it was not the time to grieve. But now that he was back, kneeling beside her, tears came in a rush. He softly grabbed her blood-drenched body, cradled her, and lamented in high-pitched tones.

Then through the tiny earholes of his helmet Tom heard a muffled noise coming from the corridor. His mind returned to him, and squatting, he ran to the bag that housed the second augmite brick and the detonator he had taken. He searched for the rare and invaluable flashlight, but could not find it, and finally he decided that it had rolled away, thinking that he dropped it in the confusion of the battle. He raced to Shakara's head, and gently placed it in the pack, then slung the straps over his armored shoulders. On the ground, he spotted her necklace; he snatched up the chain, and then picked up her body with both arms.

The corridor was much darker without the flashlight, and Tom could barely navigate himself through the empty hall. He stopped when he heard the dampened words of more Marenifdae. He placed Shakara next to a corner of the corridor, and waited for the sharks to come, drawing the sai from his forearms.

One passed, and then another, and Tom heard no more footsteps, so he threw the sai straight at their spinal columns that showed around their taut back muscles. The middle blade stuck into the second to the last vertebra in the pair's spines. They did not speak, nor did they move, except when they fell to the ground, carried by their momentum, which was followed by a thud. He withdrew the sai, placed them in their holders, and then continued on to the city's entrance with Shakara in his arms.

Eventually, he came to the room that had been filled with children, but now it was cleared from the little sharks, and he found the steps that led up to the platforms. He paced up them in haste. When he arrived at the top, he found the room still barren. He rested Shakara's body on the ground, and grabbed the pack from his shoulders, drawing the charge and detonator, shifting Shakara's severed head in the process.

He threw the augmite to the ground. By the time he shouldered the pack again, a group of Marenifdae appeared, standing at the far entrance. He picked up Shakara, holding on to the detonator with his right glove, and her necklace in his left. The detonator displayed the number two in a faint red glow. The sharks spotted him. They sprinted toward his fortified body as he jumped through the clear barrier into the water without his mask and the breathing device. As soon as Tom cleared the barrier his thumb found the red button, and an explosion followed behind him; it pushed him farther out into the middle of the trench, for the force broke through the city's watershield. Shakara's lifeless body fell from his grip. He raced down to grab her, but the blast had knocked what little air he had stored from his lungs. The straps of the pack tore, and it went with the current toward the middle of the trench.

Tom had no choice but to swim to the surface as fast as he could manage. The suit was unexpectedly light in the water, and enhanced his strokes; he reached the ocean's surface, gasping. A rush of air hit his lungs painfully. In the semi-darkness, Tom tried to recover his breath.

Pardris could use what little light there was to be found to detect almost anything in the dark, but he had a problem, for no light could be found anywhere. Where the moons hid, he did not know, and he sat in the boat, hoping for the Crimson Sun to show its first glimpse. Together with Captain Ron, the pair waited at least two hours by the cat's calculations, but maybe more; he was not the best at telling time by the stars above.

Finally, the cat's wait ended when the Crimson Sun poked its shining face over the eastern horizon. He went to the head of the boat. There he scanned for a red flag. Ten or so minutes passed and nothing. Maybe ten more passed before he sighted the floating marker. Captain Ron chirped a hooray, and Pardris rushed to knock the weight into the water, which slowed the boat in a hurry, until it at last came to a mild drift.

After a while, Bravis emerged from beneath the surface, along with Odeneus standing atop his brow, and the gyrran swam over to the boat. Bravis neared the edge of the vessel, and Odeneus reached up to the boat's edge as he yelled, "I just want out of the feckin' water." His bowler cap remained glued to his head, but it was heavy and wet, which the leprechaun hated, but even so, did not take it off.

Bravis had no idea how he would be able to get back into the vessel, and kept afloat at its side. "It is good to see that you made it," Pardris said to Odeneus first, then nodded at Bravis.

"Aye, I just hope the others are having better luck than we," Odeneus replied, lying down, his tiny body drained beyond exhaustion.

Bravis dipped his head under the water, and scanned what was visible to him, which was little. He searched for signs of the others; there was nothing. He continued to do this every few minutes.

Captain Ron flew to Odeneus' shoulder and placed himself there with a flutter of his wings when he landed. He chirped at the leprechaun three of four times in a happy tone.

With the Crimson Sun rising, Bravis was able to make out more in the blue ocean. On Bravis' seventh dive, he glimpsed movement to the west. A shark swam toward them, and something appeared to be attached to it. His vision zoomed in and made out the red hair of Remetus.

The shark was fast approaching the boat. Bravis blinked. When his eyes flicked open again, he saw a radiant line of silver jetting through the water from the north. It pierced the side of the shark and sent it southwards. The gyrran twisted his head around and saw Tom with his wrists together, palms cupped.

Tom swam toward his friend. "Where is everyone else?" Tom inquired of the gyrran when he reached the boat. Bravis and he swam restlessly in the slow current with their heads above the water.

"I don't know where Keltin is, but I'm pretty sure Remetus was riding on that shark, though how and why I do not know," the gyrran said while he started to swim south to where the shark had gone a short distance from the vessel.

Tom followed Bravis, gulping saltwater as he swam. "What?" he spat out. The gyrran said nothing, but instead picked up his pace in the water. Not too far away floated the carcass of the shark with the longsword stuck in it, but the leprechaun was nowhere to be found. The fish started to sink. Tom retrieved the weapon and sheathed it before the beast made it too far.

"My eyes must have been tricked," Bravis said. But then suddenly a small splash came from behind the shark's descending head. Remetus poked his wet hair out from the water. The gyrran made it to the leprechaun with ease, as small fingers clasped his horns, and a foot planted atop his head.

"Where is Keltin?" Bravis asked when they neared the boat again.

"Uncle!" Odeneus yelled before Remetus could explain. The elder leprechaun caught his breath in the sunshine.

"Nephew, I am glad to see you well and alive!" Remetus wore a cheerful, broad smile. "As for Keltin, I saw him pursue the shark and meself, but the water beast was much too swift for him to keep up. We have to go back and search for him," he demanded. But just as he climbed into the boat, the retriever's head poked out of the water. His fur was swept back in the water, which made his face humorously skinnier.

They crowded around the boat, and Remetus patted Keltin's head, happy to see the dog. Tom gave Remetus the detonator he had taken and promised to explain why he carried it after they delivered the blow to the trench. The leprechauns stood in the vessel with the detonators in their hands. The pair rotated the dials until they matched the appropriate number of augmite charges set to their detonators. Simultaneously, the two pressed the red buttons, and a thunderous sound boomed in the distance. The water shook around them, and two great geysers soared into the air in the distance.

After they waited a while to let the water return to its normal current, Keltin finally turned to Tom and realized that Shakara was not among them. "Where is Shakara? Why isn't she with you?" he asked. The sun rose higher and higher, with the morning's heat awakening Leterra.

Tom shook his head with sorrow, but that was all he could do, as the tears ran down his cheeks under his helm. The new armor secured around him was astonishing to view in the pale morning light, its dark crimson mixed with bronze and black lining and flowing designs. But the party's concentration did not linger on his new wardrobe long, and waited with dread upon their faces for an answer from Tom.

#

### A Despondent Valediction. A Battle to

### Remember. One Clout to The Head.

Tom lifted Keltin and Bravis into the boat with the added strength of the suit; the boat rocked wildly, but he managed to get everyone aboard, including himself. He singed Bravis' tail to stop his bleeding, and removed Keltin's obtrusive flippers. As the Golden Sun approached the party, Tom told them about Shakara's murder, explaining about the armor, how he could not detach it for the life of him. They sat in the boat disheartened at the loss while they rested and gathered their strength from the long last few hours. The leprechauns shared tiny canteens of water, and portions of dried rabbit with the rest, except for Tom, for none took Shakara's loss as hard as he did. He sat in the rear of the small vessel, quiet and sunken down onto the floor next to his sacks of coin, holding onto her chain.

No one said anything more about her death, not even Keltin, who was not completely satisfied with Tom's retelling of events. The sweat inside Tom's helmet trailed down his brow into his eyes, which stung him and mixed with his tears, but he did not bother to wipe the burning away.

"I held her." Tom, at last, broke the hours of silence. "I tried to get her body, and her sever—sever," he stammered painfully. He paused for a second to gather his composure; he calmed himself as best he could. A few minutes went by. "I wanted to bring her body back, but I didn't have the breath." The group listened with open ears, especially Keltin.

"No one blames you, boy," Remetus consoled, but with little effect. A long silence followed. Remetus had cut the rope to the anchor, and the current slowly took them southeast, yet with Tom's lifelessness, he chose not to row the boat toward land. In fact, not a thing compelled him to move at all. He sat slumped against the vessel, reviewing Shakara's death.

Keltin rested two seats away, looking out over the ocean to the west; there was nothing within sight, so he stared at the brilliant blue water as small waves passed by off in the distance. The dog cogitated on the morning's events; his best friend had died, and he was not there to protect her as he had always been for the last few cycles. Self-hatred swelled in him for not being present to take her place. It was not Tom's fault; he put the blame on himself and no one else.

Keltin turned back to see Tom grieving with red, swollen eyes that he tried to conceal beneath the helm, but his shaking body betrayed his attempt to hide his pain. The dog decided that he should relieve Tom's burden and square it solely on his own shoulders, so the canid stepped carefully the short distance until he stood next to Tom's ear.

"She told me about you, Tom," Keltin said, trying to draw the human's attention. It worked. Tom shifted his gaze upward from the cutout in the helmet.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked.

"Shakara told me about you circuits and circuits before you arrived. She said that someone else would finally be in her position, and would be able to help her find out the truth," Keltin told Tom with a heavy heart. "More than anything, she wanted to find out about her false memories, to find the people who had destroyed her mind." He licked the human's armored hands.

Tom was confused, not sure why Keltin told him this, especially when he had already guessed as much. That is what he had wanted as well, but now it did not seem so pertinent, for Shakara had been real, and yet he had been focusing on what was not. At that moment, he blushed, ashamed of his actions; she had wanted to be closer, and she opened up to him, but twice he rolled away from her arms, even pushed away her kiss.

"You weren't the one down there . . . you weren't the one who let her die. I had a chance to help, but I put on this foolish armor instead," Tom sobbed. "I turned my back on her, Keltin. I betrayed her." His voice became a whisper, faint and slurred, making it difficult for anyone to understand, but Keltin heard it all.

"You didn't betray her, Tom. She wanted you to put on that armor because she knew that it has a purpose, for the both of you. And it sounds like without it, you wouldn't have survived either," Keltin said in a soothing, comforting voice. Tom wept more and more inside the armor, which made him uncomfortably hot.

He wanted to remove the helmet to let his head breathe, and apparently at his request, the helm loosened. He grabbed it with both hands while still holding on to Shakara's necklace, and pulled it off his head with ease. The humid air felt relieving, and he vowed to himself never to put the awful thing on again.

"I . . . I just want you to know that her death had purpose." Keltin licked Tom's gloves again. "She was down there looking for that armor with the intent to find answers, and now it's up to us to find those answers for her," the hound said with great composure, putting his despair at the back of his mind. The canid was excellent at hiding his true feelings if he wanted to.

Tom heard the dog's words. There was truth in them. They had to find out who was responsible for their altered minds, so that Shakara's quest would not go unfinished. He would start with Anakore'in, for that is what she wanted; the lizard had answers to give, whether or not he wanted to release them.

Faintly inspired now, Tom grabbed the oars and set course for Gillia to the east. He smiled at Keltin, who was a little relieved, though the dog had barely spoken; the exchange was more than enough between the two. With her objective in mind, Shakara was not utterly gone.

Tom rowed as hard as he could manage. He needed to escape from the boat. He needed solid land again. With the aid of the wind, the boat glided through the water. Within a few hours, Bravis spotted land ahead. Shortly, they reached a red, sandy shore, and Keltin was the first to leap from the vessel. Next went Bravis with both leprechauns, one atop his head, while the other held on to his neck.

Pardris hastily jumped to the red beach. Tom remained last in the boat, and tossed their bags to the leprechauns as gently as he could, but not the sacks filled with coin, for they more than likely would have injured the small creatures.

While the group unloaded, Keltin retrieved some twigs, and set them aside on the upland where short red grass grew. He rushed back down to help carry their bags, which were much fewer than they previously had, since a great many were left behind on The Red Marlin. But Tom was not worried about that, for he had plenty of money to buy more supplies.

It had been decided earlier in the morning that the party members would have a remembrance of Shakara when they arrived on shore. Tom found some of the remaining rope that was now becoming scarce, and tied two long sticks to three shorter sticks in a line with the three planted into the ground, which resembled an E. "What is that?" Keltin asked.

"I learned the Veniarian symbol in my school circuits. It's the three most important things connected to life: love, family, and friendship," Tom told the canid. Tears dripped onto Keltin's soft fur as he licked Tom's face. Tom did not have the strength to say any words; his mouth was unbearably dry, and he could barely breathe, but in his head he recited an ancient prayer to the Blest Gods.

Keltin was the only one able to talk; he spoke, "Shakara was my closest companion for the last few cycles. She was a bright and capable human . . . and I will always remember our run to the Burning Forest a cycle ago, and all the other adventures we went on. May she rest with reward." At that, his words trailed off into a whine.

Odeneus sobbed with Captain Ron on his left shoulder, who brushed up against the leprechaun, trying to give comfort. Remetus, Pardris, and Bravis were the least affected by Shakara's passing, but they missed her company, greatly wounded at the loss of such a dear companion. Their faces bore their sorrow as they grieved around the memorial in a circle. No one talked. No one had the ability to sing her a great song of remembrance, not even Captain Ron, with his musical gifts.

The leprechauns both sniffled with their stuffy noses, though Odeneus had more tears by far, with wet rosy cheeks. The two wiped their snot on their sleeves in unison.

Sharp pains attacked Tom's sides.

After twenty minutes of weeping silence, Bravis' ears twitched in the direction of a large hill inland to the east. Keltin raised his head as well, and listened for a second call. It came a minute later. Then a third struck, loud enough for the rest to hear.

"That's a Northern battlehorn," Tom informed them. His words sounded odd with a clogged nose. He bent low to the ground, put a hand to the left side of his nose, and blew hard; a rocket of snot flew out of his right nostril. He did the same to his other side.

"Are you sure?" Odeneus asked. "It seems very unlikely. We're hundreds of kilometers from the border. These are the red beaches of Hell."

"Trust me, I'm sure. Alexandroz must have started his war," Tom said with a clearer voice, picking up his bags, and the horned helmet. "It must be coming from over that hill."

"Well, let's go find out, shall we?" Remetus asked. Odeneus slung his map container over his shoulder while Tom tied their bags to Keltin and Bravis. He gently set the two leprechauns onto Keltin's back, with Captain Ron still resting on Odeneus' shoulder. Tom straddled Bravis while Pardris led the way to the hillside. Keltin lingered in front of the memorial, whining. Odeneus patted the retriever's neck with affection. With tears still wetting his fur, the dog turned to follow suit.

The mild incline of the slope did not force the group to dismount, not with such a light load of burdens, and they carried on up the hill. A few minutes later, they arrived at the crest, and what their eyes fell upon astonished them like nothing before. They looked into a glen of short red grass. Across from them, at the foot of the hill that made the valley, tall impassible grass grew amongst ten-fingered crimson palm trees that lined the entire base. On the plain of the glen gathered a number Tom had never seen ready for battle in one place. Already ten of Haven's regiments—two full battalions—held a steady line less than six kilometers from the red walls of Hell, which he remembered distinctly from Dragonlord Ruku's model of the city.

The numbers of each regiment flashed in Tom's mind; they were divided into roughly five ranks: four hundred cavalry, a thousand infantry, three hundred archers, two hundred clergy members, most often inexperienced Clerics in their white and blue robes, and one hundred drummers, the backbone of The Conqueramada. The divisions were clearly visible from where the party stood on the hilltop. The clergy members lingered behind the army, waiting to heal. The cavalry of Knights, who rode barded aequi, were dressed in light-blue full-plate armor with dark-blue helms, and remained behind the frontlines. The mounts that bore them were stronger than any horse and could still charge at great speeds, even though fitted with the heavy armor; they were also easily bred and tamed to ride. At the head of the host stood a long line of infantry, Footmen in light-blue plate. Behind them, a line of Rangers, who wore dark-blue boiled leather, awaited the coming battle. A few more rows of Footmen settled behind the first few. The dark-blue robed drum line lay between the Rangers and the heavy cavalry, with the battery able to move when need be, and the larger stationary bass drums lay just in front of the mounted lines. The standards were raised high. Long skinny poles extended up into the sky from the giant drums: at the tips, the flag of Haven waved proudly. High officers gazed upon the battlefield at the vanguard.

Almost all of The Conqueramada consisted of humans, except a squadron of five hundred or so dedicated Evolvuea and city animals, who were singled out and not mixed with the humans. The non-human line stood farthest west, closest to the party members, and was easily distinct from the rest of the army. "I've heard stories of the Evolvuea squadron before," Tom said. "Supposedly, they are the North's most highly decorated force, at least for the last two hundred cycles, and they are often put into battle before others are even considered."

Everyone eyed the squadron for a brief moment.

Then they drew their attention to the south. To Tom's right, another army prepared, outside the red walls where the valley narrowed, with giant red palms blocking either side from attack. There was a stark difference in the species that defended their keep from the invaders. Large red, leathery wings protruded from the backs of the Noklathar; they wore bright silver plates on their chest and legs, but that was all for the heavy armor, as silver mail shielded the folk of the South. Other races mixed in with them, an assortment of Evolvueas, as well as humans, and Carrigan Gnomes.

The Salenk army consisted of mostly infantry and archers, as the Noklathar were much too heavy to ride horses or aequi, and their wings made sitting atop an animal almost useless in battle, except to break the front lines of the enemy. A few of the Noklathar, and some of the other races, did sit upon the backs of slender camels, wide elephants, and long giraffes. The latter two carried riders with massive long bows built from bleached krimuka wood—imported from Turnola—that shined distinctly under the two scorching suns.

The front lines were divided in long sections of infantry, then short sections of archers, as the cavalry mustered to the sides, with a thin line at the rear. A few dozen ensigns carried staffs flying the standard of Salenk. A deep purple thinly outlined the flag, with a field of burnt sienna; the sigil consisted of a Firehawk soaring across a circle backdrop of orchid purple. On each side of the emblem, two twin-edged axes were fixed with their blades facing down. In yellow, the nation proudly displayed its name above the bird of prey.

"How is this possible," Tom whispered. He received confused stares from the party. "An army of this size would have to have been marching for sequences, maybe even orbits, to get this far south . . . they would have trudged over the mountain pass long before Alexandroz called for war."

"So it was planned all along . . . he was already going to war before Mikole's death . . ." Odeneus gazed down at the masses, so much larger than himself. He anxiously popped his finger joints, desiring to take leave before they were swooped into the inevitable field of carnage.

Silence overtook them as they observed the scene below, waiting for the nerve-shattering sound of commencement.

Tom shifted his gaze to the city walls of Hell; he had never seen the wheel-shaped castellated curtain, which rose high above the ground. The port of Pirarus lay a short distance away, connected to the capital city by two long walls that guarded passage for those in need during times of peril. Remetus noticed Tom's eyes looking upon the city with awe and wonderment. "Beautiful city," the leprechaun said, "no city in the world like it. Merry folk they are. At least the ones I've met."

"I've never been this far south before. Have you been inside the city walls?" Tom asked the leprechaun with great curiosity.

"Twice," Remetus reported. "See that large wooden gate there?" He pointed a small finger toward the northern gate. Tom nodded. "Well, there is a twin entrance on the southern side of the walls, and each entrance spirals down in the same direction to form different levels. The city goes deep, deep into the heart of the world, farther than the dwarves dare to dig in Lo'Darrow, so the Noklathar boast anyway." He grinned up at Tom.

"I would like to have seen it," Tom avowed to the leprechaun. No Northerner ever talked like that, but he did not consider himself a Northerner at all, at least not anymore.

"There is still a chance," Remetus replied.

Tom looked over the armies once more; The Conqueramada equaled the Hellians in number. "No, it may look even now, but the North has more troops coming, you can be certain of that," he remarked with a frown. "Alexandroz has his regiments march in separation as a strategy for maneuverability, unless on retreat and threatened by a greater host. Plus The Conqueramada is bred and trained for one thing." His voice descended to a low, dark tone.

"And what's that?" Remetus asked.

"To bleed. To kill. To win." A bleak shiver sprang up Tom's spine. "See those quiet drum lines?" He pointed to the battlefield. Remetus nodded. He indeed saw the unusual number of battle drums. "Well, once they start their rhythm, the infantry will begin to synchronize their breathing to the sound, and eventually they gain _dhianna_ , a sort of meditation. Once the infantry accomplishes _dhianna_ , their strength, their focus, and their desire for battle is increased tenfold. Their gold-ringed eyes will dilate, and their vision will become as keen as an eagle. _Dhianna_ makes them unstoppable," he explained with a shaky voice. He remembered countless stories of The Conqueramada's training, how strict it was, and the pain the leaders put their soldiers through, all to ready them for battle at a moment's notice.

"Not only will they outnumber the Hellians, but their armor and their weapons cannot be matched; it will be a slaughter. Their siege crafts are absent here, as you can see; for they have no plan to take the city tocircuit, only eliminate the arms that defend it. They wish to make an example out of the folk of Salenk for the rest of the South to see, to prove their strength by their arms alone. I fear a fate as terrible as what befell your own folk."

"We better get going, then," Odeneus said, looking over at Tom from Keltin's back. Tom stared back at him in bewilderment; he had not a clue where the leprechaun wanted to travel to.

"What do you mean? Where are we going?" Tom asked with a dry, raspy voice.

Odeneus appeared to be just as surprised that Tom did not know. "Brilam, of course, to find our kin," he answered gravelly, then cleared his throat. He took a swig from his canteen.

Tom had forgotten that the surviving leprechauns had headed toward Salenk's largest northern city. But before he thought of a reply, Bravis diverted their attention from each other back to the soon-to-be battlefield. "The leaders are meeting in the field for parley," he spoke up while he scanned the distance between the two armies.

From the north rode thirteen men on spectacular pure-white aequi in gleaming white bard. Atop the lead aequi sat a man in brilliant gold armor with cerise lining, adorned with dazzling jewels, who easily stood out amongst the white-suited Honor Guards. Also, atop his head he wore a casque unlike any other, with four white bullhorns that projected out from its surface, two from its sides, and two from its top. Only Remetus did not recognize the figure, for even Captain Ron knew the difference between guards and the Sovereign of the North.

A group of seven Noklathar flew from the south, one remarkably greater in size than the rest. The two factions met a little more north than in the middle, for the aequi trotted along at a leisurely pace. The armies stood silent. Not a voice could be heard coming from a single mouth. Wind did not blow and the air remained quiet. The heat burned the valley plain, along with the soldiers and the mounts.

Bravis watched with his keen vision, and sighted a dot approaching the convening conference from the east, out of the impassible barrier of grass and palm trees. The figure was veiled in a cloak, riding atop a slim antelope with short black horns in front of its ears. White stripes circled the animal's neck between its main sienna pigments. The slim person rode strenuously toward the meeting.

"Wait!" the rider cried. "Wait!" he screamed until he was amongst them.

Eyes of the party squinted hard to make out the rider, but none could do so from their distance like Bravis, nor could they hear quite like him, though Keltin caught many of the words. The gyrran relayed the conversation to the others.

"Who are you, rider?" Alexandroz bellowed. "Why do you interrupt our talks?" he shouted angrily at the newcomer.

The person threw back their hood, and Bravis spotted that the figure sported two pointy ears. "It's an elf from Veniar!" Bravis exclaimed with excitement. None of the party had ever seen an elf, as the secretive race stayed behind their wall unless on the battlefield in war, and the last story that recalled elves in battle was long passed out of living memory. Bravis was surprised by the swarthy elf's attire and appearance, for there was nothing technological about the male elf.

"He probably rode antelopeback so that they would not shoot him on sight," Tom guessed, thinking it to be the most suitable explanation. The stories surrounding elves and technology went together, fused, as they were the only race that continued using and seeking advanced technology, for the most part, since The Cataclysmic Flood. They were said to have advanced armor unlike anything imaginable, and at that moment Tom wondered if the armor he wore was made by the elves, for it was certainly dissimilar to anything he had encountered before. Maybe they could take it from his body.

"Besides, as I know it, most of their technology only works behind their fortified wall that blocks easy entrance into the country," Tom told the party. "A Scout in the Brigade once told me that those who possessed skill with magic could counter elfish advancements, but such words sound ridiculous, and I would not trust them."

A shouting voice interrupted his speech.

"I am Petrus Lippten of Mal'Ril, and I have come to beseech you to cease this war, Alexandroz," he spoke loud and clear, at least well enough for Bravis to hear.

"Why would I heed your words? The infection of the South will be stopped, and your people are not safe behind your protective wall; your technology will not avail you, elf!" Alexandroz growled furiously.

"We are in armistice, O Sovereign of the North, so why make war now? There has been no action to provoke this attack. We can negotiate terms to retain our peace," Lippten pleaded.

"There is an infection here in the South, turning your people into monsters, not to mention the immoral and false religions," Alexandroz roared in the elf's face. "I will not have my people suffer for this. Your lands must be cleansed and expiated by termination, for there is no absolution!" His aequi bit at the antelope. The smaller but faster animal jumped away from the vicious mount.

"There is no disease here, Alexandroz, you know this. You are welcome to walk the streets of my city and see it for yourself," the largest of the Noklathar bellowed.

"I would not have my men fall prey to your ills, Diablo." Alexandroz turned to face the Noklathar, wearing a malicious sneer. Then he turned back to the elf, shifting his aequi. "There can be no peace," he told them in an indelibly malign voice.

"The folk of the South will not stand by, there will be retaliation, Alexandroz. Harsh consequences will follow your actions here; there will be no peace for any of us," the elf said, begging the King to turn around and go home.

"The South will never unite, you are a fool if you think so, elf." Alexandroz laughed.

Lippten opened his mouth, but before he spoke another word, his head lay on the ground. Alexandroz's Sonsword shimmered with dark blood in the sunlight.

The eyes of the Noklathar showed neither pity for the elf, nor any surprise at Alexandroz's reaction. "Prepare for war, Diablo, and may you embrace the light before the end," Alexandroz said, then turned his deadly mount around and sped back to the lines of The Conqueramada.

The elf's body fell from the animal when it moved in agitation and alarm. The antelope panicked at the sight of his comrade. Turning around, the animal fled back east from where it came, into the high sea of red grass and skinny palms. The Noklathar went back to their own lines, flying with their powerful wings.

"All right, I've heard and seen enough," Odeneus said. "Let's be on our way, before something ill happens to us as well."

Tom rotated his head and made eye contact with the elder leprechaun. "He is right, me boy, there is only one place for us to be," Remetus added apprehensively.

Tom's eyes darkened and his brow scrunched. "Go on without me, I will catch up to you at Brilam," he told them in a low, scratchy voice. He still had not yet drunk any water since the circuit before, except for maybe seawater, which did nothing for him but hurt his stomach.

"That will do nothing for her memory, boy," Odeneus replied. "Fighting a war that is not your own." He proffered Tom his canteen, which Tom gladly accepted, drinking the few drops left in it.

"But it is mine. Whether my family existed or not, they were still killed in my memory, and Shakara felt the same." Tom raised his voice with a hint of anger, and much uneasiness. "I'm not doing it for her, I'm doing this one for me," he finally said. "Go, I will catch up in a few circuit's time, don't worry." He handed back the empty canteen.

Both of the leprechauns showed their doubt, and did nothing to mask it. Their faces were pensive and somber, and lacked any hope. "I don't want to see you become a corpse, boy. Just like she did," Odeneus said in a gloomy voice. "You know there is no hope for these folk, you said it yourself, so what good will it do to stay behind and die?"

Tom lowered his head as a vision of Shakara's body flashed in his mind. But this time he held back his tears and emotion with great effort to maintain them inside. "Look, I'm not asking you to fight it with me, but I just helped you scribble your enemy. And even if those bastards deserved it, which I won't say they didn't, I still didn't say anything against your decision, and I'm hoping you won't say anything more on mine," he spoke silently in a whisper. His voice was broken and despairing.

Odeneus nodded with slight understanding. It was truth he spoke; Tom had not said a word against the leprechaun's plan, not once. And their errand was just as foolish as his now seemed. "All right, boy. Then we'll see you in Brilam," Odeneus said, but then pressed his lips together tightly at his own words. He did not want to see Tom go. "Are you fighting as well, Keltin?" he asked, leaning over the side of the retriever to make eye contact.

Keltin considered going to battle, which he had never done, nor planned to ever do, and after about thirty seconds, he answered, "No." The dog shook his head. "No, you two need me more than Tom does." The leprechaun smiled with relief. Odeneus then turned his attention to Bravis and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm staying with Tom. After all, he's going to need someone to carry him to Brilam. He would be too slow on his own," the gyrran said, twisting his head to stare back at Tom, who nodded at the gyrran, happy to hear he was not alone.

"Well, I'm not staying," Pardris reported. Captain Ron chirped in agreement.

"Then we will see you in Brilam, me friends." Odeneus bowed his head. "Good luck."

"Wait, I have something for you," Tom informed him, and dismounted Bravis. He untied three of the coin bags and strapped them to Keltin. "You're going to need it."

The leprechauns smiled at his gesture, and Odeneus opened his coat, taking out a bag to show Tom. He examined its contents. They were gold coins. "Hiding a stash of your own?" he asked with a laugh.

"No, me boy. It's chocolate wrapped in gold like the bars, our specialty on the island. It's even more potent than the bars, though, mixed with a special recipe," Odeneus answered with a smile of his own. "Worth quite a bit in trade, you know."

Both tried to lighten the dismal mood, and it worked for a brief second, but then shadow covered them, though the sky was clear, and the suns shone unblocked. "Good luck, and may you find your kin," Tom said with sincerity. "Ride as fast and hard as you can manage for the first circuit, so all Scouts will lose interest in you, for they will surely be covering the beach." He nodded at Keltin. The dog dipped his head in understanding, then licked Tom's fingers to say farewell.

Keltin turned and headed down the hillside; the leopard-cat followed in stride. Horns bellowed, and called ranks to their formation. Tom watched his friends run down the hill until they were near the beach. The leprechauns left in low spirits and heavy hearts that had no hope left in them, but Tom had to stay and fight. He had to oppose the North in honor of his family.

He turned to Bravis. No words were spoken between them, and none had to be.

Tom shifted his gaze to the sky. There, flying low, an ivory-headed eagle soared. He tapped Bravis on the neck and pointed skyward.

"Our friend is back," Bravis said.

"Something tells me he was never our friend, but our truest foe, sent to spy on us," Tom spoke low.

"Insooth," Bravis replied. "But who is his master, I have a guess, but I'll keep it to myself, for I hope that I am wrong."

"And I hope that time will tell us all indeed!"

As his voice died away, the largest of the bass drums started along The Conqueramada's lines, a burst that rattled the ribcage every few seconds, repeating DOOM. The infantry chanted quietly to the rhythm, but the masses in unison spoke loudly: "For the Father in the name of the Son."

Snare Leaders began their steady TICK, beating the metal casing. Their subordinates quickly opened up on the flat surface, smacking tttttt-TA tttttt-TA. Drummers manning the tenors snapped their wrists te-TA te-TA te-TA. Finally, the movable basses started in with their low hum of a pound.

Tom unfastened the last coin bag from Bravis, and tried to decide what to do with it, for the money would definitely come in handy later on. His armored suit did not provide him with pockets or places to attach the large pouch, but he did not want to leave it in open view for someone to snatch so easily.

Then all of a sudden, as if the armor heard Tom's thoughts, the toes of his thick boots opened, showing a compartment on each foot. Shocked, he stared down at his feet, for the end of the boots weighed as though they were solid metal. He stuffed as much of the gold coins into the hiding compartments, and found himself with only a few leftover. Shakara's necklace wrapped around Tom's wrist, and taking his time, he untangled the chain and gently laid it on top of the money. He put the remaining coin in the last of the supply bags, then took out the paladin book, hesitant as to where to hide it. As he thought, a small door popped open on his chest where the sai and rose lay engraved. Before, no line had been there for the hinges to move upon, but Tom did not argue and stuffed the book into the cavity. It sealed shut. The line and hinges vanished.

"Ready?" Tom asked Bravis with his heart beginning to pound in anticipation of the battle ahead. Bravis nodded. Tom mounted his friend. He scanned the armies again, and from the north, he saw five more regiments marching in behind the already lined forces. He did the math in his head; the new regiments brought The Conqueramada's numbers to thirty thousand troops.

Tom had guessed there would be more forces coming, and he was right. Now he just hoped that the armies of Salenk had enough strength to repel The Conqueramada. From his estimate, the Noklathar army had twenty or so thousand, but it could go a few thousand in any direction, for he did not know their regiment numbers like the North's.

He was about to motion Bravis to start heading toward the south, when a familiar roar thundered in the skies above him. He shifted his head to the clear blue firmament; the ivory-headed eagle was gone, and instead he spotted dozens of midnight blue specks. Fear coursed through him, and he attempted to calm his nerves, but the roars of the combined dragons in the air were terrible to his ears.

The beasts flew in formation above The Conqueramada, and swooped in low to study the battlefield. Their sharp eyes examined every meter before them at a great distance with supreme accuracy. But as if to answer the dragon's roars, loud screeches sounded across the plain, and red specks became visible, flying from the circled walls of Hell.

Bravis' eyes zoomed in at the blink of his eyelids, and he surveyed the southern skies. The screeches came from large birds. "Firehawks," Tom informed the gyrran, listening to the birds' distinct calls. Hope battled the _terrofear_ that the dragons exuded.

The birds carried riders upon their backs, just as the midnight blue Deathlar did; yet, these riders already had wings of their own. The Firehawks gave the Noklathar an even greater advantage with more speed and agility, plus special searing skin that combusted when aggravated, or at other times, depending on their mood. They were dangerous birds to be around, but the Noklathar's leathery hide could withstand the brilliant red flame emitted from the creature's plumes.

"Do you know the tales behind the Firehawk?" Tom asked Bravis, who shook his head no. "Their abilities vary in each one, but all of the tales end with the bird's death and rebirth, because it is said that the bird can only sustain its fire for a few hours. After such time it is told that the creature is forced to find a safe place to die, dropping one egg before it falls to ash. The egg is said to contain the offspring of the Firehawk with its parents memories inherited within its genes."

"Where did you hear that?" Bravis asked.

"I heard many such tall tales of different creatures when I traveled with the Brigade."

"You will have to share them with me at some point, perhaps after the battle?" Bravis asked.

"Perhaps . . ." Tom uttered as he smiled.

The Northern newcomers joined the lines to the east. New horns sounded, and more drummers began to play their tune, making the chanting grow even louder.

"Head toward that line!" Tom yelled amongst the roars, screeches, drums, battlehorns, and battle cries. They could not get behind the Southerners, for the grass and palms blocked their way, but they could meet the battle toward the middle. The Conqueramada did not travel up and around to the west, and he did not know why for sure, but he guessed that the coastline became a sheer rock cliff. Otherwise, The Conqueramada could easily enter the city at its southern entrance. The move would surely divide the Noklathar's attention into two or more fronts, a move the Southerners could not afford.

The high tone of the Northern battlehorn sounded: doo-DEEEEEEEM doo-DEEM doo-DEEEEEEEEEEEM, the ringing known to many as Boundless Triumph, the call of Heaven's Light. Reacting to the horn, the army advanced over a kilometer, but remained distant enough, out of the kill zone of the Southern arrows. As was custom on the battlefield, both sides waited for the other to make their move. The Conqueramada stayed in their positions, fixed steadily, patient. Neither army's archers stood within range, but from Tom's experience, in another kilometer or two, the Rangers of The Conqueramada could launch a decimating salvo.

He had studied their range well when he carried the Bashiki recurved bow during his time with the Brigade. The bows of the North were made with the strongest sinewy string, and imported Bashiki Wood from the Barlamae Forest in Virra, which Alexandroz no longer had to pay the expensive price for, as he was now in control of the entire Northern territory.

Like many of the forests around Leterra, and Gillia's were no exception, the trees had almost all been deforested before The Cataclysmic Flood. Where forests once stood, plains of grasslands, bogs, and deserts now covered vast stretches of land all over the continent. The Barlamae Forest had been harvested the most; Tom recalled from history classes that it used to extend from the coastline, north and east, to the mountainside. Since then, the forest remained close to the mountains, only reaching a quarter of its former width. All races prized the wood for its strength, durability, and elasticity.

Alexandroz grew impatient after a half hour of uneasy delay. The call of Heaven's Light sounded again, but The Conqueramada did not advance as they had done before. Instead, the dragons that circled the army above flew toward the land between the two forces. From the sacs on the insides of their mouths, they shot streams of gassy-liquid together that transformed into fire, and sprayed over the grassland. The Firehawks dove to intercept the flames, and upon impact with the fire, they absorbed the energy and combusted their skin into tiny flames of their own.

The fire from the Deathlar hit only small spots on the ground, and did little damage, which angered Alexandroz, who yelled his surprise; he had not planned on the Firehawks, evident in his dismayed expression.

Bravis stopped on the middle of the hillside to watch the attack. The battle, a match between fiery behemoths, raged their destruction across the sky in a chaotic mass of smoke and flame. The aerial battle had begun.

Irritated, Alexandroz waved a hand, and another horn blasted its high trumpet sound: de-DAAAAA de-DAAAAA de-DAAAAAAAAAAAAA. The line of The Conqueramada moved closer, and Tom could see that the Rangers carried shallow buckets, filled with spares and grease to make their deadly arrows all the more potent. When the lines stopped, the Rangers removed the coverings from their bows, and took aim. Scores of arrows, three thousand strong, fell upon raised shields. When all of the arrows had struck, some hitting targets, most hitting the ground and shields, Diablo himself blew a masterful horn: the call of Dangerous Glory, a deep tuba bass that quaked the land they stood upon. The Salenk infantry charged forward with bloodcurdling screams that resounded in the narrow valley. The Noklathar chose not to fly to their opponents, but instead intimidated the humans with their significant size advantage.

The space between the two armies shortened quickly, but The Conqueramada shot off another volley of arrows, and brought down an infinitesimal portion of the attacking troops before a Northern battlehorn told the infantry to advance. The two sides clashed in a roar, and the first from both sides were the urban animals; Northern lions and tigers met Salenk's hyenas and radiant dilapadae. Claws met steel claws. Razor teeth struck at each other's throats. Their roars and growls added to the clamor of the battlefield.

The humans, gnomes, and Evolvuea of the South were slower to meet the battlefront, but shortly their weapons confronted their enemy. The Noklathar infantry of lower ranking Rakers and higher ranks of veterans called Souls-at-arms, held long halberds, with over a meter of steel fused at the base of the blade, designed to prevent cavalry troops from hacking the blade from its body. They also picked the gleaming twin-edged axe as their weapon of choice for close combat.

The infantry women and men of The Conqueramada also carried halberds to ward off cavalry shock troops, but they were set aside as they charged for close-quarter combat, and were replaced with a double-edged broadsword and stormshield: a concave broad shield, employed to batter the enemy to the ground. The soldiers on the frontlines went down fast on both sides; the clang of steel meeting steel created a song of death, a story told by sorrowful notes. Some strokes sliced through armor and bone.

Each soldier was replaced with another, carrying a sword or an axe with hostility. Hearts pounded on both sides. The Trackers of Salenk undraped their longbows from their cloth cases. They were skilled and deadly archers, with keen eyes and nimble fingers; they nocked sturdy arrows, aimed, then fired away. The arrows met the flanks of the Northern infantry back behind the frontline. Soon arrows began to pierce Rangers, and they retreated while the southern archers advanced along with their infantry arms.

By that time, Tom had put on his helm without thinking, and Bravis' speedy legs reached the west side of the battle, where Evolvuea fought Evolvuea, plus a few gnomes here and there, scattered amongst the Uprights. The Footmen in The Conqueramada's Evolvuea regiment consisted mostly of tall, massive black bears, standing over the height of most Noklathar. The bears carried longer, broader swords, and a giant stormshield that they, with unmatched ferocity, used to crash into anything that came upon them.

The Salenk Uprights were composed mostly of hippopotami, rhinoceros, wildebeests, elk, and lions. The wildebeests moved quickly with their weapons, and struck the bears in numbers while the hippos fought with a great space around them; alone, the thick-skinned hippos swung giant maces with spiked tips, crushing the skulls of their opponents. Their strength easily matched that of the bears, and their temper far exceeded anything on the battlefield, though it was not always best in combat, but at times it allowed them to smash through the field relentlessly. The brutish Upright elk carried large flat hammers, and shattered anything that came into contact with their swing, but their aim was not always accurate. Although the lions had their claws out, they still carried swords in their pawlike hands; they were deft, and easily outmaneuvered the massive bears. But the rhinos comprised the fiercest of the Salenk Evolvueas, with bloodshot eyes and a wild thirst to kill. They ran through the bears as if squashing bugs. The only problem for the Salenk lines was that too few of them existed, and even fewer fought.

Bravis neared the edge of the battle, behind the frontline of Southern troops. "Are you ready?" he asked Tom, yelling at the top of his lungs while he tried to compete with the screams of creatures fighting and dying.

"I'm ready to scribble the whole damn Conqueramada!" Tom shouted back. Ire filled his heart and determination his mind. The fear that always flooded his nerves did not arise, replaced now with control and focus.

Bravis pronked while calling several times, then charged into the infantry of Upright bears that stood over three meters.

Tom drew his longsword.

A bear brought down a blow, but Tom parried it with ease, as the suit of armor gave him a boost in speed and strength. Tom noticed then that the armor was nothing like other plate armor, for it was as light as leather, and nearly as flexible. He wondered how that was possible, certain that it was not made out of steel. Yet the thought did not last long.

Bravis ran forward while Tom impaled the Upright with his weapon. Tom's heart beat faster now, wildly pumping in his chest. The sound of his own blood thumped in his ear for a brief second until he heard a sound of a lion's growl just before it was stabbed through the chest by a bear's blade.

The gyrran continued on through the line with his horns down while Tom deflected sword after sword away from his friend's head. Finally, Bravis rammed into a bear, and was immediately tossed by a large paw. Tom fell from the gyrran and smacked the ground hard. A wildebeest's foot stomped on his back. Without too much pain, he abruptly rolled once, then jumped to his feet. The wildebeest apparently recognized him as a friendly, and ran past him with a scream, slamming into a blue-armored human who had been thrown into the mix.

The Upright who had knocked the pair to the ground sprinted to attack Bravis in rhythm of the drumbeat. Tom never imagined he would be fighting against the sound that bounced against his body; he could see how the tune enlivened the bear, and gave the Upright strength. The drum line played full bore now, every instrument struck with passion, as they evolved the beat every few minutes. He ran to meet the bear with total confidence in the suit he wore.

At the last second, Tom's new armor leapt into the air, swung the sword, and decapitated the Evolvuea; the head fell in a pool of blood by his heels. Corpses piled around him, but still bodies clumped together, almost shoulder to shoulder, leaving barely enough room to swing his sword.

The fear that normally accompanied confrontation on such a scale still hid from Tom, although his blood persisted to thud in his ear, suppressing the many sounds of death that surrounded him.

Tom managed to find Bravis, who hurriedly leapt to all fours when he came to from his confusion. The gyrran's eyes popped in terror, so Tom turned in a flurry and lunged upward to pierce a bear's stormshield. The armor made the sword in his hand feel comfortable, as if he had always held a blade with a stable grip. The uneasy tingly feeling did not arise, replaced with lust, the lust for bloodshed. Tom withdrew the sword, cut around the arm, and through the Upright's stomach. He turned back to his friend, and leaned into his ear. "Stay behind me!" he shouted, hoping that the gyrran heard him. He did, and Bravis fell a quick step behind his fully armored companion.

Tom could not go on without water. The heat from the mass of bodies, the suns, and his boiling blood, overwhelmed his dehydrated body, for the few drops from the leprechaun's canteen did not restore his strength. He spotted a human corpse clutching a free canteen. With quick steps, he charged toward it, but at four footsteps away, the armor halted against his will. The suit spun to attack more Footmen, thrusting the sword into another bear. His throat and mouth were dried out, not a drop of saliva existed within; he needed water or death would take him. He fought against the suit for a few more minutes, taking down two more Uprights in the process. After such failure, he switched to begging. His thoughts dwelled on the canteen, and finally the suit gave him his freedom.

A dashing hand scooped up the container, and Tom swallowed all the fresh warm water he could get down in three seconds. Bravis appeared next to him, and he shared the water, pouring it down the gyrran's throat until he squeezed only drops from the soft leather.

Replenished, the two resumed their attack, but they had fallen behind the frontline, now in complete disorder. The duo rushed to catch up as a fallen soldier created a gap they needed.

Above the battlefield, dragons spat flames at the Firehawks, who only absorbed their attacks; the _terrofear_ failed to affect the birds, which gave pause to the Deathlar, as they had never encountered such worthy opponents, and were flustered by the birds' ability to render their fire useless. The dragons liked to keep a distance from their targets, but now were forced to resort to close combat.

The Deathlar tried to maintain the higher altitude, for it was easier to attack that way, and albeit the Firehawks flew faster, they had trouble gaining the upper air. A few hundred duelers fought and dove, and screech or roared, savagely ripping skin, scales, and feathers from each other while blood rained down on the terrestrial battle. The flame of the Firehawks did not harm the Deathlar, for they were also immune, just as the Noklathar's skin resisted the heat to a high degree.

One of the great birds flew up at a dragon with its claws extended for battle; it caught the arms of the Deathlar, then pushed off and scratched the dragon's hard scaly stomach. The bird darted for the dragon's eyes, and pecked one of them out in a rapid motion. The Firehawk flew back, then twirled around the dragon, and tore at its head. All the while, both riders on dragon and bird, Dragon-Rider against Flight Fighter, shot arrows through the air, missing each other over half of the time.

Finally, the Firehawk penetrated too deep into the dragon's brain, and ripped a portion from the beast; it fell to the ground hundreds of meters below. Similar battles raged on all across the skies; some of the dragons tore the Firehawks' wings apart, and throttled their throats with their massive jaws, but in other skirmishes, the Firehawk came out the victor. Every so often, a Flight Fighter caught sight of the dragon's eyes, and _terrofear_ disabled the use of their body, rendering them motionless and easy targets for the Dragon-Rider to pick off. A few Dragon-Riders also thrust at their enemies with their equipped warlance, but most often missed, or their grip proved too weak and the weapon was lost to the sea of bodies below.

Since the meeting of the two hosts, at the middle, the Noklathar slowly retreated, until the Salenk army framed around The Conqueramada in the shape of a horseshoe. Diablo blew the low horn again. The infantry near the wings, still holding their line, rushed to envelop the Northern troops who had fallen for the tactic. Tom followed the red soldiers in front of him and hewed armored limbs from blue Footmen.

A dove landed on Alexandroz's shoulder and informed the King of the slaughter occurring to his host. Angry cheeks puffed. He disbelieved the cleverness of his adversary. At a hand signal, another battlehorn sounded: da-DOOOOM da-DOOOOM da-DOOOOOOOOOM.

The dove took flight, followed by several other of its kind. They flew right up the middle of The Conqueramada, which now had lost much of it power and foothold on the battlefield. The birds called for the soldiers to break to the east and west. Since the cavalry could not be used for flank attacks, they charged up the middle as the trained Footmen and Rangers made way. Only four abreast did the Knights ride, but it was enough, and with a shock they broke through the frontline of the Noklathar, then branched, two to the left, and two to the right, as they reached the backline of the Salenk host. The stream of six thousand steel-clad aequi formed two new semicircles around the Salenk lines, dividing the Southern host; it was a deadly fracture.

Tom watched as the rear columns of the Salenk heavy infantry clasped their halberds and lowered them for impact. Steel tips met steel plates. The Knights of The Conqueramada thrust long bloodpikes, thick and sharp for puncturing the lines of madness, as their Knight's Hammer—a small, one-handed war hammer, with a four sided hammer counterbalanced by a stout pick—pounded away at Southern necks and skulls.

A Southern battlehorn retaliated. The leathery red-skinned Noklathar sat atop their mounts, primed to engage; they charged into the mayhem. Knights drew their Mourner's Sword: a meter long double-edged blade with two fullers and a half-basket hilt for hand protection.

The camels came face to face with the Knights first, steel clanked loudly, until the giraffes arrived with their riders, who nocked their bows and loosed. Knights fell, trampled by energetic feet. The elephants came next. The massive animals bulled over the aequi with their tusks and wide bodies. But the vastness of the Northern cavalry, along with their supreme skill and discipline, outweighed any advantage the Noklathar had with the larger mounts. The aequi broke through the giraffes without much of a chore, their armored bodies deflecting attack after attack as the Knights swept through the Salenk host.

The Southern lines thinned. Diablo saw this, and sounded the horn strapped around his shoulder. The archers who lay behind the infantry took to the air, soaring high, but well below the aerial battle between the Deathlar and Firehawks.

The archers formed a hovering wall above their now half-circled frontlines. Soldiers fought with grunts, groans, and cries, along with the chime of steel on steel, and the chanting of The Conqueramada to the drums. The Noklathar fired their arrows downwards, piercing the lines with ease, crumpling The Conqueramada's solid hold. Tom and the Salenk soldiers on the ground pushed back the onslaught with the aid from above. A faint hope grew in the Southerners. The Rangers now had something clear to aim directly at, though, even with poorer short-distance bows, their sights were still efficient. Bows sang as arrows flew back and forth, but the Noklathar had an easier time anticipating an arrow, and dodged most of the Rangers' attacks. Many archers depleted their supply too fast, and were forced to recover more, and each side extracted arrows from the corpses of friend and foe alike; it did not matter as long as the quiver was restocked.

Alexandroz spotted the new tactic and again sounded a counterattack call.

The clergy members, stationed to heal the wounded from behind all the lines, ran forward to the battle, now switched to the offensive. The young Clerics attacked more effectively with one arm raised out in front of them, and one by their head with a bent elbow, casting spells of aid. Color streamed from their mouths. Most of their spells reinforced the aim of the Rangers so that the arrowhead met its mark. But it was a perilous game of chance the clergy members played. As they cast more advanced spells, they put themselves in more danger, for such magic often killed the caster. Experienced Rectors, clad in blue and silver robes, sent balls of water soaring through the air from their fingers; they encircled and ensnared the leathery-winged Noklathar while they flew about in the sky. The Southerners had no way to escape the trapping water, for everywhere they went, the water went as well, drowning them.

Tom looked up at the sky. It seemed as though that every move the South made, the North had a countermove that conquered their enemy's attack.

The Rectors were ruthless in their assault. Dozens of the Salenk archers collapsed to the ground surrounded by a massive watery ball. Upon impact with the ground, or the soldiers below, the balls splashed into puddles that dried instantly under the sunlight. Everywhere color spewed, creating a rainbow field of death. Noklathar started to fall from the sky to the battlefield; three fell in a triangle but meters away from Tom, crushing those victims who did not move out of the way.

Tom fought through one bear after another until humans started to replace the enormous furry figures. The humans of the North, shrouded in their heavy armor, made for hard targets to penetrate. When he met his first human from The Conqueramada, something snapped in him, as if he had fought somewhat composed until that point. The faces of his nameless family swamped his thoughts. He saw Shakara: her head was severed on the floor, her body in his arms, broken and lifeless. All of his thoughts invited his temper, and brought out the best of his wrath.

He charged at his opponent. He knew the Footmen to be female from the way her armor fit, and her slightly higher battle chant. He took no pity upon her, and she in return wanted none. His rage fueled the suit. With a shout of madness, he plunged his sword into her stomach, through steel, bone, and blood, not just once but twice; and he watched with a certain satisfaction as the gleam of her golden eyes faded. The armor found joy in the kill as well, stimulating his actions.

Then, after she lay on the ground, Tom hated what he had done. He wanted to undo it. But Priesto McThias popped into his mind, and he discharged more anger at another soldier half a meter away. He cut down one after another one, until he looked back and saw that Bravis was no longer behind him. "Bravis!" he screamed as loud as he could. But for the gyrran to hear was hopeless, even with his specialized ears. The cries of bloodshed were too noisy, and the bass of the drums intensely vibrated, drowning out what the screams of death did not.

Tom saw more Noklathar fly into action above, but they carried no bow and quiver, instead carrying staves or short, thin wands. The newcomers were mages who wore dark-orange or teal robes.

Tom observed a mage launch a counterspell at a Rector. The mage spewed an array of color, and shot his own giant ball of water, which lifted its victim into the air. Once flying, it began to rotate, faster and faster. Then the temperature of the surface chilled until it turned into ice, at which point the water froze into sharp, dagger-tipped icicles, pointed inward. The ball rotated faster, and eventually the circle of deadly needles began to shrink, and close in on the trapped Rector. Thousands of thin, icy blades stabbed the Rector cruelly; the clergy member fell to the ground, and bled from the multiple wounds. The mages, just like the Rectors, were merciless. A bloody, dark-orange robed mage landed four meters away from Tom, and eyed a Rector at equal distance. Tom had a clear view of the duel, and watched briefly as the Rector took out a wand from beneath his dirty robes. Tom did not see one female clergy member on the battlefield, for they did not exist; The Sacred Church debarred women from joining their ranks.

The Rector shot hundreds of thorns from his wand, which the mage blocked by putting up a gray wall of stone directly in front of his wand. The duel was shortened when a flying Noklathar Raker sliced the Rector's head from his body. Wands and staves continued to fight against one another from the magical hands that possessed them all around the battlefield. The grassland continuously changed: the air lit up in brilliant colors that shifted as casters spoke different spells. The ever-transforming area meshed with the fire and smoke of the bestial battle above.

The moment of rest ended when Tom clashed his sword against a blue-armored Conqueramada Footmen. The soldier jumped in front of him, chanting a scream: "FOR THE FATHER IN THE NAME OF THE SON!" At first, Tom backed away, startled. But the suit took control of his muscles, penetrating the man's armor with a strong horizontal hack at his neckline. He fought on, searching for Bravis, but in the melee, it proved impossible.

As Tom slashed through armor and hewed limbs from soldiers, he saw how weary the red soldiers grew around him. A bleak end looked imminent. The Noklathar began to lose hope. The determination and might of The Conqueramada, along with the endless song of the drummers, gave no sign of weakness now. Peace was impossible; death loomed over all the folk of Salenk.

But then suddenly, an unexpected horn rang out in Tom's ears; at first he thought it was one of the normal calls that had been going on for probably hours now. Yet, as the second horn bellowed into the sky, he took comfort in the sound, for it came from the northeast, and it was no Northern battlehorn.

No, it was a Salenk horn. _Help is on its way!_ Tom thought. _They will draw the battle to another front_ , he guessed. That was indeed the case. The fresh soldiers flew low, and charged into the Rangers and Rectors, who had no Footman or cavalry to block their backs. They swept into the mouth of the glen. Alexandroz himself was forced into battle. The King carried his Sonsword in one hand, and a great staff in the other. The enemies around him drew back, blinded by a brilliant light emitted from his weapon of wood. Then they collapsed to the ground and writhed in pain, as if tormented by some great illness. None of the victims moved after a brief moment.

Wave after wave of Noklathar fell upon Alexandroz and his Honor Guard. Protected within his ring of steel, the King continued to cast spells at distant enemies. Until Alexandroz noticed that his Honor Guard had charged too far forward, leaving him vulnerable. Footmen pushed his twelve champions into the fray.

Without warning, Alexandroz watched as his own soldiers turned on his Honor Guards, their white plate penetrated by once friendly blades. Surprised by the scene, he ordered the Footmen to cease their attack, but it was no use; his champions fell before him, adding to the corpses upon the bloody field. He staggered.

Then he saw that the Noklathar were upon him, swinging deadly axes.

Tom looked north and saw the sky change to green, then an array of brilliant colors followed, and he guessed the meaning of the beautiful spectacle. He had heard stories of Alexandroz's magical power, and his display of colorful words, words only the King knew.

As Tom watched the sky, he wondered if the South had the strength to defeat such a formidable opponent.

A teal robed mage flew in the sky, and was grasped by the claws of a dragon above Tom, which was the first he had seen of the great beasts so low to the battlefield. The dragon ripped the mage apart with its thick claws, then with its teeth bit off the Noklathar's head. Another teal mage reciprocated the dragon's attack by pointing his staff at the escaping beast. The Deathlar paused in the air, writhing, and contorting until it fell to the ground, squashing swords and axes beneath the dragon's shadow. It grabbed at its throat, and gave onlookers the impression that it was being asphyxiated, but shortly it stopped its struggle, unmoving amongst the dead.

Tom witnessed, for the first time, the backlash from a powerful spell, as the teal mage fell to the floor convulsing. He watched more casters of both armies die from backlashes. Nowhere could he look without seeing a corpse.

Tom's rage did not quell at the sound of the new horns. Besides, he did not think the armor would let him stop, even if he wanted to, and he was glad, killing his enemies before him. His movements were swift inside the armor, his hand steady, and his blade true. But now in the afternoon heat of the suns, he was overwhelmed, and without more water, he became extremely dizzy. His sweeping cuts slowed. Despite the intensity of the heat, the armor began to feel cool, as though cold water ran through it. The chill of the suit refreshed him, invigorating his body, and sharpening his senses. He breathed deep. His blood stirred, alive again.

Time was lost on Tom, and he continued to run from one opponent to another, checking first to make sure they wore blue armor; he had not yet killed any friendlies, and only twice had been attacked by a Salenk soldier before they watched him take down another Northern Footman. Once they realized that Tom allied himself to their cause, they ceased attacking immediately, and went on to a blue-armored soldier.

He cut through the chest of a man, and as he watched the body fall, he spotted the corpse of the elf lying on the ground. Tom had audaciously driven himself all the way to the heart of the battle. All around him, The Conqueramada appeared to be thinning out as more red skin came into his field of vision.

Bravis remained out of sight, lost in the horrific scene of bloody corpses and clanking weapons. Once, Tom thought he caught a glimpse of Bravis, but no, the gyrran eluded his seeking eyes.

The blue and silver robe of a Rector stood before Tom, strangling a Noklathar Raker with his wand; the clergy member chanted a hekan phrase, and Tom watched the energy leave the caster's body. Slowly the spell drained the Rector, but the magic user was trained to cast spell after spell without killing himself, as long as the spells remained only minor. But to Tom's dismay, both fighters tumbled, colliding with the dead at their feet. Magic claimed another caster.

Another Rector stood before Tom. He sheathed his sword, grabbed the sai from his wrist, imagined the fireball phrase in his mind; then focusing on his weapons, he released the spell. " _Pyrosus deo spearsae!_ " he yelled with a torrent of yellow, red, and bright green flying from his mouth. At the tips of his sai, which were pointed together, he created his largest fireball yet. He concentrated on moving the flame, and to his astonishment, it had become easier to manipulate as he wore the crimson suit. The ball of death advanced toward the Rector like an arrow shot through the air, but before it hit its target, the Rector effortlessly dispelled the attack.

Tom was gripped with disbelief. He was horrified by how easily the Rector countered the spell. Up until then, he had no idea how skillful his opponents truly were, or how much knowledge of heka he truly lacked.

The Rector used Tom's lapse of concentration to attack, directing his wand at Tom, he spoke inaudible words, yet Tom saw color run from his lips. Two small mounds of dirt grew out of the ground under his feet. He sunk into them up to his knee. Ensnared, he could not break free. He wiggled and squirmed as two small pocket gophers burrowed up out of the red grass. With their huge buckteeth they chomped down on the armor, biting away at him; more popped out of the ground and covered him. Some teeth broke to the armor's victory, others penetrated deep at Tom's loss. Blood leaked to the armor's surface. He hacked away relentlessly and chaotically with his sai until the armor lost interest. With great force, he plunged his tri-bladed weapons into the grass, and out his mouth color spewed. The ground exploded around him; a crater formed in the aftermath.

Now free, and with two speedy steps, he turned to escape, but became trapped by fighting bodies. He wanted to run through them, but the armor refused to obey his command.

Twirling about-face, Tom confronted the source of the magic.

Against his volition, Tom closed the gap between the Rector and himself within seconds; surprised, the Rector had little time to react, leaving Tom enough opportunity to strike with his sai. He threw one, then the second one. The Rector concentrated on the swordsnappers, shifting them to the side, but as the Rector cast the spell to deflect the sai, Tom was already upon him. Brutally, he sent a gloved fist at the Rector, and then repeatedly assaulted the man until the caster lay on the ground, where the armor drew the deflected sai to his hands through the air and finished the onslaught.

He checked his injuries. The strong teeth had left deep punctures, but to his amazement, the armor slowly renewed itself, cauterizing and healing as it closed off the gopher wounds.

Tom put the sai back into their slots, and immediately his right hand grasped the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it. He surveyed the area around him; he was still in the center of the field, near where the parley had taken place. Now the area lay burdened with corpses, and the lines had again moved, northward as the South pushed the North back. With sharp eyes, he found the elf's body not far away, trampled many times over by unknowing feet.

Tom knelt down beside the fallen elf; his pointy-eared head must have been kicked far away by now, for it was not near the dark-skinned body of the elf. Foot imprints covered his linen clothes. A green-jeweled pendant shined around his neck. He opened the cloak that the elf wore, looking at the thin white shirt that layered him underneath. A canteen lay nearby, which Tom swiped, opening the lid.

Drinking, Tom gazed at the large printed words on the elf's shirt, and for a second he studied them: _Allied Stewards Toward Understanding The Empyreans_. He pondered over the line, guessing the identities of the stewards. He said the words back to himself, then repeated them once more.

Apparently, the elf wanted to understand the folk of Haven. "Too bad you didn't realize you can't understand the actions of the Empyreans," Tom muttered in the clamor of the engagement. A corpse fell next to his foot, and with jittery nerves, he flinched slightly from his squatting position.

Tom darted his eyes to the red infantry around him, who fought off blue-armored soldiers; it looked as though in the few seconds that he took to examine the elf, the battle around him had shifted even more in the favor of Salenk.

But then he heard something he never thought his ears would ever hear. At first, he balked at their truthfulness, for they were antithetical to his life's experience, but then he heard them all around him at a distance. Red soldiers screamed with all their vocal power: "Alexandroz is dead! Alexandroz is dead! Alexandroz has fallen!"

Women and men of The Conqueramada must have also disbelieved the news and thought the words to be a lie, as they fought harder when they heard them. They bore determined, implacable faces, thrusting their swords into their winged foes. Their Savior could not die. It was simply impossible.

Tom looked down once more, and for a second, compassion for the elf stopped his movements; _the poor elf should not have died the way he did, by a dishonorable hand_. But before he thought of anything more, he felt the hair on his sweaty neck rise beneath his helm, and he had a tingling feeling that something crept behind him.

A stroke fell upon his head, and Tom dizzily fell to the ground from his knees. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his left calf. His eyes blinked. His face cringed from the agony. A head fell beside him, and he felt a body fall on the left side of his back; the weight pressed him into the bloody grass.

The noises around him muffled to a dull, almost inaudible ring, and his vision blurred until he shut his eyelids. His mind became fuzzy, but he distinguished a footstep next to his right ear. A grunt of a man burst near him, and he heard another body hit the ground to his right. The cries of havoc echoed in his muted ears from the sanguinary battle.

The words of the Savior's death resounded in Tom's mind, and his thoughts dwelled on them until the hot, fuzzy feeling overtook him into unconsciousness, and he became lost, swimming in darkness. His body became buried in an ocean of corpses, and all around him, soldiers continued to fight with hard steel. Dragons roared into the long afternoon.

The suns' heat rotted the corpses of humans, Noklathar, gnomes, and Evolvueas, plus the carcasses of aequi, camels, elephants, giraffes, Firehawks, Deathlar, and several other species. The battlefield reeked of death. Scores of fallen combatants roasted under the sinking Crimson Sun while the news of Alexandroz's death rent the air.

A Noklathar soldier landed next to his King, who now stood behind the city's parapet. "My lord, it worked, the battle is won. The Conqueramada has fled north across the Kodiha River, to their main camp," the soldier rasped, his throat sore from shouting commands.

"Good. Thank you, Lord Commander Murx," Diablo responded, gazing into the distance. "The War Council's plan was good: send the soldiers to the northeastern grasslands, undercover of burrows."

"Insooth," the Lord Commander said. "Doubtless Alexandroz's scouts could not tell the difference between the natural landscape at so high as a dove flies."

Diablo nodded. "And our Northern friend delivered on his promise, a clear path to the King."

"A great success, my lord."

"A few strokes of luck." Diablo cleared his throat. "Nightfall is coming soon, rally what men you can and have our bodies brought into the city for a funeral procession," he commanded. "What of Alexandroz's body?"

"The Conqueramada claimed it at first, my King, but we fought hard for it; it is now in our possession, in the War Chamber."

"Very well done, Lord Commander," Diablo said. He took a long drink from a canteen.

The Lord Commander nodded. "My lord, there is something else," he said, but did not divulge his news. Diablo waved a hand for him to venture further. "My lord, scouts report dwarven zeppelins flying in from the northeast."

Diablo sighed. "Coming to claim the nearly dead already; they must have been lying in wait the whole time. How many?" he asked.

"Three Father Ships and a dozen or so Haulers," the Lord Commander stated, troubled by his own words.

"Then double your efforts gathering the fallen, Lord Commander. We must get our bodies inside the walls before they come to collect. We can't afford another fight, even if it is with those scavengers," Diablo said. With that in mind, the Lord Commander rushed off to gather fresh legs from the city, but Diablo stayed behind to give more orders to his fatigued soldiers.

Another soldier approached Diablo, and saw his King's troubled face. "My lord, what is your fear? We have won the battle. Alexandroz is dead."

"That is true, but with the Son dead, it will not be long before the Father, the Lord of Light, comes to strike his retribution across all the lands of the South," Diablo said in despair. He looked on across the battlefield of the dead, worried for the coming storm of rage.

All the while, Tom lay in total blackness, waiting to be rescued from his coma. He remained out of sight, under a mountain of death, without light, or hope, or sign of salvation from the realm of eternal rest.

#

### Their Breach. Their Cries.

### Their Execution.

Aged windows were penetrated by morning's light; no one in the house stirred, for it was still early, and the inside remained quiet, yet outside on the hill, blue and Steller's jays sang, and chirped cheerful waking songs with dances to match them. A chilly wind blew outside, blew against the blades of well-watered grass that swayed under the breeze's force while bees landed on flowers, which sprouted randomly in the lawn, and they were taken by the wind, carried from flower to flower with little effort. A frog bellowed a mating call in a wet spot near the fence gate, and its call flew in the wind that also struck the gate and rattled it unkindly; the wind picked up, and shook the gate fiercely with its might, while gust after strong gust attacked the sturdy fence. Finally, the wind hurled a gale so strong that it took the gate from its hinges and hurtled it across the lawn, until it hit the porch, where it rested for a time.

A footprint followed the gate, and after the initial boot, four more steps trailed behind, pressing down on the ground exactly where the first boot had; they walked in unison, left with left, right with right, all stepping where the foot before it had, except the lead boot. It was a black, plain boot, recognizable to Tom's eye as a Footman's, for it left heavy marks in the ground; it was a boot that a soldier wore when not wearing armor, which was rare indeed. The five pairs of steps walked slowly and silently, making little noise, and none audible to a human's ear; stealth was something only a rare breed of Footmen knew, for it was a Ranger's job to walk so. They approached the house, walked up the porch, where the leading Footman slid a thin knife into the latch of the door handle, and rotated the knob, so that the latch retreated a minute distance, but far enough for the blade to penetrate. The leader, holding the knife, jimmied the door open quietly; it creaked when the hinges moved, but the noise was not loud enough to be heard down the halls of the house.

The Footmen opened the door only a crack, for they were all of slender build, and did not need more than a sliver to slide through, but the floors groaned with their weight when they all made it inside the foyer. Two went to the right, and three went to the left, past a coatrack, and the last one to veer to the left tripped over a pile of unforeseen shoes, which made a clamorous noise in the silence of the house. The leader turned back and glared at the man who made the commotion, and possible disturbance of what they came to do; the wool carpet eased the noise, friendlier than the foyer had been, but strewed over the entire floor were toys, toys that cracked if stepped on, so each step had to be taken with great care. A corridor linked three bedrooms to the open room, and the men headed for the last room at the end of the hall; the other two men caught up, and waited outside the first two doors, one standing before each.

Quickly, the men simultaneously opened the doors as fast as they could; the man at the first door went in and snatched up a little girl in his arms, who was still soundlessly asleep, throwing a hand over her mouth. Her heart started to panic, and she let out high-pitched screams from her tiny lungs. The second man ran into a room with an older girl lying in her bed; he forced his hand around her, but she was waking when he entered, and her eyes grew wide at his presence. She was quicker, with attuned reflexes unlike her younger sister, and squirmed out of the man's arms; she darted for the door, but he caught her by the hair, and dragged her down, forcing his large palm around her mouth. He pulled her into the corridor where the first man stood with the younger child in his arms.

When the three men entered the last room, the room where Tom and his wife slept, Tom was caught off guard, and unprepared for the intrusion; two of the men immediately dove on to him, and pinned him down, but his wife made a break for the window, screaming at the top of her lungs, which made everyone cringe, even Tom. The third man leapt at her feet, and grasped her ankles tightly; she kicked wildly in fear and anger, but his strength pulled her down, as he used his weight to bring her to a halt, positioning his knees on her calves. He bound her hands with a faintly glowing rope, and forced her to stand to her feet; Tom struggled against the two men, but they were much bigger than he, and better trained to accomplish their objective. The two men threw three or four punches at Tom's head, and dulled his senses, then hauled him, along with his wife into the hallway to meet the eyes of their girls. Tom's wife wriggled to get away from the man's grip, but she was no match, and soon gave up when he drew a dagger to her throat; her children watched this event with horror in their hearts, and pleaded muffled cries.

The Footmen pushed the family out into the living room, through the foyer, and outside to the lawn; they traveled down the steps of the porch, and were ordered to go around to the side of the house, where Tom's family was violently thrown to their knees, facing their home. Tom was held back, and kicked to his knees as well, and one of the men squatted next to him, chewing his lip. "Did you really think you could escape us? Did you really think we wouldn't find you here at your happy little home?" the blurry figured said. Tom had trouble focusing on his face, and could not get any clear distinctions from it while the figure swayed side to side, gazing at him with huge black orbs; he shook in the grip of the men, and tried to get away, but they stopped him with a slap to his cheek. "You thought you could get to us before we got to you, but what you didn't know, Tom, is that we've been watching you all this time," said the blurry man, who waved his hands at the other two men.

Tom could hear the sobs of his family, and their cries echoed in his ears for a terribly long time. Despite being muffled, his family's pleas touched his senses; anger rose in him, and he tried once more to break free of the men who held him firmly, so one of the Footmen cut his shoulder superficially. "Enough, I'll take over," said the blurry man, and relieved the one who slashed him, joining the other two men, who lined up beside his captors. Shouldered across his back rested a wrapped recurved bow and quiver. The three Footmen unwrapped their cloth casings and put the bows in front of them, drawing an arrow from their quivers and nocking it; they pulled back the sinewy string, ready to fire when ordered. To Tom the men were hazy at best, but he knew they had arrows strung back ready to murder his family; he screamed against their evil, but all it prompted was another slap from the lead Footman.

The leader twirled a finger in the air, and the men shot forth their heavy steel-tipped arrows, and at the last second, his wife turned around to look at her husband; she bore the face of Shakara, with her mocha skin and fine features. Her hazel eyes gazed at his when an arrow went through her forehead, and she let out a whimper, then a faint horrible sigh that chilled Tom's blood. He slipped a hand out from one of the men, and reached toward her, but it was snapped within a second by the lead Footman; Tom winced with pain, and his mind lost its focus.

Then, suddenly, Tom was left alone, his wife and children gone, along with the malevolent men; they had disappeared from his mind, and he lay on the grass, staring up at the stars, and the surrounding blackness. He felt a hot, sharp pain in his left calf before all light turned on him, and he saw nothing, and nothing saw him; Tom was hidden from life. There he remained buried in the shadow of creation.

End of Book One of The Cry of Havoc

# Glossary

Units of Time:

**A Cycle** : The time it takes for Leterra to complete a revolution around the Golden Sun (a year), which is calculated to be approximately 504 circuits (days).

**An Orbit** : The time it takes for the Tal'Eratuu moon to complete one revolution around Leterra (a month), which is calculated at approximately 36 circuits (days). The Tal'Eratuu completes this revolution fourteen times every cycle (year).

**A Sequence** : The period of nine circuits (days). (This is comparable to a week).

**A Circuit** : The time it takes Leterra to complete one rotation of its axis (a day), which takes approximately 37 hours, where generally on Gillia, 27 of those hours are spent in light, and 10 of those hours are nighttime.

**Date Constructions:** Circuit (day), orbit (month), cycle (year): time period (such as the Era of Armistice).

Terms in reference to time:

**Midcircuit** : Midday.

**Yestercircuit** : Yesterday.

**Circuitlight** : Daylight.

**Tocircuit** : Today.

**Birthcircuit** : Birthday.

**Circuitbreak** : Daybreak.

**Circuitly** : Daily

General:

**Aequi** (EY-kwy): Large, five-pronged antlered-horse, bred in the North as a warmount.

**Alexurgia** (AHL-lehx-ZUHR-gee-ah): The thirty-sixth of Tirken, marking summer's end; a festival for when the Slave Liberation Movement (SLM) freed the people of Haven from enslavement, celebrated with gold, blue, and white decoration schemes; also the celebration of the ancient Summer Carnival.

**Augmite** (AUG-myt): Explosives made by leprechauns to be used under water.

**Blest Gods, the** : The dead Gods of an ancient Northern religion, beyond The Spinebreakers.

**Bordergrounds, The** : The region of The Devides, the mountain chain that bisects the North from the South.

**Canid** : A mammal of the dog family.

**Cataclysmic Flood, The** : An event in history where the sea level rose above all of Leterra's continents except for Gillia. This started the period of history known as The Flood Epoch, which lasted 580 cycles.

**Conqueramada, The** (CAHN-kuhr-ah-mah-dah): The army of Haven.

**Deathlar** (DEHTH-lar): A race of blue dragons that live in The Sepris Mountains; they are led by Queen Frost.

**Descentari** (DEE-sehnt-tahr-ree): A word to describe relationships, meaning descendant of.

**Dhianna** (DYE-ahn-nah): A meditation attainment, where those who gain dhianna have their strength, focus, and desire for battle increased by tenfold. Folk normally enter dhianna by listening to the beat of a drum line and chanting.

**Dilapadae** (DIHL-lah-pah-day): A luminous predatory animal from the South.

**Empyrea** (EHM-peer-ree-ah): A name for the city of Heaven, see the city of Heaven.

**Empyrean** (EHM-peer-ree-ahn): The people of Heaven, and more broadly the people of Haven.

**Evolvuea** (EE-vowl-voo-ay): Animals that have evolved to stand upright on two legs, usually considered smarter and more sophisticated than their quadruped counterparts.

**Felid** : A mammal of the cat family.

**Firehawks** : Large birds that can combust their skin and feathers once in their lifespan; they drop an egg right before they burn up their bodies. Lore tells that they transmit their memories to their offspring.

**Four Mountains, The** : The four mountains that encircle the city of Heaven, excluding the fifth mountain at the center of the city.

**Gillia, the continent of** (GIHL-lee-ah): The sole continent of Leterra above sea level, where the remaining peoples live.

**Guild of The Paladins, The** : An ancient guild of warriors who possessed a great range of Heka. They were known to be the protectors of the world.

**Gyrran** (JUHR-raen): A species of gazelle that has falcon wings and a tail of an eel; they are almost extinct, with only two known to be left.

**Heaven, the city of** : The capital city of Haven, where Alexandroz and the Father live; also called The Great City, The Marvel City, and Empyrea. It is known to be the largest city in the world.

**Heka** (HEHK-ah): The language of World arranged in certain phrases that once uttered, the phrase emits in the form of corresponding colors to produce heka.

**heka** (HEHK-ah): Magic.

**Hell, the city of** : The capital city of Salenk; it goes deep underground in a spiral like a screw.

**Honor Guard** : A group of twelve of the best soldiers in the North who personally accompany King Alexandroz wherever he goes.

**Ixsol** (IHX-sohl): The monotheistic God worshipped by Turnolan through the religion of Solitism. Ixsol has many, many names that giants use, including: The Divine, Giver of Life, Dealer of Death, The One, The Everlasting, The Never-Sleeper, The Judge, and The Savior.

**Kathronal** (KAH-thrown-ahl): A massive building, where a Bishop, or Archbishop normally resides, except in Heaven where the Patriarch presides over the clergy.

**Kuriakoma** (KUHR-ree-ah-kowm-ah): A Northern Church, smaller than a Kathronal, a place to publicly worship Alexandroz, King of Haven.

**Leprechaun** : A talkative race that lives on O'Ire. They stand about 1/3 of a meter high, and have white skin with rosy cheeks. They also love chocolate.

**Leterra** (LEY-taer-ah): The planet where the continent of Gillia exists. The planet has two moons and lives in a binary star system.

**Marendia** (MAER-ihn-dee-ah): Trench homeland of the Marenifdae, off the coast of Salenk, south of Ire, and within the Perivian Trench.

**Marenifdae** (MAER-ihn-nihf-day): Evolvuea sharks and their counterparts that live in the Perivian Trench.

**Nok'Lathar** (NOWK-LAH-thahr), also **Noklathar** (NOWKLAH-thahr): The predominant folk ok Salenk. They stand about 2.5M tall and have red leathery skin with wings.

**Polligio** (POWL-lih-gee-ow): The polytheistic religion practiced in Le'Adra and by the dwarves of Lo'Darrow.

**Sacred Church, The** : The religion of Haven, and its religious institution.

**Shakri** (SHAEK-ree): Another term for Marenifdae, see Marenifdae.

**Spinebreakers, The** : The Sepris Mountains in the North, known for being so cold and ferocious that they break a travelers spine when trying to cross them.

**Tainted Suit, The** : Also known as **The Impermeable Suit** : The ancient armor of Thalreon, which is said to have powerful enchantments, giving the wearer extreme magical power.

**Terrofear** (TAER-row-feer): A complete fear that is so intense that it puts someone into a state of physical and mental inactivity, where the person under its effect leaves their body to watch from the outside, suspended and without thought. Can cripple anyone affected by it for the rest of their lifetime.

**Tiopard** (TEE-oe-pard): The offspring of a female white tiger bred with a male snow leopard.

**Unyielding Dead, The** : Also just **The Unyielding**. It is the term for those who have been infected by a plague in the South, mostly referring to the folk from Le'Adra.

**Upright** : Another term for Evolvuea, see Evolvuea.

**Vaenu** (VAY-noo): The predominant folk of Virra. They stand about 2.5M tall and have pale skin with feathery wings.

**Vire** (VY-er): A respectful form of address that displays seniority.

**Waiting Room, The** : The white featureless room that Tom enters before he arrives on Leterra. See Ian Azikwe's On The Waiting Room.

**Wilderness, The** : An organization that stands against the destruction of feral populations, led by the tiopard Kenyatta Zenawi.

**World, the language of** : The common tongue of Leterra; it extirpated all other languages.

Regions:

**Fic** (FIHCK): Area between The Divides and Veniar. No governance system; it is mostly a nation of ruins. Majority population: Human

**Haven** (HAY-vehn): The largest nation in the North, ruled by King Alexandroz. Capital City: Heaven. Majority population: Human.

**O'Ire** (OH-EYE-er): An island off the coast of Salenk, homeland of the leprechauns. Capital City: Iris. Majority population: Leprechaun.

**Le'Adra** (LAY-AED-drah): Southern Nation comprised of the seven city-states: Arhad, Blossúm, Domskotos, Selaran, Solus, Talenia, and Turrey. It borders Tunola to the west, and Fic along with Veniar to the east. Majority population: Human.

**Lyree Plyth** (LEER-ree, PLIHTH): A peninsula farthest west on Gillia, south of The Divides. It is known to be off limits to all things not living within its boundaries. Also known as The Untouched Lands.

**Perivian Trench** (PER-ree-vee-aen): Trench homeland of the Marenifdae, off the coast of Salenk, south of Ire. Capital city: Marendia. Majority population: Marenifdae.

**Salenk** (SAHL-lihn): Southern Nation farthest west, borders Turnola. Capital City: Hell. Majority population: Nok'Lathar.

**Turnola** (TUHRN-noh-lah): Southern Nation between Salenk and Le'Adra. Capital City: Triasle. Majority population: _Homo Naphiliantu_ (Giants).

**Veniar** (VEHN-eye-ahr): Southern Nation farthest southeast that is surrounded by a wall. Capital City: Eflan. Majority population: Elf.

**Virra** (VEER-ah): Nation east of Haven. Capital City: Lefiiz. Majority population: Vaenu.

Characters:

**Alexandroz, King** (AL-lehx-ZAND-drohz): The King of Haven and the North, known as our Savior, my Sovereign, the Son, and the Holy Protector.

**Anakore'in** (AHN-nah-KOHR-ihn): The old hermit Tom meets who lives near the coast in Lyree Plyth. He was once human, but transformed himself into a tuatara. The creatures of Lyree Plyth know him as the Guardian of the Timber.

**Bravis** (BRAE-vihs): The last known male gyrran, who becomes friend and mount of Tom. He is from the forests of Lyree Plyth.

**Burban, Scout** (BURH-buhn): A dwarven Scout in The Hill Glutter Brigade.

**Captain Ron** : Green budgie parakeet, co-captain of The Red Marlin.

**Devoto The Healer** (DUH-voe-doe): A male troll from The Mountain-Troll Tribe White-Spawn. He is banished from his Tribe for the purported murder of his Chieftain.

**Diablo, King** (DEE-ah-blow): The King of Salenk, who is the largest of the Nok'Lathar.

**Ferrik** (FEHR-rihk): A man Tom meets in The Waiting Room. Reports to be from Tinetia (TIHN-eh-tee-ah), on the planet Tundran (TON-drahn).

**Frost** : Queen of the Deathlar, also known as: Mother of the Blue Brood, Dealer of a Fiery Death, and Queen of Fire.

**Garbus** (GAHR-buhs): The sea captain of The Red Marlin.

**Ian Azikwe** (EE-ahn, AH-zeek-wee): The invented name of the writer of the Annals, who is the main servant of Alexandroz. His real name is Feeble.

**Jerikania** (JER-ih-kahn-yah): The first man to be brought to Leterra by the use of magic.

**Keltin** (KEHL-tihn): A male, large breed of Golden Retriever, friend of Shakara, and also supports her as her mount.

**Kornelius, Master-Ranger** (KORHN-neel-lee-uhs): Commander of The Hill Glutter Brigade.

**Korshire, Ranger** (KOHR-shy-er): A Ranger of The Hill Glutter Brigade.

**Larrith The Accuser** (LAER-rihth): The man on trial in Heaven for high treason, also one of Alexandroz's Honor Guards.

**Markus, Dragon-Rider** (MAHR-kuhs): A male Dragon-Rider in The Conqueramada, and is known as 'The Paragon' for his exceptional skill as the youngest Dragon-Rider.

**Mikole, King** (MY-kowl): A Vaenu, who is King of Virra in the North.

**Odeneus O'Hennessy** (OH-dehn-nee-uhs, OH-HEHN-nehs-see): A male leprechaun who temporarily lives in the city of Heaven to make a living, sending money back to his family on O'Ire.

**Pardris** (PARHD-drihs): Male leopard-cat, who is Odeneus' companion.

**Patriarch, the** : Also known as the Father, and the Lord of Light: He is the Head of The Sacred Church of the North, and rules beside Alexandroz.

**Petrus Lippten** (PEE-truhs, LIHP-tihn): A male elf who tries to stop the coming war between the North and South.

**Raben, Cleric** (RAY-bihn): The clergyman sent with the Hill Glutter Brigade into The Devides.

**Remetus O'Hennessy** (REEM-eh-tuhs): Odeneus' uncle who lives on O'Ire.

**Shakara Varekova** (SHAH-kahr-rah, VAER-eh-kohv-ah): A woman whom Tom meets in a tavern, and the recipient of an important letter.

**Tearfurio, King** (TAER-feer-ee-ow): The King of Marendia, who is a Great White Evolvuea.

**Thalreon** (THAHL-ree-on): Also known as Thalreon The Legendary and The Last Paladin: An ancient heroic figure who lived during the Age of Extermination, and possessed The Impermeable Suit.

**Tom Navo** (TOM, NAH-voe): A Scout in The Hill Glutter Brigade who gets lost in The Devides.

**Vultures, the** : Gregon (GREHG-gon); Bell; Larry; Kizo (KEE-zoe); and Noizen (NOY-zehn): The five vultures Tom first meets on Leterra.

# About the Author

**Born in 1988, John Hennessy became entranced by the world of fantasy and sci-fi at a young age, playing video games and reading books for many long nights/early mornings. He graduated from Western Washington University in 2011, and now lives in the Rose Lands of Portland, OR, with his wife Katherine, their two budgies Lola and Pablo, and their furry feline Phoebe. Visit his website at:** www.johnhennessy.net

