

### Battle For The Red Gates:

### The Shadowbelt

By

JESTIN LIGHTNER

Published By Smashwords

Title Copyright (C) 2010 Jestin Lightner

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Must see About the Author Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18SUFbABxNQ

If You Like this book Check Out My Other books as well

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Acknowledgements

Shit, this really has been a long hard road man. So many people have helped guide me through all this shit during the last few years, I'm sure it's gonna be tough not to leave anyone out. If I did, as John from Ekotren would say, enter your name here ___________. Gotta first thank Stephen King for his major influence and for spelling my name right when I met him backstage about fifteen years ago. I wanna thank all of Simplekill, Ekotren, and Nonpoint for not only their influence but also for the mutual loyalty we've shared over the years. Also wanna thank Ankla, particulary Oscar and the rest of my guitar center family. And of course, I gotta thank mom for pulling my wisdom teeth. When I first spoke with Matt Laplante and he mentioned I should begin working with Karnivool I was skeptical. They only had maybe a dozen people in front of the stage when I saw them live but they were amazing! It was cool meeting the guys back stage at rampage that year and I am extremely pleased that they certainly did not fail to deliver. Cheers to them! With that said, I would also like to thank each individual at the Bieler Brothers Records office as it has been a real life changing experience working with everyone at my home label. Sometimes I don't know where I'd be without my brothers. Nowadays I can sleep in the woods if need be and wake up with a smile on my face and just not give a fuck.

It wouldn't be right to fail to single out Skindred and offer a thank you for bringing me into their inner circle during the release of Shark Planes and Dog Fights. That project really gave me something interesting to do when I needed a break from working on The Shadowbelt. If you like the cover then get with me and I'll refer you to my illustrator Yuri, he's fuckin awesome at what he does. He's even worked in animation for that Marmaduke movie and the new Yogi Bear flick neither of which I have had the time off to check out yet . Didn't even charge me a dime for the work though  As well I had a little bit of well needed editing assistance FREELY DONATED by some Barnes N' Noble people, particularly Robin, aka: Mrs. Clive Barker. Also, last and certainly not least, I wanna offer an extra special thanks to my homes Daniel Yetnikoff for coming up with the title of the first installment of the Battle For The Red Gates. He's got a new record coming out sometime soon so keep an eye out for it. With that said, I should take the time to figure out some beautiful, profound, maybe even prophetic conclusion. Instead, I'll just leave you with a quote from "The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe" by the late great Douglas Adams. "There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the universe is for and why it is here it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another that states that this has already happened." Well, then again there is another theory from that same series that suggests god is just a fat man sitting on a porta potty writing a book. Go figure.

Chapter 1

A rampant string of carnage had pinned down the people of the coutryside for weeks. Rain fell down upon the roofs of the lone village while waves of fear and uncertainty arose like a zombie's hand bursting through maggot ridden dirt. It didn't matter how hard the peasants mourned. It didn't matter how many caskets were lowered. The monstrous killer continued to ruthlessly flood the citizen's minds with hopeless clouds of crises and despair.

A shrill scream cut through the still of the night and quickly fell into the realm of disregard. At first, it appeared no one dare risk the wrath of the blinding abyss of the night. Fresh bloodshed was discovered nearly every morning and the fear was not dealt with selflessly by the quivering majority. Uncertainty and fear was more common than the cold-blooded murders that were an ever given constant. The scream reverberated through the bitter cold air with nothing in response aside from the whimpering of a few awakened children calling out to their parents and the yelping of dogs. Nightmares had seemed all the more real as of late. Several families had been torn apart, if not limb from limb, than by the sheer helplessness they found in loss. The governor, as well as the other overlords of the province, turned away their crooked eyes and selective ears.

The bleeding heart of a family's last stand against the ultimate atrocity was a whimpering boy, no more then ten years of age. Inside a ravaged abode the child's mother held onto a consciousness blinded by blood and sweat. She reached for a fading reality buoyed by exhaustion and pain. She used the last of her dwindling strength to brace her son, Jorgren, with her arms from the kick as he stood, shaking, but trying with all of his bewildered might, to aim an ancient musket at the slobbering monster before them. Blood matted most of the feral man's naked skin that had suddenly sprouted forth a thick dark hide of black hair while foaming saliva bubbled from his jaws like an overflowing pot of boiling water.

"You'll never touch her again!" Jorgren screamed as he waved the barrel of the weapon around. Tears poured from the child's eyes and hypnotized the dark creature.

"Do it!" his mother let out a panicked yell.

"I - I can't." sweat stung his eyes while he nervously stammered.

His strength began to wain and the musket began to lower away from the target. The weapon was almost as heavy as the child's confusion. A numbness of absolute sorrow and remorse entered into his heart. It pierced like a knife and made him feel as if he were dieing from the inside out. It was a feeling that no one his age should ever have to feel. Unfortunately, it was the reality that remained for him to take a handhold on. His mother's body was shattered beyond repair. The only thing that would save her was a miracle.

"It's not your father." a swarm of tears fell as the broken woman cried out her last words. "Just do it already!"

Her words were choked by a gurgle of blood that raced up her throat like bile. Tears slipped down her face making new paths through the caking blood that covered her from the left side of her skull down. The woman's legs were broken and all she could do was lean her entire body against her son's back like the broken woman she was. She pressed her face into the back of Jorgren's shoulders as she cried and wrapped her arms around her boy, the baby that once grew inside of her, and her life that faded with each frail second.

The dieing mother's hands snaked around her child to help support the weapon that was meant to destroy the man that brought her most joyful obsession into the world. She had already lost so much blood that even if she were to survive the confrontation, she would in all likelihood be dead soon anyways. The two of them, both mother and son, tightly grasped the gun as they desperately struggled to hold a grip on their mortality. Once again, their lives were connected as if she carried the child in her womb.

The mad man's glowing red eyes dimmed as he turned his head sideways. It was almost as if he had a curious look on his monstrous face. It wasn't the blood hungry mannerism of the maniac that had ripped through the home and nearly completely tore his lover apart. It was instead a look of sudden recognition, curiosity, and maybe even remorse. He took a step backwards, then another, followed by another. The woman's sobbing filled with relief.

"Oh thank god." she whimpered in praise but her vision was falling fast.

She took her eyes off of the fiend and buried her bloody face into her son's shoulders. Her head wound gushed streams of blood that ran down the length of her body and collected into the pool in which they stood. She was losing consciousness and would never awake. Her hands fell from the weapon and her limp weight fell fully onto her son. The beast's eyes blazed and it suddenly leaped in attack with its jaws aimed to lock onto the boy's skull. Jorgren screamed, the arquebus fired, and everything was bathed in blood.

An emergency bell rang out through the halls of the holy temple of Bridgetown informing it's occupants that another unfortunate victim had been discovered. The local spiritual leaders had become the only guidance the citizens had to carry them through the dark time. Where the major landowners cowered in relative safety, the parish of the region did all that it could to work with the local guard in order to extinguish the murderous spirit that plagued the villages.

A white robed priest's heels clicked and echoed from a distant chamber and made their way through the small temple's cramped halls. His robe was fringed with a black lace that matched the color of the few hairs on his head that had yet to go gray. Though he wore them well, the rings under his eyes were not from exhaustion but from age and the worldly wisdom that comes along with the hard fought decades of a retired warrior. He was a good man that never found the duties of an acolyte to be below him. The days behind him were a fine balance of darkness and light just as his duties at the temple were both mundane in nature and from time to time of great importance.

Outside, waiting in the rain, was a familiar face. Engle, captain of the town's guard, stood tall while shrouded in darkness that rest just beyond the front door of the temple. In the rain, holding a shivering child in his arms, his eyes lifted with hope as the door swung open.

"Good lord! Come in quickly out of the cold my children. Do not hesitate!" the priest silently thanked his god for sparing the child's life as he waved the visitors into the shelter of the temple. He ushered them to a hearth that rested within the immediate foyer.

"The good lord has forsaken us again this night Father." the guard grumbled facetiously.

He carried the boy in his arms to the warm light of the fire. Shadows bounced about concealing the expression on the priest's face as Engle rested the shivering child upon a bench beside the flames.

"The lord is testing our character with tragedy. It is only our brothers and sisters who have forsaken the lord as it has never been the other way around. We should take care to remember that." John spoke with a soft, understanding heart while he knelt by the side of the blood-spattered child.

He placed his hand to the child's head and whispered a prayer. When he had finished he looked back to Engle with tears in his eyes. John's tears were as red as blood. They slid down his cheeks and threatened to stain his crisp priestly robe. He dried his eyes with a small cloth and was unable to keep from ruining yet another robe for a single drop always seemed to have a way of getting away from him.

"This is Melchem's son." he stated with conviction. "There is not one single wound on the child. The blood that covers him isn't even his. Stranger still is that it appears he not only wears the blood of another but also that of some black blooded beast. Captain, what on earth happened?"

"Some might say that by the looks of me I am no knight; that I am no more than a gruff man with a sword strapped to his side. I have nevertheless been educated as no other should in the way of tragedy these past few months. When the livestock was slaughtered I had thought I'd seen horror." Engle slowly breathed in a deep breath, let it out, and continued. "When my wife went missing a couple weeks ago and I found her torn to shreds, I had thought I'd known grief and emptiness. But what I saw tonight has pushed me further then I thought possible."

"You speak as does a poet. I know that one with a heart such as your own can never fully lose his faith. The word of god will heal all in time my son." the priest spoke softly.

"The word of god is accompanied by the swift stroke of a guillotine father. Nothing can stop what has already happened." Engle snapped back with a dark expression captivating his face. "This boy's mother died atop of him while trying to protect him from his father whose head was nearly blasted clear off by an arquebus. It was a single shot that was caused by the hands of his own son!"

"So, this boy k..."

"No,." the captain cut him off like a leprous thumb. "this boy did not kill his father. He was forced to kill the monster his father had become. He went mad and turned into a monster that slaughtered his own wife. The heavens only know how the child found the strength to protect himself!"

"Dear lord," a look of astonishment lit John's eyes like a dancing flame. "what sort of monster could possess a man to do such a thing?"

"Melchem's son has destroyed the bane of the countryside. All along it was his father; a madman or some kind of shape shifter, it matters not, for he's dead now." stated the captain confidently.

"I heard no blast. Are you sure Melchems dead?" the priest replied.

"The temple walls are well made. When I heard the shot I had to do something. I wasn't ready to go out into the night alone so I awoke two of my men to accompany me. Only old imperial navy sailors have ever carried an arquebus and only one of them lives here in Bridgetown. We ran through the fog like mad for all we knew our heels were being nipped at by the nine hells themselves. By the time we braved our way into Melchem's home it was far too late. I can not bear to tell you anymore other than Melchem's son, this boy, was the only one in there left alive."

As Engle finished his depiction of the event one of Father John's acolytes had appeared from the hall, wrapped the child in a blanket, and carried him off to a warm bath. Aside from the crackling fire in the hearth, a heavy silence loomed while the captain and the priest locked searching eyes with one another for a few gloomy moments. Shadowy illuminations danced about their faces while the fire hissed and popped in a smoldering chorus.

"What kind of beast is it that stalked our people?" John's strong voice eventually broke the silence.

"One whose remains you must see for yourself." the sordid captain managed to speak with smooth conviction.

Side by side the two men traveled across the village through corridors of fog in boots that quickly caked with fresh mud. John and Engle braved the depths of the soggy evening after their departure from the warm confines of the temple was blessed with a brief prayer. The visibility of the night was similar to trying to see through a wall for it seemed as if a corpse in a coffin could view more while trapped in its eternal box.

"If what you say is true than this tragic course of events has finally come to an end." as usual, the priest's words pointed to a beacon of hope.

"If our governor was not busy running slave trades in and out of our province while intoxicating himself on opium everyday, many lives would have been saved before this. My wife she....she..." the knight stuttered.

"It is not only the corruption of the king and his nobles at fault here but also the fault of the people. They have cowered in the wake of darkness and allowed the unknown to consume themselves due to their lack of faith. You are a good man captain but what have you done to directly end the corruption of the nobles?" the priest asked directly. "Many who have lost such as yourself would have fallen into limbo never to have returned but you marched on where none dared to tread. Sure, you're the captain of the guard, but even so, you did not have to sacrifice your safety when you heard that blast this evening. No one else did. You are a good man, a hero, is it not your place to smite corruption when you encounter it?"

"I was only fulfilling my oath as knight. When it comes to corruption within the noble hierarchy, I know enough to see that I can do little aside from keep a fair distance from it all." the captain would have watched the ground give way below his feet with each step but the mud somehow reminded him of blood and sickened him. Instead he gazed into the recesses of the clouds in the sky that had seemed to float down from the heavens to fill the empty streets of Bridgetown. "I've seen worse during my days in Malfaction. That's not to say that I do not fulfill my duties. I truly do all that I _can_ in order to uphold the measure. Remember, I am a part of an order and take commands from the capital just like the rest of the knights."

It had almost seemed surreal. The night was as silent and as still as death while Engle and the holy man carved their path through the fog. Once they came upon Melchem's house the captain hesitated while John marched his way through the front door that was partially off of its hinges and hanging sideways. A wolf's howl echoed in the distance and was answered by another, much closer yelping howl.

"No, John, wait, something's not right." The captain called out as he unsheathed his sword. It was too late. The priest paid no attention and disappeared into the darkness beyond the doorframe. Engle looked around the street uneasily, unfortunately for him, do to the ghostly fog he could make out very little detail other than the general shape of the surrounding cottages. He shook his head and fell in behind the priest.

"There is only one thing missing." John stated while standing within the gory kitchen. He was found trying to playback the scene in his mind when the knight eventually appeared at his side.

"What?"

The priest's words fell like a hammer against the captains helm. "Melchem's corpse.

"I do not know how you have the strength to do this at your age father." John's acolyte mentioned as she assisted in the fitting of his ancient breastplate into place.

"My dear Angelika." John stated as he stared ahead into the mirror before him. "I had thought that I left this path behind years ago. As times have changed my armor has sat in the dust but now it has been awakened to again protect our people. It saved my life many a time during the war and it will do the same now."

Approaching sixty summers, John still had the courage and the physical prowess to take to the mace and shield. Heavy steel fringed the lining like a hundred bright stars while the majority of the plate was mostly covered by the scales of a black dragon slayed in the Dead Man's swamp. It truly made for a brilliant suit of the finest plate armor on his side of the province. It weighed heavy on his back but his years of training and experience had developed John into a man fit many years younger than he. He still worke to tone his body daily and even practiced exotic forms of hand to hand combat. His long gray hair, streaked with strands of black, fell like an impressive accent across his back and served as a reminder of his younger days as a warrior priest.

When I look into my own eyes I see the past.' He stated in a very dry tone that startled the young healer for she had never before sensed fear in her mentor's words. "I see death, slaughter, and a path that was once better left behind."

"It is not too late, you do not have to join in on the hunt." The woman begged as tears suddenly overwhelmed her eyes. Never before had she looked more beautiful to the priest. Silence paraded uncomfortably for a couple of minutes while the acolyte finished the final adjustment to her master's armor. John felt compelled to console her but somehow found it difficult.

It was a time for murder. A time designated by the lord to search and destroy. It was a state not easily nestled in the priest's mind and for some years after the great war he found it a difficult state of mind to shift from. The only easily conjured emotion for him at that moment, aside from aggression, was regression and hesitation which was far from the consolation he needed to express at that particular moment.

"Mace." The priest ordered as gently as possible. The young woman feinted for the mace and then stopped for a long moment, seemingly lost. In thought, she realized their was little she could do and so, with a long sigh, it took both arms to carry the heavy dark sparkling instrument of death over to her mentor. The mace was no more than two and a half feet long with a shaft wrapped in black leather and had several extra large spikes protruding from a heavy black steel orb centered at the top of it. The weapon had decided the fate of hundreds by the hand of father John and so, years ago during the great war, it was named; "The Maker of Fate".

"And what of the vow you told me you made thirty years ago to never again shed blood?" Angelika was honestly frazzled for she felt that her heart was breaking enough to make her beautiful curly brown hair thin. While her mentor ran off to battle demons she would be left to watch over the homeless and the sick without guidance for the first time since her indoctrination five years ago. The true root of the problem was that if John was to be killed her undying love for him would forever be isolated, alone, and forever caged. She would hear the memory of his comforting voice echo down the hall and the ghost of his footsteps behind her as she knelt at the alter and prayed. Worst of all, if he were to fall in battle he would never know her true feelings.

Please be sure the horse has been tended to and is brought around from the stables please. I need not waste anymore time for night will soon fall."

"Yes, mi' lord." Angelika surtsied and then turned to exit.

"And one more thing my dear." As John spoke Angelika spun around, her teary eyes locked on to his, begging to not be released from his gaze. "Please do take care of yourself during my absence. I could not bear the loss of such a fine, pleasant soul."

She smiled warmly and left for the stables as the odd mixture of emotions inside of her formulated into that of a strong sense of duty.

Led by Father John, forty men gathered on horseback around the southern end of Bridgetown. The warrior priest led the final prayer prior to the hunt and vested additional time in silent prayer as he pleaded with god to forgive him for returning to his old ways cold steel. Most of the village guard was in attendance as well as guard members from some of the neighboring towns. The entire region had been affected and so, in the late afternoon on the day after Melchem's disappearance they had finally come together in order to enact a permanent solution. After the prayed, Engle addressed the militia.

"We travel by the light of the moon for we hunt a creature of its shadow. We will maintain rest during the light of the sun for the heat will surely weigh on us heavier still than our armor. What we hunt is nigh man nor beast but an abomination caught somewhere in between. From what I have gathered, it's path leads us into the woods. Beyond that I know not; perhaps into the mountains."

"Maybe it's guts will fall onto my sword!" someone in the party called out causing everyone to share a quick laugh which served to ease the tension quite a bit.

"Aye, and maybe their will be a reward for the man who brings me its head!" the captain raised his sword in the air and hollered. "For the glory of justice by the swift hand of revenge!"

The warriors of the plain forgot about tragedy. For a moment, they forgot about their lost sons, daughters, and wives. They did not remember the cruelty that their prey had enacted for at that moment they felt completely invulnerable. The only thing in the front of their minds was glorious blood soaked revenge. Together they raised their blades and cheered in unison.

As twilight fell, the horsemen took to the rolling plains south of Bridgetown. The men fell into a side by side formation, forty horse's wide, like a living wall. The earth rolled out before them as would a frozen ocean. It rose to heights with a grand perspective of the plain and then dropped into small valleys covered in isolated shrubbery. The land's perimeter gave way to a great forest line bordering a massive chain of mountains that penetrated the heavens. The priest and the captain rode side by side discussing strategy as they crossed the plain and approached the thick forest known as Shadowood.

"If a boy fell the beast a small group of us can do the same." Engle remarked plainly.

"Do not be so sure. This monster relies on a level of stealth that we can not match. If it is what it appears to be then most of the men have unprepared in the first place."

"What do you mean by that?" We are heavily armored," the captain pounded his breastplate. "well armed, strategically organized, and we outnumber the thing forty to one. Besides, I have a score to settle." His face clenched into a combination of pain and anger as he spoke of revenge.

Just then a horse appeared atop a distant hill about a hundred yards away between the horsemen and the forest. The rider steered his horse to the limit of its speed and stamina towards Engle's men as if the beast they hunted was fast approaching it's shoed hooves. Twilight had fallen upon the land making it difficult to identify the rider but it didn't matter; The scout had been expected to report back for some time now.

"Ah," the captain exhaled. "here comes our scout now."

"Captain, you know that revenge will not bring her back." The priest stated in a low, gentle voice. "It will only allow you to continue to suppress your feelings of guilt and loss."

"Of course it won't." He started with a whisper and progressively raised his voice in anger. "but this thing we are after owes me it's soul."

"What you truly seek is closure and that I intent to assist you with my friend." John shot Engle a half smile as the scout approached. "When we reach the forest we should split into groups of five. The going may not be easy for our horses since we must wander far off the trail so, aside from the team that volunteers to head directly into the mountains, we may have to leave them behind. We will leave a small reinforcement guard of course."

Engle agreed just as the scout, a young thin man no more than eighteen summers of age, bearing nothing aside from the clothes of a commoner dismounted and waited for the search party to halt so he could deliver his findings.

"The tracks lead into the woods and into the mountains." He relayed his findings with haste. "I dared not travel further alone. You have about five miles of hills before you reach the forest sir. It will be dark by the time you reach it and the wolves will be out soon."

"Well done Nosanic." John interjected before the captain could reply. "Go back to town and await our return."

"B-But father, I-I.." Nosanic tried to rebut however he found it difficult to articulate.

"Father John's word is as good as my own." The captain reminded the boy. "His orders are as good as my own if not heavier. You have braved much for the cause already. Know your place and be gone with ye, little brother."

The scout, gravely disappointed, hopped back onto his horse and in a blink of an eye was headed north back to town."

"This is no task to be finished by a boy.' Engle met eyes with John and nodded as they continued their march.

While the horsemen approached within a mile of the forest the unease shared between them became apparent as their feelings of invulnerability quickly evaporated. Underneath the shadow of the Shadowbelt the mysterious forest rested as far as the clear night allowed them to see. The round moon hung in the sky like a clenched angry fist and the air was cool with a light whipping breeze. The trees screamed the echoes of a wolf's howl in invitation, followed by another, and another. The captain and the priest shared a quick glance that spoke of an unsaid agreement between them. It was time to take the hunt into the wilds.

They made camp about half a mile outside of the forest's perimeter and quickly began making arrangements for individual hunting parties. Sir Engle handled the organization of the hunting teams while Father John circled the camp placing large stones in perfect symmetry in order to conjure a proper circle of protection. Years of holy dedication had allowed the priest to ask his lord for favors that were handed down from the heavens in the form of extraordinary magical feats and divine miracles. After the initial preparations were made and the hunting parties were grouped, everyone circled around John who knelt in the center of the camp and called out a prayer for holy protection to wrap it's arms around the search party. With this completed, it was time for the hunt to truly begin.

Seven groups of five men each separated and journeyed into the woods while the eighth group stayed behind to guard the horses and served as a small detachment left for reinforcement. The eager militia braved the dark of the forest with weapons drawn and torches held high. John and Engle both led separated groups just in case something were to happen to one of their parties a leader would be left to push the men forward. The captain's party consisted of only himself and two of his most loyal companions. The forest was nearly a twenty mile buffer between the base of the mountains and the rolling plains. Engle pressed his team hard as he wanted to cover as much ground as possible before sunrise. As midnight fast approached a thick fog rolled down from the mountainside and filled the forest like a roiling apparition.

"These woods are too quite." The captain addressed his group as they finally decided to take a break after a few hours of searching. His armor was heavy and made a long journey on foot a merciless one. He took off his helm and tossed it onto the ground before dumping the contents of a waterskin on his face and shaking his long dark hair like a dog.

'Aye," said an older fellow strapped in a much lighter set of armor made of hard leather. "we haven't heard as much as a bird's chirp, a opossum in the underbrush, or a wolf's howl since we entered this damned forest."

"The fog ain't helped matters neither." Another spoke with a swollen tongue of an accent.

"We continue on for another couple of hours." The captain ordered while fitting his helm back into place. "just as we planned. Then we will head back to camp."

"You a smellin that captain?"

"What are you talking about Jaravis?" Engle asked with more agitation than expected.

"Wait...listen." Jaravis whispered while he drew his short sword and raised his hand motioning his companions to remain silent and on guard. "You be a hearin that?"

"It's probably only a squirrel." Engle finally noticed the rummaging sound. Just at the edge of their line of site, on the edge of the clearing in which the party rested, a large wild growing hedge rattled around as if a small creature were jumping from branch to branch. However, Jaravis was not convinced. He took out his crossbow and readied a bolt. Meanwhile, the captain drew his sword with his right hand and raised his torch above his head with his left. He confidently approached the hedge with the fearlessness of a veteran knight. Jaravis readied his weapon as his companion's eyes darted around the clearing nervously.

While Engle circled the clearing's perimeter Jaravis noticed the low rumble of a canine's growl. The swordsman quickly turned about and locked eyes with two glowing red orbs that hovered a mere ten yards away, just on the edge of the clearing. He instantly let a bolt loose from his crossbow and it flew with haste towards the massive form that quickly took shape behind the glowing red eyes. The beastly silhouette leaped from the woods letting loose a baritone slobbering snarl from hell.

Engle spun around just in time to see Jaravis get driven into the ground by a powerful unseen force. He assumed an arrow or a bolt from a crossbow had knocked the man down but he was proven wrong in an instant as Jaravis began thrashing around helplessly upon the ground. His leather armor ripped like parchment and his flesh tore open as if the enemy were upon him.

"Get it off me! For the love of god get it off me!" he desperately screamed in anguish for his life. The snarls of a vicious hound started Engle while he stood paralyzed for a moment. His gaze was fixed upon Jaravis being dragged by the neck by an invisible enemy. After a long terrifying moment it seemed the incredible force had finally let the poor man loose. The captain rushed forward and the other guard quickly unsheathed a dagger and put it through a bullseye that must have been on the injured man's neck. Blood spurted and quickly formed into a pool as Jaravis's calls for help turned into gurgling gasps. Raising his sword high into the air, Engle immediately rerouted his charge and caught the murderous guard flatfooted. One giant sweep of his bastard sword immobilized his once faithful friend. The man fell to the ground in a bloody heap while just barely holding onto a rapidly thinning consciousness.

The captain dropped his sword to the ground in utter confusion. He gazed at two of his most loyal partners as they roiled around in the dirt in pools of their own blood and dispensed the last bit of life energy left in them. The once proud strong man, captain within the Holy Knights of the Mist of Roseguard fell to his knees in utter despair.

"Wha-why, what happened?" he cried out to the night. He grabbed up the treacherous guard by the collar and pulled his face close to his.

"Why?" he screamed. "What in the nine hells is going on? Who made you do this? Where is Melchem?"

Just as the life slipped from his old friends body the captain felt his bloody hands involuntarily let go of the corpse and move towards his sword. Unable to control his actions he lifted the blade to his own neck. Just as the cold steel bit into the first thin layer of his flesh he somehow managed to summon the power to toss it to the side. The captain jumped back to his feet and withdrew his horn of alarm. With tears in his eyes, he blasted a call of warning that could be heard for a couple of miles in each direction. Afterwards, unsure of anything at that point, he stared at the dead and got lost in contemplation for a few dark moments. Finally, two words slipped from his lips in a dark quivering whisper.

"Black Magic."

As soon as the words fell from his lips the trees shook from a sudden breeze and a pack of snarling wolves could be heard circling the outside of the clearing. In response to his horn several more wolves howled to the distant moon in thanks for the grace the forest was showing them that night.

"Fall back!" John ordered as the four other men in his hunting party engaged each other in vicious melee. An alarm from a distant search party echoed through the clearing and added to the desperation of the situation. The guards paid no attention as they ripped each other apart in a most horrific fashion. The looks on their faces were that of men in complete helplessness and horror. Madly, they took turns slashing, cutting, and stabbing each other without parry. It was as if they had no control over themselves. John stared in shock for a moment too long as one of the men decapitated his very own brother who just stood their laughing like a mad man before the blow fell across his neck. The killers face looked as if he were crying while he swung the thirsty sword. The others screamed out in utter atrocity and danced wounds upon themselves amidst the chaos.

"For the love of god please do not do this!" John snapped out of his state of shock and reacted.

He spoke a quick prayer to his deity and raised a hand into the air with his fingers extended. An invisible wave of energy was let loose from his finger tips and it immediately paralyzed the combatants. As soon as this was done John caught a glimpse of movement out of the peripheral of his eye. He turned to see a dark robed figure slip from the edge of the clearing and disappear into a shadowy pocket of the tick forest. Without a thought John charged in after the lone figure.

The priest just caught site of the fleeing shadow as it darted out from behind a tree about twenty feet ahead. With great skill and strength not with many a man his age, John lifted his heavy mace above his head with both hands as he closed in and launched it end over end with all of his might. The black robe cried out and landed hard onto the forest floor with a massive mace spike running through the back of his upper thigh.

"What have we here?" John plodded heedlessly through the underbrush and came upon the robed killer. The young man sported a freshly shaved head and had black tattoos of a demon's claws grappling for his throat. He struggled to crawl underneath an old oak tree but found himself in far too much pain to move. John flipped the black robe around and onto his back. He placed a heavy boot on his prisoners left thigh and pressed hard. The last thing anyone wanted was to conjure the warrior that the priest had harbored deep down inside for so long. The young man screamed in anguish as John presses hard and without remorse. When the warrior priest finally stopped the black robe quivered and then sobbed pathetically.

"What in the nine do you think you are doing here?" the soldier spirit took hold and John spit in the man's face. "I didn't tell you to stop your screaming."

Again, John pressed the man's leg hard with the bottom of his boot which caused the maces spike that rested under the murderers leg to slip all the way through the flesh and pop out of the other side of his leg. The black robe cried and moaned several weak attempts at begging for his life. A second blast from Engle's horn sounded in the distance.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" the priest punched him in the eye and then grabbed him up by the collar, lifted him from the ground and put his nose in his face.

"I am only going to ask you this once and you can guess what will happen if you give me the wrong answer. I know you are not working alone. Who or what exactly are you working with and where is the hideout?"

That night John left his vow of nonviolence behind in a trail of blood that led up the mountainside. Without even taking the time to check back with the other hunting parties he traveled alone deeper into the wilds to strike a thorn into the heart of the matter. His captive had told him of a hidden trail disguised with an illusion that would lead him to a hidden lair within the Shadowbelt Mountains. During his trek he brutally encountered several strange beasts that were nothing less than malformed hybrids of wolf and man. Relying on faith and steel alone, the monstrosity instantly fell by the blinding light that the veteran warrior priest channeled down from the heavens in order to allow him to continue onward.

The path was hidden by a password that he spoke aloud before the thick foliage faded away revealing a craggy cave at the base of the mountain. Without a single thought about his own well being the priest dove into its forbidden depths. For nearly an hour John swept through the cave crushing skull after skull of a dozen feral werewolves. The peaceful existence he left behind seemed like a distant star in the sky that was an unfathomable reality. His warrior blood pumped strong and granted only the grace and mercy the maker of fate had to offer up his enemies.

He eventually came to a halt before a large bloody alter on which a massive nine foot tall werewolf was just about to begin what appeared to be a ritual sacrifice. What appeared to be Captain Engle was laid across the altar in preparation for the ancient ceremony. The wolf lowered the dagger it was about to plunge into the knight's heart and brought it back over it's shoulder as if it were readying the weapon to fly at it's incoming enemy.

"You've shared a great level of primordial instinct with my people." John spoke compassionately. "You do not maintain the instinct to kill in isolation. You, as us all, are an animal; we are beasts of our own accord. My son, I understand you. With the gifts bestowed upon you by the great one in the heavens, do not continue this corruption of self control. I beg of you..."

"Do not patronize me!" the telepathic lycanthrope's voice boomed through John's mind and overpowered his train of thought. "As much as I do enjoy you point of view, the truth remains in the hands of the one with the upper hand. You see much, nevertheless, you are no chosen one."

A stinging pain shot through John's head and quickly progressed into the feeling of a sharp dagger piercing his brain and cutting from it fragments of hope. His body crumpled to the ground as if his armor suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Paralyzed, he couldn't even let out a scream of excruciating anguish let alone breathe. He felt as if his chest was caving in and he was about to finally pass to the next world within a blink of an eye. It seemed there was nothing he could do to escape the world of pain that encapsulated his reality.

'You think you have crippled my plans by trying to attack me head on with a group of peasants?" the werewolf outwardly enjoyed mocking the crippled priest. "Then you confront me and offer understanding and forgiveness/"

Behind the obsidian alter was a large door carved into the wall. It wasn't made of wood however it was more like a strange stone slab with runes all about it. The symbols were so ancient, so primitive in appearance that they looked more like poorly designed shapes and uneven patterns. They began to glow with a faint reddish hue.

"Your minor victories have handed you a false confidence old man. What you have done has moved the time line ahead of schedule."

If the priest could se through the pain and think he would have called out to the heavens and pleaded for the power to overcome the pain. John would have petitioned god to forgive the monster's soul after he sent it to the front gates of Hades but he made the rash mistake of placing his actions before his words and now it was far too late to correct any faults. However, if the strange psion of a lycan wanted the priest dead he would have killed him by now. It seemed that he was being kept alive for a reason even though torture wracked his body and soul for what seemed like an eternity.

The entire portal behind the altar came to life with an eerie red light that bathed the dark room in a soft textured radiance. The portal's stone center began to slowly spin with different shades of red in a clock wise direction as if it were a pool of swirling paint. Once the shades fully converged, instead of creating a darker hue, a fluorescent dark blue light exploded forth, overcoming the shadows of the room with a lightly glowing outline that covered every object in the vicinity. The werewolf laughed maniacally upon the activation of the gate for what shot forth from the core of it was unlike anything the world had encountered in several hundred years.

A fiendish zombie with flesh melting off of its bones as if the very atmosphere boiled it away flew forth on long bat like wings with the horrific precision of a devil. The things face forever oozed the blood of virgins and its fangs dripped an acid developed by scientists ten thousand years in the future. Surely, hell had been summoned to the earth and brought with it an infernal doom that was unrivaled. The fiend instantly targeted John as a man of high faith and loomed over his body which was twisting and contorting from brutal psychic torture. The lycan continued laughing like a mad man as a single drop of sizzling acid fell from the horror's jaws and onto John's forehead. The acid instantly boiled away his skin and would have taken only another half second to sear through his brain. For the warrior priest, the end seemed beyond inevitable.

Then the impossible happened. As if the hand of god himself had reached down to earth and cast aside the darkness, a bright searing light immediately burst forth from John's body! The entire chamber was cloaked in a bright blinding light that emanated centrally from the acidic wound in the holy man's forehead. The demon screamed a scream of a hundred dieing men and the brutal werewolf lord fell to his knees as he was overwhelmed with pain and darkness while blood spilled like cascading waterfalls from his eyes. As the light simmered to a subtle glow, John stood in the center of the room, the maker of fate in hand, stronger than ever before. The demon had vanished and the swirling portal had closed. John called out the last words the foul werewolf would ever hear.

"I am a servant of the heavens and the power of righteousness guides my hand. This is for the families you have massacred, the peace you and your minions have slaughtered, and the act of spiritual famine you have committed by bringing that beast from the underworld into these lands."

The werewolf's skin bubbled and his shape contorted between that of a man and a beast. It thrashed about the room and pressed its hands to its mutilated eyes. Just as it let out one final snarl for the recess of hope John swung his mace and caved in the back of the beast's skull. By the time the vicious lycanthrope's massive body hit the stone floor it had shape shifted back into the form of Melchem, father of Jorgren and retired captain of the king's navy.

John knew then and there that what had happened that night would forever change the course of Roseguard's history and lead it into a new frontier of discovery and distrust. Later in life he wished that he had done more to change the course of events that was about to unfold but even a priest favored by the gods can only do so much. Hope fell down the holy man's face in welling tears of blood as he wrapped his arms around Captain Engle, his friend, and prayed for forgiveness.

Chapter 2

The five years that followed the destruction of the werewolf clan brought more than simple prosperity to the kingdom of Roseguard. Father John petitioned for the destruction of the gate the demon had spilled from while others dared to rally against him deep within the halls of the king. The sinister and the greedy planned to further study the portal and the interconnecting caverns that surrounded it. If the nobles had only listened to the priest in the first place god may have saved them all from the slaughter. Overall, either way, John was hailed as a mighty hero, the savior of the countryside. So much in fact, Bridgetown was renamed Johnstown as the renowned religious leader was made Duke of the province and given the privilege of founding his own knightly order to defend it. Things began changing at a rapid rate, not only throughout the land of Roseguard but all over the world.

The wizards who were delegated the task of further exploring and researching the werewolf layer discovered much more than they bargained for just beyond the depths of the abandoned mining shafts. The honeycombed caverns of the lycanthropes led to an intricate network of tunnel systems that spilled out into the ruins of a city some believed to be thousands of years old. Truth be told, man hadn't been known to have thrived on the continent prior to five hundred years before the discovery of the ruins. The research that was conducted only raised more questions. As the ruined city was explored over time, dozens of more gates just like the one that led them to the ruins were discovered. The jagged lightless ruins remained a graveyard with a long dark secret. In ages past the mages and the scholars dared to travel beyond the deep glowing lights of the portals they had learned to activate. They broke through to whatever rested on the other side with reckless abandonment and the ruins of a forgotten city were all that remained to tell the tale of a forgotten generation's past.

What was found led to a historical breakthrough that was incomparable to anything in all the history of the mighty kingdom of Roseguard. On the far side of the gates were both strange and mighty civilizations long distant and far removed from the ways of the people of Roseguard. It was evident that the gates in those lands all led to the hub that the ruined city in the Shadowbelt once served as. At that point, it was only a matter of time until exploratory committees were formed, language barriers were hurtled, and peace treaties were drawn. War was averted easily enough by trade and exotic technologies.

By the time the ancient remnants of Gate City were resurrected an international guard committee of psychic warriors was established to ensure fair and peaceful trade throughout all of the lands that were connected to the red gates. Within their mysterious presence they carried the lost history of the creators of the gates past on to them by the late elder psions of generations past. It was said that psychic energies bound the gates to the mortal realm and so the guardians, as was their birthright, insisted upon what they considered traditional means of diplomacy and security for the resurrected city.

Just three years after Father John had discovered the werewolf den the world around it seemed to have grown into what seemed like only a hundred years of ordinary means would have normally provided. Gate City emerged from the ashes only to once again make the world seem like a much smaller place. If only diplomatic ties could be maintained a most amazing means of international trade would revolutionize all the people across all continents for generations to come. More importantly to King Leodasset, Roseguard had found a foothold that placed it above the rest of the world.

Johnstown's population expanded to new heights as the once isolated village bulged and comfortably expanded into a lucrative town of ten thousand citizens under the legendary warrior priest's governance. The Knightly Order of the Mist, in the name of King Leodasset, handed jurisdiction of Johnstown's surrounding realm to the the newly indoctrinated Order of the Clover, led by Father John, Duke of Johnstown. The darkness that paraded across the land disappeared as Roseguard quickly became the wealthiest kingdom in all of the known world. Even Roseguard's easternly neighbors, the Shanoise Empire and their prosperous opium trade, paled in comparison to the might that was wielded via the portals of Gate City.

"All I'm saying is this place was left in ruin for a reason." the red robed half elf shrugged. "Now our order has these power hungry lords to deal with who expect us to protect their slave trade. It's preposterous to entertain the idea of allowing this to go on for any longer."

Pic was more than a simple free thinker. As a member of the psychic order he had sworn to protect the newly restored intercontinental trade routes. His freshly shaved head never seemed to sprout even the smallest of whiskers and an elaborate tattoo of a fire dragon was intricately wrapped around his neck as was the tradition of his order. The lithe wrym appeared to be breathing the fire that covered his skin and crept up the side of his left cheek. Having seen only fifty summers he easily had a few hundred more to go as he was young by half elf standards.

By anyone's standards; human, elf, or otherwise, Pic was an idealist who could be seen as a trouble maker from time to time. Throughout his years learning the discipline needed to progress his training to channel his obscure mental powers he was known to have initiated mischief more than most. Anything from implanting thoughts into a tavern keepers mind that made the business man think he owed his patrons coin to badgering his instructors about technical matters until they gave in from exhaustion more so than defeat. The young psion was usually always a handful during his youth. He finally felt himself growing out of such immature patterns as of late. He finally found something he felt was truly worth fighting for. He had finally come into his own within the order.

"Pic, you see much, yet you do not see beyond the pale." The elder red robe's voice echoed through his student's mind. Though the two of them sat comfortably by the fire of a busy common room deep within the refurbished Gate City, it appeared to onlookers as if they only sat quietly with their wine.

"What do you mean?" Pic's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Instead of feeding the hungry these gates only serve to enslave them!"

"This is nothing that was not discussed before the city fell the first time." Tehman pointed a finger of warning at his old student as his brown eyes lit up as red as a fireball and his long stringy gray hair began waving as if a strong breeze raced through the tavern.

"I am sick of it all and I am far from alone. This is about doing what is right not about doing what is most convenient for the crooked kingdoms or even the psychic council. It's about fair and peaceful trade. Isn't that right master?" Pic wasn't about to back down for he had a point to make and was going to make it. Besides, he needed the help of his old master and hoped he could make him see the light.

"There is a fine balance to it all. The peasants of the world are now able to trade with others on the far side of the earth. Material costs for construction have dropped considerably and more workers have been able to part ways with their old farm life in order to educate themselves and find work in skilled trades. None of this would have been possible without the discovery of the gates."

"Gate city has also enabled the destruction of the less fortunate societies in the world as the Shanoise have raided and enslaved most that were unable to defend themselves. This city has turned into the hub of a worldwide backbone of slavers and smugglers for the narcotics trade. I don't care how much more affordable the cost of lumber and rice has become as the margin has been paid for in blood ten times over already. Where are the ethics in that? You see much, nevertheless, the value of life seems to be something you have decided to overlook."

The tavern door swung open and several grungy dwarves lumbered in after a hard day of mining that was made evident by the soot that covered their faces as if they worked in a coal mine and the pick axes strapped to their backs. They lumbered passed the waitress and headed right for the bar on the back wall.

"When was the last time you've seen dwarves mingling in the same tavern as humans and half elves, hm?" Tehman's insinuation fell on def ears.

"Believe me, those dwarves would prefer to be left alone to mine their own caverns." Pic shook his head. "And don't try to give me that world peace nonsense because its an impossible thing to achieve when entire societies are living a life of slavery and even the _just_ kingdom of Roseguard endorses the corruption; as usual. There are some of us within the order who are sick of it all and ready to take action."

"Take action?" the gray haired man raised a bushy eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, nothing at all Tehman." Pic sighed, his only auditory response, and slouched back in his chair.

"How can you expect to live by your crazy ideals and mature at the same time. Eventually, you have to let go and except the world around you as it is. Know your place and play your role. It is all that is expected of you and anyone else for that matter. It takes all kinds you know."

"I can't argue with you because you never let me win." Pic threw his hands in the air.

"You have a tough time remembering who is the student and who is the teacher."

"You forget that I've been on my own for nearly ten years now and am preparing to be inducted into the master circle of our order sometime within the next decade."

"You would do well to remember this last lesson." Tehman stood and left the tavern leaving Pic to pay for the glass of wine he left untouched. A storm of social unrest was brewing within the underground city and it was not to be taken lightly.

"It appeared he found it difficult to look me in the eye while he spouted his political nonsense of an excuse." Pic telekinetically threw a book across the room in a display of his anger. "I was almost certain he would help us. But now?"

"You exposed the existence of the resistance to an outsider?" Sharingthel, a fellow red robe, accusingly thrust threatening words at the half elf. "Tehman must be dealt with as he is the only outsider with a hint."

"What did you just say?" Pic's face twisted as he stood toe to toe with Sharingthel accusingly. "Tehman must be dealt with? He was my first master. He was the one who sponsored my membership into the psychic order. I would rather deal with you for even suggesting what I think you are insinuating."

"Then it's up to you to keep an eye on him." Sharingthel stood tall and resolute. As an elf, he was as tall as most humans but his large almond shaped eyes were piercing and his ears were pointed as they paid more attention to detail. Sharingthel, the red robed immortal, was not about to stand down to an upset member of a resistance that he rightly started.

"He's the only one that has the power to shift the destination of one of those gates. I had to try to get him involved in order for our plan to work." Pic explained.

"No, that is not true." the elf shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Look around," Pic dramatically waved his arms pointing out the drab featureless room they occupied. "it's not like our perspective has created a line of pledges lining up to join in our noble effort."

"A member of the high council has decided to be our sponsor." Sharingthel proudly delivered the news. "Our new member has offered the services of a powerful arcanist who promises success. It looks like we'll have to move ahead quicker then we initially planned."

"In case Tehman exposes us?"

"No, in case you've exposed the resistance and we wake up dead tomorrow."

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to get ready."

"I shall only come to agree as long as I am allowed to study the dark art under this arcanist you speak of."

"We shall see."

Tehman floated through the cluttered streets of the subterranean city of red gates as smoothly as a sled glides over a patch of ice. Those that were in his path darted to the side before they were overwhelmed by the psions pace. He slowed for no one and stopped only to inspect a nearby gate as a caravan was just passing through its arch. After seeing to it that a couple of underling red robes had the inventory check under control he continued forward to his destination without pause.

Symbolin, head of the psychic council, governing body over the psychic order, was meeting with foreign dignitaries in the chamber of the eye when Tehman, unannounced, entered the meeting hall and patiently waited to be recognized. The matter at hand was a simple proceeding of food and drink being shared with ambassadors as they had already finished discussing the security concerns of the tribes to the west. The people of the plains were the first humans to inhabit the continent and the last to take interest in the use of the new system of trade. Comfortable in the ways of the ancients, Symbolin had dodged as many obstacles as a seagull in a hurricane in order to carry negotiations between tribes as far as they had gone. Symbolin's gentle words always had a way of dripping pearls of wisdom until they threatened to overwhelm the listener and force him to completely rethink his path in life, or in Tehman's case, his evening.

"Tehman," Symbolin spoke aloud out of respect for his nonpsion guests as the two psion's conversations were usually done telepathically. "please join us for a meal or at the very least, a glass of wine."

"Very well, though I haven't much time." sweat fell from Tehman's brow. It was difficult to refuse the master of the council. Symbolin, an elf of a thousand years in age, held the posture of a holy man, spoke with the reason of an engineer, and carried with him forgotten secrets of the ages. Though he had survived century after century of war, discovery, genocide, and peace, not a single wrinkle of time blemished his smooth face or surrounded his gleaming green eyes. His lithe frame, like all psions of the order, was draped in a red velvet robe, and his movements were as naturally graceful and flowing as a flock of birds shifting direction in the clear blue skies.

"Allow me to introduce you." Symbolin went on as Tehman approached the table. "Gentlemen, this is Tehman, a member of the council, and one of my most trusted practitioners. Tehman, this is Leaping Bullfrog, chief of the Okeecho tribe and his sons: Bull Run and Fallen Antler."

"It's an honor." Tehman took a seat at the table and excepted the wine one of the servants brought to him. As the conversation picked back up where his presence interrupted Tehman telepathically carried a message to Symbolin.

"I've discovered that the rumors of a resistance within our ranks is no lie. I am ashamed to admit that one of my own has exposed himself by attempting to spread propaganda in an effort to possibly recruit me for his cause. I suggest immediate action and await your orders."

At the same time Symbolin carried on a polite conversation with Leaping Bullfrog in regards to trading resources, he responded telepathically to Tehman's news.

"Though I am sorry that one of the members of the resistance has served under you it is a fortunate turn of events. I am not so sure that all of the members of the council would have given up one of their own in light of such suspicion. It doesn't matter how you do it just remedy the situation by whatever means you find necessary." the head of the order's words concocted a mixture of emotions that almost made Tehman sick to his already upset stomach.

Without taking even a single sip of wine, to the bafflement of the barbarians, Tehman excused himself from the table.

The wizard kept the hood of his black robe hung low over his face. He spoke in hushed tones that were difficult to decipher above the buzz of the crowd. The tavern of the Penned Hog was packed that evening. The patrons left no table or bar stool unattended. Sharingthel nodded as if he understood the mage's words and forwarded a telepathic response.

"The council has been alerted to the existence of the resistance. It is not safe for us to meet like this. We need to get started tonight."

"I am not so sure you really want to. That is, I truly do not think you are ready for the sacrifices that need be made in order to initiate the sequence."

"What do you mean?" the psion spoke out loud.

"You said it yourself, it is not safe to talk here," the wizard motioned for the back door. "and I doubt that it is safe for us to be seen together like this."

The red robed psion led the black robed wizard through the smoke filled room, out the back door, and into a dark alley where they could discuss secrets without being spied upon. Sharingthel used a psychic power to read the outer most thoughts of all living things in the alley and found that the two men were indeed alone. Unfortunately for the psion, as powerful as he had become over the years, he was unable to see past the wizard's arcane mental barrier.

"What do you mean by sacrifices?" the psion continued their telepathic conversation.

"The component for the transmutation is the fresh blood of a hundred suicides." the wizard's response wasn't exactly what Sharingthel was looking for.

"Are you mad? How the hell do you expect."

"Another way exists," the black robe continued. "but it is not guaranteed for it is seemingly even more impossible."

"Well?"

"The life blood of a celestial who died by his own hand."

"You must be joking."

"Rarely do I ever joke." two small bright lights blinked where the black robes eyes should have been just within the depths of the hood.

"So, what you are saying is that an angel from the heavens must take his own immortal life in order for this to occur. Is that even possible?"

"If the celestial sees our plan as just, it certainly may be."

"How is it possible for a celestial to die?"

"My guess is that if he thinks we are not just he will kill us." the wizard's words were like the body aching scratches of fingernails scraping across a chalkboard as he ignored the question. Sharingthel was reminded of his days in the psychic academy. Whenever his master assaulted the classroom with such an atrocity his spine quivered and his brain rattled as it did now.

"You are right magistar." the psychic hung his head. "I may not be prepared."

"You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason." Tehman confronted his old student with a gang of a dozen other red robed psions. The small mob seemed to leap from the shadows of the subterranean street as if out of thin air.

"What are you talking about?" Pic's face paled as two of the red robes stepped forward to apprehend him. The half elf raised his hands, palms up, and then flicked his fingers forward causing the two red robes to fly back a dozen feet. They slammed to the ground in motionless heaps.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be." the gray haired master pleaded.

Pic attempted to use a teleportation power but as soon as he blinked out of existence he blinked back. This time, to the half elf's astonishment, Tehman held a firm grip on his throat.

"Please, I beg of you, don't make me use force." the master's grip strengthened and Pic gagged desperately for air. Two more red robes closed in on Pic in an attempt to bind his wrists.

"Stop....let.....me......go." the captive gasped in broken tones.

"Is this the only way you're going to learn?" spittle flew with the master's words.

A blinding light suddenly lit the cavern in a flash. The street lit up as far as the eye could see. It was just enough of a distraction to cause Tehman to loosen his grip and allow Pic to suddenly blink away unharmed. The storm was on the rise.

Pic appeared out of thin air just as the metallic silver skinned angel's wings shriveled into crooked deformities. The gate before her warping body lit up like a thousand red flamed candles. The once flawless beauty of pristine angelic prowess fell to her knees leaving a bright glowing dagger's blade in her throat. The young half elf stood in the street, within the conjuration circle, just in front of the portal that filled in the space between two large stone buildings. Sharingthel and the mysterious black robe were more than ready to get going when their ally suddenly appeared.

"Where on earth have you been?" Sharingthel hollered.

"They tried to arrest me for treason!"

"There's no time. We must leave at once." the wizard raised his voice above the swooshing sound of the active, spinning gate. The rushing portal's scream fell in and out of their ears as if they were clogged with water. The mage unrolled a scroll and began reading it's arcane contents with a voice so dark and strong it could only be compared to a demons cry. Just before the spell was completed, nearly a dozen red robes blinked into existence around the rebels.

"You are all under arrest for treason!" Tehman screamed above the noise of the confusing scene.

Just then, a massive hoofed foot sprung out from the gate's swirling mists and crushed the cobble stoned street upon impact. A devilish laugh greeted the gasps of the shocked onlookers who would never again see the light of day. With the spell finally completed successfully, the black robe whisked Pic and Sharingthel away into the arms of magical travel. The demon laughed and stepped over the angel's corpse with it's second hoofed step. It would rain fire that night throughout all of Gate City and if the earth was lucky, that is where the fire would remain.

Chapter 3

Gasping for air as if drowning in a lake he desperately stretched and clawed for the surface that ever fell away like the precious oxygen in his lungs. The wriggling slimy mass that surrounded him left nothing to grip and little to tread upon but that which slithered. As Jacob coughed up the white maggoty worms, trails of slime slipped from his gagging mouth instead of that what he could not exhale. When he finally reached the surface and gasped for precious air he looked dazedly to the wavering sky. Fireballs the size of castles slowly loomed high above making the entire night's sky appear as nothing but flame. The horizon hissed and popped as something from the slurping pond grabbed his leg and dragged him back under its unforgiving surface. Instead of water, the pond was filled thick with millions of leeches and wriggling maggots. The invisible force twisted him around and around the soup of larvae which gave him no sympathy aside from that which only a devil could offer.

Jacob, only ten years of age, was plunged deep into what seemed to be the center of the bottom of hell itself. Underneath the surface he could only find comfort in the warmth of a pocket of fresh plasma that encapsulated the center of a protective sphere at the bottom of the pond. Jacob pierced it like a champion tossed spear. With his skin covered in leeches he found himself within a massive air bubble after a series of vomiting gasps. Sympathy from a devil like this was very rare indeed. He looked around the swirling confusion of the strange confines that made up his surroundings. The chamber was maybe thirty feet in diameter with walls made of both blood and grotesque man sized maggots that were blessed with the twisted human faces of lost souls. They screamed in terror, forever in eternal damnation, and tore into the boys mind with their gory chants of outrage. As the child finally gathered the strength to look up, maybe it took years, he stared into the face of he who could not be mistaken.

The beast was immense in both horror and bulk. Great goat legs the size of a man with hooves the size of small swords stamped and splashed up blood and goop from desecrated larva. Jacob shivered and wet himself with a whimper. Nevertheless his eyes dared to continue to scroll upwards to find the hoofed legs connected to a great red skinned warrior's torso that rippled with hallucination. The beast wielded a great battle ax that he casually leaned upon his massively wide shoulders. The devil's face was one of handsomely sadistic bearded features with small horns protruding from his forehead. The horror cast a crooked smile as it looked down upon the innocent about his hooves.

"What have we here?" His baritone voice screamed of hatred yet rang full and mellow in the boys ear. The aura of malevolence the demon's voice projected however was chased by a creeping flood of overwhelming paranoia. Jacob, in that moment, forgot everything about his life up until that very second. All that was real was fear, pain, and nothing aside. No logic came to his mind apart from the need to run and hide. Jacob's spirit screamed to find solace in safety and seclusion but he was too petrified to move.

The monster before him stomped one of it's hoofs on the wriggling maggot ridden floor and a wave of human entrails showered the poor child. A decapitated head landed at his feet with a squishy sounding thud. As its rotting face rolled around Jacob found that it was none other than his very own fathers!

With a loud crackling boom and a bright flash of light, the beast swooped down with its great ax and knocked the boy right out of the protection of the chamber and up passed the surface of the maggot lake. Jacob, who should have been splattered on impact, was instead knocked out of the pond and a hundred feet into the air leaving a shower of larvae behind. He was so high in the air he could feel the fire of the sky burning his face like lava. He screamed in terror for as he attempted to turn his face from the burning sky he only looked down to see a blasted baron wasteland far below running all the way to the horizon in every direction; worst of all he began falling fast towards it. All the life that he could see was swirling around as he fell like a tumbling stone through a great inferno. Unfortunately for him, all the life that surrounded him either had wings and\or great venomous teeth so even if he were to survive...

He smacked down into the lake but it was more like falling on top of a bed of slimy feathered pillows instead of a hard surface. He was immediately able to struggle and claw his way through the wriggling mass and back to the surface for air. He could see that he was close to the shoreline which was nothing but a mass of pulsating, rotten human flesh that gelled into the larvae soup that was the small lake. Standing on the shoreline was none other than his older brother, Thomas, tossing a cast net his way.

"Quick, grab hold!" he cried desperately for Jacob to adhere as the net landed just an arms length away.

Jacob twisted and contorted his body against the current that morbidly screamed with a hellish insect like buzzing agony. The wriggling pond attempted to drag him under again but a beacon of hope pulsed strongly through his veins. He managed to grab hold of a piece of the net and looked back to the shoreline to see that his brother had disappeared. In his brothers place was none other than the hoofed devil himself! Something in Jacob's hand squirmed like mad. His eyes instantly darted to his hands to find the cast net had turned into the tail of an overly large snake.

With the last traces of hope expiring, leaving his spirit exhausted, Jacob's eyes followed the serpent's tail as it wound up and out of the water. The boy's eyes widened to epic proportions. With one giant whip of its tail Jacob was again flung high into the sky and above the serpent's gargantuan head. Again, the boy felt the heat of the flaming sky boil his blood. Below, the serpent opened its jaws in preparation for the child to free fall directly into its dripping fangs. Just as Jacob fell forth into the bowels of damnation, a flash of bright light sprung from the snake's mouth and he heard his brother's voice cry out.

"Pic!" finally, the peace of calming darkness overlapped Jacob's consciousness.

The moon empathetically hid behind the clouds with mercy in her heart. Within the confines of the cooling privacy the clouds had to offer it swooned adversely and cried for the events that it had been forced to witness far below. The looming eye shed tears that fell far and wide across the land. And though they were many they could never extinguish the chaos the realm frequently birthed. If only the spirit of the moon could interfere: to stretch a beam of light down to the earth in a healing gesture in order to resolve the disorder, the confusion, the nightmare of a reality the sphere it circled had become for so many generations. Unfortunately for the gentle mysterious stone, the sun had plans for fire and plunder. In doing so, the sun's motivation had spilled its enemy's blood into the realm of the moon. And so, the moon, in all of it's peacefully shifting allure, hid throughout low-lit privacy, within the corridors of the clouds and wept for what felt like an eternity.

"You know," Spoke the jovially fat merchant as he poked a stocky thumb towards the shelf behind him. "these kinds of things are not easy to come by."

"Of course." Assured the customer "Do you think I am able to afford such prizes because I have been a fool all of my life?"

"Of course you are no fool! That is why you are doing business with me." The chubby swindler spat his overconfidence like ale ranked spittle upon the customers face. "Look, Harl, right? I have been doing this kind of thing for years now. I don't even have to sell this to you 'cause it sells itself. The psytech in that thing is from the most exotic stretches of the world. Now it is here for you to look, touch, feel, and buy."

"Yes, of course." Harl, growing impatient, grumbled tensely between his teeth. "But I am afraid I am in need of more than a jewelry box for my wife, if you know what I mean?"

"Sorry mister I do not." The merchant replied as his eyes darted away to some distant location.

"That is not what Sailing Pony had mentioned to me." The customer responded without a flinch.

"Aye, I catch your drift. You see, I do not see an action on my part beyond offering you this box at a very fair, reasonable price in order for you to show me just how serious you really are. This item here for instance," the sloppy looking clerk turned and picked up an ornamental jewelry box from a shelf behind the counter and placed it in front of his customers eyes. "goes for three, I mean four thousand pieces of gold. I will give it to you for that if you promise me that we never work together on anything but more serious business in the future. Got it?'

Harl looked over the stone encrusted, ornamental lock box that belonged only on the dresser of a fair lady. It's red stones glittered and shined with a magical infection that forced the onlooker to recollect and relive his favorite memory, his most honored and protected dream, his most treasured heart warming thoughts. A small grin pursed the man's lips and Harl finally escaped his daydream and spoke.

"Is it really what I think it is?"

"It is more than just a psylock, good sir!" spittle was flung from the merchant's mouth once again. "This one came all the way from the shores of Ashanlorn itself.

'Ashanlorn?" Harl was quickly startled. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Freight."

"Yes of course." The buyer sort of smirked at this. "Those, I, but how? I mean, the way into those lands has been shut for years now. Are the rumors true?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. It's really simple you see." The fat man grumbled. "The trade is similar to narcotics. As a matter of fact, it is identical. The king's smugglers all work together in order to get these things across borders. Global trade you see? Even when governments dislike one another it is just too profitable to ignore. Take Roseguard and Ashanlorn for instance."

"I'm confused."

"What do you want: The big deal or no?"

"This jewelry box simply isn't going to work for my wife. She needs security not mind games." Harl explained.

"I see," Freight pondered "I am sorry I don't think I know what you are talking about."

"Look, stop playing me for a fool." The rich man's eyes suddenly lit up as red as the desert sun. "I could go to the king and have one.'

"Why you didn't take that course of action in the first place; I don't know?" Freight casually jested. "I am beginning to think that it is because you are trying to hide something from his majesty aren't you? Perhaps and army?"

"Don't be such a fool." His words were anxious as he played right into the merchants hands.

"I am not about to risk my life for a measly bit of play coin, understand/" Freight glared at Harl as if he were a child. "You should pay me just to keep my mouth shut about this. What you seek is highly illegal, you know? I tell you what I am going to do for you. Nothing. You give me five thousand gold for this silly jewelry box and I keep my mouth shut. Have we gotta deal?"

"Five thousand gold!" Harl was completely thrown. "Are you mad?"

"And I will see what I can do about the other thing." Freight sat down on a stool behind the counter and smiled a crooked smile that exposed a bad tooth which stuck out like an orc's fang. The two men met eye to eye for almost a full minute as the silence between them boiled and then eventually came to a simmer. This had become a hostile negotiation indeed. Obviously not sold yet, Harl shook his head not in defeat but in disgust.

"Look, you can not just march into my shop demanding a weapon of war or a slaying be delivered to you under the king's nose while he looks the other way." Freight reminded. "Because the truth is he probably isn't going to just look the other way if I get scragged, you see?" So what is it going to be? The extra gold is going to be used to secure the exchange of the item in question. Are you here to do business or are you here to yank my nostril hairs?"

"Very well, five thousand it is for the jewelry box then." Harl sighed.

The tavern was filled with the usual congestion of smoke, bardic music, dancing, and drinking by the patrons of the Inn of the First To Live, Last To Die. The establishment was named in honor of an old war hero, the warrior priest John who was highly renowned even throughout the capital. It is said that he was the only one with the bravery to bring an end to the great war that ravaged the countryside all those years past; not to mention his discovery of the red gates. Not only was he a great war hero but he also had the power to heal the injured by touch alone and so, Father John was coined: the first to live and the last to die. It was a blessing all had hoped would help provide the priest a prolonged life.

Of course, few in the great capital of Roseguard that was Malefaction had ever actually met Father John. After the war he went into seclusion for so many long years most thought him dead. That is until the day the world changed. On a werewolf hunting expedition John led a unit of brave souls to their doom as he alone survived one of the most horrifying nights of his life. In doing so, the legendary hero found the ancient secret covered in blood, fur, and flesh. The warrior priest, first to live and last to die, had most certainly survived more trials in life than that of a king.

Silence descended upon the common room as Tariqueanlas, noble of the bards within the most esteemed high elf clans, plucked his harp to the tune of a mighty hero's great legacy. The tall elf was clad in dark blue common clothes which were accented by his golden blond hair that fell down and filled his shoulders like fine velvet. The sharp angles of his cheek bones and large brightly lit blue eyes pierced the audience with strength and heartfelt conviction.

As his musical arts ripped through the emotions of each audience member he had ever encountered he was able to put his days of service as a member of a mighty underground network of immortal assassins far from the front of his thoughts. It took the near death experience of his daughter for him to finally come to terms with the world around him. Tariq eventually decided to put his subverse life to rest when a legendary warrior priest saved his eldest from the teeth of a dragon lord. And so, he sang Father John's praise with a passion and honesty that clenched the spirit of anyone who would listen.

"In a town of darkness within a valley of plight,

the wolves of the mountain hounded abound in plain sight.

As the innocent lay naked, torn from there beds,

Families lay squandered, left with nothing but red.

"Oh first to live and last to die,

Please take the right and abide in us your time.

As your hands become the wicked,

Then your hands become the sore,

They forever healed my daughter,

So that I may never again mourn.

"In a town of darkness, in a valley of plight,

The days ever ended,

And peace filled every night.

The doorways were cleansed,

As our minds filled with ease,

For the people could now live on forever,

And simply work beyond the seas.

For this we are forever grateful,

And I pray on bend and knee.'

The rolling silence that filled the room for a moment after a song was through was one of great profoundness to Tariqueanlas. It was the brief silence, not the applause that followed, that has kept the wise elf engaged in singing and prose as his favored occupation for nearly a thousand years. The crowd, mostly human with tears in their eyes and stormy weather on their cheeks, proudly stood and honored the immortal with praises of grandeur. They offered nothing aside from an amazing respect mutually shared by the proud performer. Upon the closing of his second set of music for the evening, the elf decided to go ahead and a take a break before he went into his next act which consisted of a simple magic show which was always a hit once everyone in attendance was good and drunk. It consisted of simple illusions that he would launch from his sitar in the form of hideous dragons or gangly trolls. Someone in the audience would usually always rise in attempts to slay the raging ogre or stop the vile goblins. It really was quite a show. After the music was over Tariq rose from his stool next to the hearth while the audience wiped the tears from their faces and went back to their drinking and gambling.

"Ah, Tariq," a short pudgy human whom some might mistake as a dwarf if they had too much to drink lumbered over to shake hands with the bard. 'How goes it?"

'Very well indeed Freight. It has been sometime since we have last met. How's the business?"

"Well," Freight began as he half talked and half tried to light his pipe. "Things have been going well these past couple of years. Business is up a bit now for the first time since the battle for the red gates nearly demolished everything in it's path. Between you and me, the psions have even opened up their underground psytech trade to me so things have been well indeed."

"Terrific to hear old friend. And how's the wife?'

"Oh, that old witch?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Well, whats been made can't be unmade in the eyes of the law. Good thing is no kids ever came out of it so she's been my burden alone to bear. We still live together but that's as far as it goes these days if you catch my drift. I'm just focusing on my trade for now. I'd hate to force a child to suffer that cold hearted woman.."

"My goodness." Tariq chuckled. "You do have a way with words."

"Bah, I'm not much of a poet myself. Maybe it's that elfin magic, I don't know, but your music really is inspiring. How long will you be in town for?"

"Alas, I will not be here for long. I must play for the king tomorrow night and then I will be off again." The elf explained with a glass of red wine in hand and a puff of smoke in his face that Freight was kind enough to share.

"For the king? What an honor." the merchant coughed on his pipe.

"I suppose. To be honest with you I am not too fond of him." Tariq explained.

"I understand." Freight grumbled "I hear all types of nonsense in regards to this and that and him fiddling with the portals, you know what I mean?"

"Only another twenty years or so until his son takes over." The bard stated with relief. "And then a new hope."

"Only twenty years." Freight choked. "You elves are mad."

The two old friends shared a laugh and went on to discuss local news and rumors as well as tales from the bards latest journeys. Freight had always enjoyed Tariq's stories and listened intently for it was a true privilege to learn from the elf's wisdom first hand. After the conversation twisted and turned into a couple mugs of ale for the merchant and a single glass of wine for the bard it finally switched to business.

"Look," stated the merchant. "I've got a lead on this snoop of a noble who has mountains of gold to spend on a real big deal. Do you know what I am talking about?"

"Perhaps," Tariq shrugged as he slurped the remainder of his glass down. "and perhaps not."

"I need you to look into it for me my friend." Freight almost pleaded with his eyes. "If this fool isn't for real I will gladly pay you the five hundred for _his_ life. If it is real than I will of course cut you into a portion of the proceeds. Got it?"

The bard looked around the noisy, smoked congested room cautiously before replying. It was possible he even cast a silent spell but freight was uncertain.

"Five hundred gold is hardly worth a life." The elf finally returned.

"Bah, I know that. Not for a nobleman anyhow." Spat the merchant with his crooked tooth. "Thing is, I have a feeling that the deal is on again so I wouldn't worry about that. If you want in you'll have to take the responsibility of clean up if you catch my drift. Believe me, somewhere along the line you're services will need be utilized for this thing to happen."

"You should know by now that I've put my past behind me Freight." The elf shifted uncomfortably. "I am head of my guild and have no reason to stretch outward in other areas. You forget I've had over five hundred years to accumulate my share. A well placed musical note is worth more to me than all the gold in the world."

"Do you think that I haven't put the past aside?" parried the master merchant. "Somethings are simply better left in the grave. They shouldn't be stirred up for reasons placed here by the gods, I agree. No matter, you should think about it for this may seriously be worth poking around the abyss for if need be."

"And what if it were possible?" Tariq didn't blink as they met eye to eye. "What does it mean to my people if we could help you out in the long run?"

"Are you ready for this?" the merchant licked his thin yet ever fat lips. "One million pieces of gold."

"You are out of your mind." The elf began to laugh "You would have to loot everything in a small country to even come close to that amount of gold. Do you think that would go unnoticed?"

"Leave that to me." The fat man grinned "After all, I am a master of my craft remember?"

"You play a dangerous game." Tariq shook his head "I hope you know what you are doing. I also hope you know that whoever you are dealing with already wants you dead."

"Yeah, yeah, it's easier to off me and take the prize than it is to pay me that much gold. That is why we are talking, old friend." He took a long drag from his pipe. "You will of course get a slice of the payout. All you have to do is make sure that I am not wasting my time and risking too much in doing business with my customer. Anyone in the way of the deal, you clean up for us, that's it."

With that he placed a sack of two thousand pure gold coins on the table for the elf to contemplate as a token of good faith. Tariq looked down at the gold and then back at his old friend. He grabbed the sack, shoveled it quickly into a backpack that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and then walked back to the warmth of the fire where he would continue casting his illusions for a grateful audience.

"Once an assassin always an assassin.' Freight grumbled under his breath with a smile.

Freight lumbered his way down the street and headed towards home under the gathering storm clouds of the midnight sky. Flashes of lightning shocked the distant horizon above the cities skyline fixating a multitude of fascinating silhouettes for the ale ridden mind to absorb. As the rain began to drizzle upon the already muddy cobblestone street the merchant flipped the hood of his brown cloak over his head and picked up his pace. Only four blocks from home, he could already feel the warm water on his feet and the smoke in his lungs from his side of town's finest of strains pipe weed.

Malfaction, the capital of Roseguard, was a humongous city in those days and was split into sections by two great rivers that intersected at it's center. Trader's, merchants, pirates and the like all harbored at the clustered marinas as they either waited for work, plunder, or maybe a maiden to steal and toss around. Counting clockwise from the top left ward and around a traveler would first find himself in the market ward. The market ward was just as it sounded. Row after row of tents and vendor stalls lined the dirt roads as merchants peddled their wares which they brought to the tables from shipments that came to port. The market ward of Malfaction was famous across most of the continent for it served as the modern focal point of trade between countries. Now that the last battle for the red gates had turned the world upside down once again the market district of Malfaction was busier than ever.

Alongside the market ward, just below the mile and a half stretch that served as the market place exists what are known as the bottom neighborhoods. This district was most definitely the most popular place for scoundrels from the seas as well as other less fortunate citizens to make residence. Mostly residential, the ward also served as a home for the less fortunate citizens of malefaction who are in need of the protection of the local street gangs and the organized crime syndicates that served as law in the one hundred square block area. Thrust into a constant struggle with local law enforcement, the lower ward seems to have forever remained a haven for those that need its protection and a knife for those that needed one in the back.

Just east of the bottom neighborhood, the guild war has rested comfortably for a hundred years as the central location for all of the guilds distributed across the mighty kingdom. The power of the guild ward, supplemented by the leaders of the bottom neighborhoods, served as influence in the daily lives of all since it's early founding. The guilds scattered throughout this section of the city are usually well secured from the inhabitants of the lower ward who mainly are only welcome in this area through underground passages and other private means of traversal. To simply enter the guild ward one must pay a toll of one silver coin or be turned away like riff raff. This alone keeps the majority of the street people at bay. With its perimeter surrounded by local law enforcement, the knights of the Mist, the guild ward is one of the most secured locations in all the land.

Finally, we have the King's ward. The King's ward was constructed from a foreign design most have never seen the likes of before. The streets have been paved with massive slabs of dwarven marble that wheel around like a spiral to it's center where the beautiful palace of the king resides. The homes that line the checkered, chess board like roads are all of the utmost quality and have been maintained by the finest craftsmen in all the world. Indeed, if a straggler from the lower ward ever accidently stumbled into the streets of the king's ward without proper clearance from the knighthood that guarded it's heavily protected borders, god save his soul. That straggler would be placed in chains, beaten, and thrown into the river. It was all for the security of the royal family, for the greater good that their religion spoke of so frequently and therefore justified by the chivalrous guardians.

Most citizens were unsure and uneducated in the ways of city planning. However, the secret of Malfaction's design rested within the hearts of travelers who have stepped their boots upon the most exotic of lands. You see, the rulers of the nation were once great conjurers who endeavored to journey beyond the realms of man and deep into the spirit world. The wisdom brought back was used as a basis for the development of malefaction. After the battle of the red gates had subsided and the global trade routes destroyed, it was just a matter of time before the city once again became the number one economy in all of the world. That's what it was built for and that is what it did best.

"Just one more block to go." Freight mumbled to himself as he longed for the warmth of the fire. The rain had picked up and he could see his breath in the cold midnight air as if it were a phantom. He sloshed his way faster and faster down Centralburg road, deep within the bottom neighborhood, when he was suddenly jostled by a small hand that sprung from the darkness of a nearby alley. It latched onto his arm and squeezed as tightly as death could clench one's mind. Instnatly, without a seconds thought, Freight balled his fist in time with a great flash of lightning, turned, and thundered a punch that landed square on the side of the sneaky halfling's head. The Halfling, or maybe a gnome (difficult for Freight to tell in the dark) spun like a top and fell into a puddle as it splashed face down onto the street. With good reason to grumble, Freight stood over the unconscious body, bent down to flip it over so he could see the would be muggers face, and then began shaking uncontrollably.

"By the gods, what have I done!" the merchant cursed in astonishment. A limp child of no more than ten summers rested at his feet with a bloody and already bruising face. Freight hadn't the most sensitive of hearts but he couldn't forgive himself if he just left the unconscious child there on the edge of the rat infested alley.

"Unbelievable." He spit as he picked up the boy who nearly slipped right through his grasp. The child's skin was slippery with a nasty slime that stank of an awful bog. Leaving a small trail of blood behind, he flung the boy over his shoulder and carried him off down the road and out of the rain.

"I can't stand my life sometimes." Freight grumbled the most self deprecating thoughts. "What in the name of the abyss did I do to deserve this grief? Nothing but misery all the time. Berating, continuous nonsense always clogging my path. I can't stand it anymore. I'm ready to walk in front of a carriage and just end it all. Whats the damned point to all this?"

The merchant cursed his way through his daily routine of negative thoughts as he kicked open the font door to his shop and lumbered inside with the boy in tow upon his shoulder. He found a spot on the floor, plopped the fragile body down, and made his way to a cupboard behind one of the shop's counters. He dug up a couple of dusty vials and cursed aloud upon finding that neither vile had been labeled. He couldn't tell which one was for healing or for lacing a blade in poison.

"I can never catch a break." He groaned. "Argh, one of these must be the healing potion I got from that witch. But for god's sake, the other is gonna turn this boy into a forsaken harpy if I'm not careful. Well, if I have to kill him it'll at least be a horrible monster and not some child. Here goes nothing."

With that, Freight pulled a large spiked club from underneath the counter and made his way over to the unconscious, bloodied child across the room. He stood over the boy and shook his head as tears welled up in his eyes. He looked down at the two small vials in his left hand and then back at the club in his right as he breathed in a heavy sigh. All kinds of crazy thoughts spun through his mind. He had no idea what to make of them and no idea what to do. He set the club down, he slowly leaned down to one knee and hovered over the boy while trying to steady his shaking hands.

"Let's see here. It only makes sense that the purple is for the healing and the black potion is for the shapeshift. Then again, when did these nutty wizards ever make any sense?'

At that point Freight did what any logical man would do in his situation. He pulled forth a gold coin and decided to flip for it. He tossed the coin into the air but fumbled the catch and watched as his shaky hands allowed the coin to roll across the floor until it finally spun to a dramatic halt.

"Oh, that can't be a good sign."

Crawling on his hands and knees a full ten feet to where the coin settled, he cautiously peered at the insignia. The child's destiny was that of a rose shown brightly like the mid days golden sun. Unsure whether or not it was rain water or sweat dripping from his forehead he nervously wiped the sleeve of his already soaked shirt across his face.

"Ah ha!" he cheered aloud. "Good news indeed for purple it is! Oh, um, wait, or was it the other one?"

Much too scattered brained to recollect the simplest of things, freight rushed back over to the slowly breathing child who was gurgling on his own blood and seemingly about to drown in it. The merchant uncorked the purple potion and its scent burned his nostrils. He slowly lifted it to the boys lips while his clumsy hands spilled a drop or two on the floor. Suddenly, in a fit of rage he spun around and smashed the nearest shelf with his club, stormed out of his shop and back out into the rain. Leaving the door open behind him, he screamed to the storming sky and cursed at the moon while he ran down the street and back to the First to Live, Last to Die.

The door to the common room swung open as a sopping wet Freight mopped his way through the smoke, the crowds of onlookers, and the drunks. A few folks laughed at his frantic entrance but most just looked the other way if they even cared to look at all. Freight desperately glanced around the room for Tariq. No music sounded and the elf's stool by the fire stood empty.

"Damn it Tariq, where are you?" He shouted above the crowd and a stranger actually took notice and pointed him in the direction of the back hall. Freight cut his way through the crowd, jogged down the hall and into the back room where most of the gambling took place. As much as a gambler as he was a business man, he had never bargained for this type of risk. Upon entry he found Tariq at the back bar throwing bones with some of the local wenches. It didn't take much explaining to steal away the elf's full attention. After giving the ladies (if you could call them that) a promise of companionship at a later time, the companions raced out of the bar and down the street to the boy's aid. Once they arrived at the shop everything was as it was left and the child lay unmoving in a small puddle of blood.

"By the gods Freight!" Tariq gasped. "You could have at least turned him to the side so he doesn't drown in his own blood."

"But I, uh, I" the fat merchant stammered as Tariq rushed to the child's side to turn him over.

"His heart is still pumping but very slowly." The bard explained. "Where are the potions you mentioned."

Freight handed the potions over to his friend who set them on the ground in preparation for a spell. Once cast the objects began to radiate a feint light indicating, by the type of aura it cast, the kind of magic imbued within each. Not a second later Tariq scooped up the black vile and gently lifted the boys head in order to help him ingest. By the time the potion was half gone the boy began coughing and slowly opened his eyes.

"Dead." He spoke his first gurgled words. "they're all dead."

Chapter 4

The sky cried in unison with the street people below who sloshed about the muddy road outside the lower district's dreary temple. The angry downtrodden mob looked about in utter hopelessness as the young priest upon the steps of the temple addressed them with empty hands and a soar heart.

"I am humbly sorry my brethren.' His voice cracked from the sickness growing in his chest and throat. "but the abbey is full of women and children on this night and I am afraid there is not a single blanket to spare."

The crowd groaned and some of the beggars of lesser experience and infamous reputations began to visibly panic.

"Is there not a single loaf of bread to spare father/" one of the men cried out as the others reinforced his request with a congregation of "yeah' and "Just a bit of gruel father.".

"I truly wish I could do something but I am afraid god has tied my hands on this night." He shook his head.

One of a couple dozen vagrants standing amongst the middle of the crowd drew forth a half a loaf of moldy bread from underneath his rag of a cloak and bit into it. The man next to him took notice and in desperation pleaded with him.

"Surely you can spare just a small piece?" his eyes filled with tears for they emptied of what little pride he had left.

"I can not for it is all that I own!" he snapped back with half a mouthful of the stale loaf. The other man's eyes narrowed to a squint as anger overflowed his face.

'Surely you can, it is only a bite." And he lunged for the bread like a dog.

While the two men grappled the bread fell to the muddy cobblestones at their feet. The entire crowd closed in around them in a cruel effort to recover the disgusting bit of food that was now covered in mud dressing. Some of the men, including the priest, hollered, "Stop! Wait! What are you doing? This is madness" in lue of the confusion that ensued outside the temple as it usually did during that hour of the night. Father Xander drew forth his mace and pushed his way to the center of the crowd when one of the men went down and the street people closed in around him as if he had dropped a sack of gold coins.

"Make way, make way I say!" Xander demanded as he had to violently press his way through the throng with aggressive elbows and even a feint with his mace before finally kneeling beside the wounded. The crowd finally began to dissipate as he tended to the beggars wounds. While he dressed the minor scrapes and stopped the bleeding on the man's forehead the rain picked up and the wind carried his name with it.

"Father help!"

The voice held the dire tremble of a true life or death calling that the priest was all too familiar with. The kind he would never forget.

"Father?" a burly fellow lumbered in his direction with what appeared to be a sack of potatoes thrown over his shoulder. But as the man drew closer he saw that it was no sack of potatoes or any similar thing at all for that matter but indeed it was a small child; and an unconscious one at that. Freight rest the boy in the priest's arms. The cold rain had begun to pick up once again as the child shivered with fever.

"What happened to this child?" Xander had already forgotten his current patient, "Where did he come from? This slime? All of this slime?"

The child, covered head to toe in a leeches slime, coughed up a bit of blood and mumbled something that both Xander and Freight had to lean in close to hear.

"Mal....Malanchuan." he vomited.

"By the gods." The priest mumbled with a frightening quiver. His face paled as he met the merchant's stare. 'Come now, we must get him inside immediately."

Lightning flashed their silhouettes against the temple walls as if they were like giant wraith's trying to topple it over. The two men rushed the dieing child up the stairs, out of the rain, and into the shelter of the temple's abbey leaving behind a half a loaf of moldy bread to sponge a concoction of blood, disease inducing slime, and rain that couldn't possibly wash away the darkness of the night.

It had been years since he had last heard the heresy of that name uttered and now it fell upon the lips of a child lost in a delusional fever. How had the boy even learned to pronounce such an abolishment? Who on earth would expose the innocent to such extreme blasphemy? Xander had heard the name spoken once some years ago while studying under Father John of Johntown. The name Malanchuan struck fear into the hearts of the few that had had the slightest inclination of what had truly happened to Gate City ten years prior. How could a child know of such a thing? No good man would ever relay the corrupt name to such a young soul. The boy must have made contact with the darkness itself. It was the only explanation the priest could come up with.

Freight, on the other hand, was simply thankful his would be 'mugger' had survived the ingestion of the unmarked potion. Now that they had made it this far he was sure the priest would be able to complete the healing. But what was this slime that covered the boy? Some kind of disease? Was it contagious? The merchant followed the holy man through the halls of the temple and into a bare isolated room with a table in its center where the child was gently set. Xander placed his hands upon the boy's forehead and whispered a prayer. Once this was done he turned to Freight.

"What on earth happened to this child?" the priest's eyes lit up with natural energy.

"I was hoping you could tell me." The merchant shrugged and then shook his head. "I was on my way home from the tavern when I found him just lying there on the side of the road."

"Unbelievable." Xander sighed. "And he's covered head to toe in slime and stinks to the heavens like a bog. Has he said anything aside from...."

"What was it he said/" the burly man interrupted. "Malanchu..."

"Don't speak that name here brother," The priest raised his voice nervously while his dark eyes suddenly widened. His slender frame trembled and sweat beaded off of his brow. "for it is from hell."

"What?" Freight scoffed. "You mean in the everything is from hell if it is not religious sense and not the literal, right?"

"I am afraid not." Xander's voice shook while he began sponging the slime from the child's body. "I need you to perform a very important task. Go to the abbey and find the friar. I believe brother Marsten is currently on duty and should be found watching over the women and children within. Tell him we have an emergency. Tell him that I need him to immediately fetch the high priest or at the very least one of his assistants. Tell him we may need an exorcism performed tonight. Make great haste!"

"A what?" the merchant seemed confused.

"An ex-or-cism." Xander slowly pronounced each syllable as if explaining it to a child. "Now go."

Freight hesitated, slowly mouthed the strange syllables silently to himself and then slipped out of the door while the child's body began to violently tremble.

"Mal-Malan..." the boy began to spasm once again but this time around, Xander stuffed a cloth in his mouth and began chanting a ritual prayer.

Freight darted through the temple halls in route to the abbey. He had no idea what an exorcism was but he figured that it must be some kind of healing spell only a high priest could muster.

"So now I am stuck with the impossible task of waking the high priest of the capital in the middle of the night?" he thought to himself through the ale that clouded his mind. "For all the friar knows I am just another drunk off the street giving him a hard time."

He swung around one last corner, coasted down the hall to a set of double doors, and thrust one of them open. He was greeted by a dimly lit abbey filled with row after row of wooden pews. Makeshift beds were strewn about the place, including the alter area where women and children made camp. A gray haired man in a white robe sat near the alter. It appeared he was either sleeping or in deep meditation.

"Um, ah..." Freight stumbled over his choice of words as he approached. "Friar Marsten, is that you?'

The white robe's eyes shot open as if an assassin's blade were suddenly set against his neck. Though startled, he quickly gained his composure and looked upon Freight. The stocky fellow was drenched from the weather and having trouble catching his breath and talking at the same time.

"Sit down and rest a moment before you keel over." The friar stood up from his chair, took the hefty man by the arm, and helped settle him down into the seat.

"Thank you father, uh, I mean friar." His breath was coming a bit easier. "Father Xander sent me. You see, a boy was found abandoned in the streets, shivering, covered head to toe in some strange substance, and left to die. He desperately needs your help. Father Xander is watching over him as we speak. I was sent in haste to find you. He sent me with orders for you to summon the high priest for an ex-or-schism."

"For a what/" Marsten almost shouted in utter surprise of the off the wall order. "What did you just say?"

"I don't know what it means. I am only the messenger." Freight spoke defensively for he didn't expect the friar to respond in such a manner.

"I don't detect a lie in your words. I just have to see this for myself first." Friar Marsten spoke with conviction.

"You must be kidding." Freight gasped. "I thought the child healed once I fed him a potion from my wares but the way Father Xander is acting time is running out on the boy like a wild stallion."

"I understand." He spoke honestly. "you are right, time is of the essence. I leave at once however I will need you to remain here in the abbey while I am gone. I can not leave our guests alone, you see?" some of the abbey's occupants began waking from the cries of a baby the men's conversation had caused. 'There is some water in a cabinet on the backside of the pulpit. Take what you need." With that the white robe whisked away, out of the abbey, and into the outer cloister of the temple.

Drearily and with little hope but for what a religion he didn't believe in could offer, the minutes went by like dark clouds in a sunless sky. Freight finally had a moment to reflect on the events that had transpired that evening. He slowly came to realize that according to the friar's reaction, the worst may have yet to come.

"Whatever this exorschism thing is," he thought to himself. "it certainly doesn't seem like it is going to be an easy procedure."

Freight made his way to the cabinet on the backside of the pulpit once he had finally slowed his breathing to a more manageable pace. He found the water as promised he would and swallowed it all down greedily. After doing so he stripped off his drenched shirt and dumped the rain water that had collected in his boots. He found an old musky blanket no one else wanted bundled up in a corner and dried himself off with it in attempt to keep from catching cold. Thankfully, everyone seemed to have gotten back to sleep or for the very least the baby stopped whining. Freight took a load off on a pew in the back where he could look over all fifty of the displaced women and their children who were for the most part resting soundly.

"It's a good thing they went back to sleep." Freight thought. "The last thing I need is a room full of complaining women. I sure hope no one understood our conversation." The merchant thought quietly to himself for some time. He wondered what would have happened had he killed the boy.

"Then again, if the child wasn't prepared to confront death he shouldn't have been out pick pocketing at his age. Not in the city anyhow. What a shame." Freight gracefully justified his actions to himself.

He watched the rain ping against the stained glass windows that lined the abbey's walls for what felt like nearly an hour before finally deciding to check up on Xander and the little thief. Normally he would just go home but he did feel somewhat guilty especially now that the priest thought the boy needed an exorcism, whatever that was.

After quite a bit of time in contemplation he decided to peel his plain brown shirt back on and slipped his spongy feet into his boots before heading down the hall to check and see that all was well before going on his way. Unfortunately, that feeling of impending dread remained in the back of his mind. It hurt like a strip of seared flesh you just can't get rid of that dangles from the rook of one's mouth. It was difficult to push the feeling into the recesses of his mind but he managed to finally do so. Freight found his way one hall way after another to where he left the strange child. Just before he turned the last corner he stopped when he heard voices dancing down the corridor. It was immediately apparent the voices were engaged in an intense conversation that the merchant didn't feel comfortable disturbing so he stopped and listened like a thief with his ear pressed to a door.

"Can we be sure?" spoke what sounded like father Xander.

'I'm afraid so." replied a stranger that was most likely another priest. "The child seems to bear more evidence of a planeshift than an actual demonic possession."

"What the...' Freight gasped out loud but caught himself just in the nick of time.

"In a situation like this, beyond relying solely on our faith alone, we must depend on the facts at hand. The child hasn't actually spoken in ancient languages or demonic tongues. He hasn't begun levitating or anything else of that nature as one might expect if your theory were correct. Instead he has only muttered the name of a very cruel demon lord. In fact, I fear the situation may be far worse than you first thought father Xander. Malanchuan is an extremely powerful lord of the devils who resides, according to legend, at the bottom of a lake of leeches in the far off reaches of hell. It is said that he once inhabited a mighty fortress but it was stripped away by the hand of god. The slime that we wipe clean from the child is identical to that of a leech. The nearest swamp is beyond the serpent lakes at least a couple hundred miles from here, Xander. Why else would he smell like one?"

"So what are you suggesting exactly?" Xander asked in defeat.

"What I am saying is that there is more evidence here of an actual planeshift than a demonic possession." The priest closed his argument.

"So the boy isn't possessed?" Xander squinted to accentuate his question. "Instead, you say that he was actually spit up from the bowels of hell itself?"

"Evidently."

Freight decided he had done enough eavesdropping and finally appeared from around the corner of the hall where the two holy men were conversing. Father Xander as well as an elder, also dressed in a purple trimmed white robe, immediately shifted their attention.

"This is the fine sir that found the poor child in question." Xander extended his hand in welcome.

"So," Freight scratched at the back of his head unsure of what he should say. "um, is that exorschism thing over and done with?"

"Not exactly." Xander replied. "Indeed it seems that may not be the proper remedy as I had first thought. Allow me to introduce you to Father Chalon, first assistant to Father Rhyme, high priest of Roseguard.'

"It is an honor sir." Freight met Father Chalon's gaze with kind words and a nod. "Thank you for coming so quickly to our aid."

"Is anyone else aware that you have found this boy/" Chalon wasted no time with pleasantries and immediately launched the questions he had preloaded in his mind like a repeating crossbow.

"No one." He lied to hide the fact that the matter may soon be taken to the elves and he didn't want the church to know.

"And where exactly did you find him?" the first assistant folded his arms across his chest.

"Huddled in a ball just down the road from the tavern I was enjoying my evening at."

"Has he said anything aside from that dark word?"

"Uh, no."

"I want to know precisely where you found him so I can have the area properly searched," Chalon sighed. "though I doubt we'll find anything."

"I'll have all available members of the parish search the area first thing in the morning if the weather allows." Xander offered.

"No," Chalon shook his balding head. "I will personally get the search started immediately. What I need from the two of you is to take this child to father John in Johntown in order for his recovery to be completed. We should be in contact with his parents by then. Come daylight, I am sure they will find him missing."

"Johntown?" Freight shook his head and threw his hands into the air helplessly. "I have a shop to run. I can not just pick up and leave."

"At least I'll have a chance to get away from that nag of a wife for a few days." Freight selfishly remarked aloud to Xander as they approached the city gates that would lead them from the capital the next morning.

The wagon, pulled by a pair of oxen, rolled out of the east gates of Malfaction sometime shortly after sunrise. The armed men that were on guard duty were heavily armored in the plate of the Knightly order of the Mist that was skillfully crafted with the etchings of the mighty oak trees of Shadowood that are laced with the fog of The Shadowbelt nearly every morn. The knights nodded in respect for the man of the cloth who passed by their post and then carried on with their plain blank stares accordingly. Word of what had happened passed through the order quickly. One of the knights posted to guard duty that morning was even a part of the search that was ordered by Father Chalon. As expected, they had indeed come up empty. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the block where Freight had first encountered the child as any evidence was most likely washed away by the storm. A representative from the local wizard's guild even cast powerful arcane magics in order to detect any recent portal activity in the area but still, they discovered nothing.

A muddy cobblestone road was laid along a river that ran east, southeast across a breathtaking rolling plain and along an incredibly magnificent coastline opposite it. It wound around and towards the distant mountain chain that rested upon the horizon like a giant lumpy corpse if one were inclined to see as far as a hundred miles in the southernly direction. The weather had cleared as Xander had prayed for and the sky had formed into a crystal blue backdrop of pristine splendor. The sun was as crisp, cool, and inviting as an ordinary late summer day. Xander silently prayed to his god in thanks for blessing them with a clear sky to begin their three day journey. Their arrival would be expected as the first assistant had dispatched a messenger on horseback ahead of time. Accommodation would most likely be provided in the newly constructed temple and Father Xander was much looking forward to seeing the structure, fresh block and all, for the first time.

"I admit that I am greatly looking forward to meeting with my old mentor." The young priest mentioned to Freight who was yawning and gently shaking the oxen's reigns in attempt to get the things moving along at a more productive pace. It was obvious boredom had already set in. "It has been a few years since I had last served under him."

"Who? Father John?"

"Yes of course." The priest nodded. "He is easily the most gifted healer in all of Roseguard. A true miracle worker. Some dare whisper that he is an avatar of our lord but I know better than to believe all of that. He is just a man. He fought in the great war you know? Even led a party deep into empire territory in order to capture their princess. The negotiation for her return led to the end of the great war. He is a true hero. Eventually, he found god, studied to become a priest and even discovered the original ruins of Gate City."

"He did what?" Freight was greatly impressed by the man's background. He had of course known of the renowned priest's fame as most others had for the warrior priest was recently made head of the Knightly Order of the Clover but he didn't know that the man was responsible for the reemergence of Gate City itself. Freight rarely paid attention to the lyrics of the tavern bards and the like anyhow. To hear the news, years later, in person made him feel dumb and left out. How could he not have known?

"So what you are saying is that Father John, the man we are on our way to right now, is actually the one credited for discovering the ruins of Gate City?"

"Well, he is John of Johntown." Xander cracked a smile. "He discovered the long lost entrance to the city while tracking down a pack of ravenous werewolves."

"It's a good thing I brought along a few items he may be interested in. "Freight spoke with an opportune smirk upon his face.

"Is that what you've got in that fancy sea chest you've brought along?" he motioned towards the back of the wagon. "Collections for the temple?"

"Actually, the chest is what I am trying to sell." He turned and looked to make sure it was still nuzzled in the cart beside the sleeping boy.

"I think they have sea chests where we are going freight." The priest smiled.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you." The merchant shot back a crooked smile. "You see, this chest isn't even from our island continent. Not only is it magical but it is also psychic."

"Psychic/" Xander appeared confused. "So that chest, that is fashioned of basic wood, is psychic/'

"It's called psytech father.'" Freight explained. "You see, it's a creation we owe thanks to the psions for. Basically, a craftsman builds a sea chest like normal and then a psion imbues it with a permanent psychic power or two as if a wizard had enchanted it."

"So, what you are claiming is that thing is reading my mind right now/"

"No, no, this one is nothing like that at all. You do raise an interesting idea though now that I think about it. I mean, I wish I could find one that could read your mind." The merchant laughed. "Now that would really be something. You see, the power in the psytech item is usually relevant to it's normal use. The power only enhances it. A sea chest is built to secure gold, linens, magic items and whatever else you can think of, correct? Problem is, the lock can be picked by a skilled thief. Even the greatest locksmith can be defeated by an ordinary lock pick. What is a noble to do, you ask? How can a treasury better protect itself? A psylock can only be opened by it's owner. It creates a psychic link with it's master that can not be duplicated like a key or manipulated like a tumbler can. Also, it pretty much can not be physically lifted, damaged, or destroyed by anyone aside from it's master. Quite impossible actually."

"Interesting," Xander, truly impressed, remarked as the oxen slowly pulled the wagon around a large lumbering hill. "but what keeps the thief from carrying the thing off? I'm a little confused."

"Have you ever tried to move a sea chest full of coins? Very heavy. Besides, a psylocked sea chest will actually only move by it's owners command. It is a very reliable means of security actually. I have sold them to several depositories throughout Malfaction already. They say the psions developed the idea from ancient portals that they had discovered with psychic locks guarding them from strangers. It is even said that lost psylocked vaults are somewhere out there but have been lost to the ages. You know, it is said that even the most secret of red gates were found psylocked."

"You seem to know an awful lot about psions and their ways Freight." Xander continued to be truly impressed even though he worried about the man's greedy motivations. "If you put half as much thought into the ways of the lord maybe you wouldn't have to worry so much about guarding your treasures."

"Bah....." the merchant scoffed. "You deal in poverty and I deal my wares to those that can afford to secure valuable items and the like. How can anyone expect men like you and me to share a common perspective?"

"The only accurate view is through the eyes of god."

"God, much like accuracy, is something no one can truly comprehend."

"I'm sorry, that doesn't make any sense."

"The wrong play on words when accompanied by a priest, huh?" Freight sighed. "I'm not going to argue with you. I deal in valuables and you tell people to forget about their possessions and join the clergy. You make them feel better about not being born of a higher class. You help them deal with death in their lives. I provide a service as well but you look at me as if I run a brothel. We shall leave politics and religion alone on this trip, shall we?"

A long silence informed him that the priest agreed to disagree in turn.

"Look," Freight fiddled uncomfortably with the reigns. "like you, I'm worried about the boy. That's why I've agreed to accompany you on this little trip."

"I know." Xander shifted in his seat. "We don't even know who the boys parents are."

"They are probably back in Malfaction, or dead."

"God only knows." Xander swatted at a fly that refused to leave him alone. 'If he was planeshifted than how do we even know he is of this world?"

"He seems to have a Roseguardian accent doesn't he? I mean it's not like he is speaking barbarian gibberish." Freight shrugged. "I wouldn't go drawing such wild conclusions as saying that boy fell from the sky. You holy men are always going on about things falling from the sky or the sky is falling or some such a thing."

"If he is from the region I am sure his parents will soon report him missing if they haven't already.' Xander declared while ignoring the merchants stab at religion. "Childern come up missing in Malfaction everyday. It's a big city. His disappearance may have been reported weeks ago for all we know. Why, I bet that if he actually is from around these parts we will receive word of it once we arrive upon John's doorstep."

"Let us hope so."

"I will do more than hope, I will pray."

"I'm sure you will." Freight's words were as snide as their tone. "Look, I overheard your conversation with Father Chalon in the hall but I didn't fully understand it."

"It's complicated.' Xander cleared his throat. "At first I thought it was a demonic possession and an excorcism was going to be required to vanquish the evil spirit that resided within the boy. Father Chalon thinks that it is more than that. He is under the impression that he actually physically came from the depths of hell itself."

"My wife would attest to that as a possibility for she tells me to go to hell all the time." Freight laughed at the wrong time.

"This is no joke." Xander spoke sternly. "He is no more than ten years old and he might die in our care. How would that make you feel?"

Another long pause ensued as the priest's words were meant to make Freight feel like a child.

"Do priests have a sense of humor?" the merchant thought to himself. I was just trying to make the stiff feel better about the situation."

The morning rolled into lunchtime and their only entertainment after the silence began was greeting the few folk that passed along the road. They finally halted around high noon to eat and water the oxen. Xander did all that he could to force feed their patient a bit of water without drowning him in it. Some bread, cheese, a bit of wine for the merchant, and they were back in the road.

'I'm sorry about before." Xander mentioned. "I really didn't mean to snap at you."

'Maybe my joking can be a bit crude for present company.' Freight justified his companions emotions.

"Are you originally from Malfaction?" Xander asked in an attempt to lighten the conversation's burden.

"Yes, I was born and raised in Malfaction."

"Must be a tough city to grow up in.'

"It was at times." The burly man reflected as he looked off into the horizon. "Once my father died I took over the business and managed to leave the troubles of my youth behind. Spent some time studying the blade before you see. Business was really good until the closing of the gates. It suffered for a few years but I've discovered a few trade secrets that have kept business going as of late."

"I guess you mean those psylocks you spoke of?" Xander smiled. "Where do you get them from?"

"If I told you that I might not be the only peddler when I get back to the city." Freight laughed a bit too hard. "I will tell you where I get them anyhow. I mean, what harm could there be in telling a priest? I actually get them from the original homeland of the empire."

"The empire?" the priest's face contorted. "Their original homeland? You don't mean Ashanlorn do you?

"The one and only."

"Hm...." Xander scratched at his chin. "I'd love a shipment of their teas if I could afford it. Ashanlorn must be thousands of miles across the ocean. That s a dangerous journey by ship. With all that you seem to know about psionics, I could easily imagine that you are using some sort of magical means of transportation."

"Well," Freight cleared his throat. "That just wouldn't exactly be legal now would it. You know with the tariffs and all these days. I have actually contracted with our neighbors, the Shanoi, to be the only merchant in all of Roseguard to receive access to a vast supply of psylocks. How they get to our shores I honestly do not know. What I do know is that I am just doing a little better than breaking even for now. It's a good thing the depositories happen to purchase them from me in bulk."

Freight continued to talk business throughout the afternoon. Though Xander politely listened and asked timely trigger questions, in his mind, the merchant spoke only of that which was inconsequential. Xander brought up his time studying under Father John as well as his days as a child on the farm. He talked of the weather in Johntown, which was nearly the same as the capitals if you ignored the breeze from the ocean and the fog that rolled in from the Shadowbelt. He even went into fascinating detail of the werewolf infestation that led Father John to the discovery of the city.

Eventually the wagon finally rolled to a stop a couple hours after nightfall. They made camp off the side of the road near the outskirts of a bayside town known for it's shellfish called: Fisherton. Freight complained that it would do them no harm in seeking a tavern but Xander reminded him that the child was not to be in contact with outsiders. So they made camp off to the side of the road under the waning light of a waxing moon. Freight prepared a fire and cooked up a meal as Xander hammered stakes into the ground in preparation to raise a tent. After the oxen were watered, fed, and the tent was up, the meal was ready. The two men sat around the fire, drank the last of the wine, and ate a fine meal of salted venison, potatoes, and field vegetables. It wasn't long until they drifted off to sleep all the while looking forward to their arrival in the coming days ahead.

On the second and third days of their travel they didn't make as good time but at least the weather held out. The mornings went by quickly and it was lunchtime before they knew it. All the while the boy seemed lost in a mighty slumber. Xander was happy that he was at least no longer chanting that horrible word as he was in the temple and therefore, aside from fever, he considered his condition to be improving. The weather was nearly perfect and by the time lunchtime was behind them on the third day they could see their destination and the surrounding farmlands off in the distance from atop a large hilltop. The road curled through fields of summer grains and speckled corn like massive rat snake ready to pounce upon the countryside. They traveled down it until twilight arrived when they could smell the cooking fires of the common rooms and could nearly hear the merriment of Phenxtown's taverns. As their wagon rolled into the outskirts of town they both counted the butterflies fluttering around their stomachs. They hadn't figured on reaching their destination until after midnight and so Xander counted his blessings for the extra push they had successfully made on the first day of travel.

Xander's wide eyes darted around the rooftops hoping to catch just a glimpse of the new temple. It was hard for Xander to soak in just how much his old home had changed since he last visited. It was only a small village back then but now shops of all kinds lined the town's streets as if it were it's own small bustling city. Many buildings however stood vacant and run down do to the depression that had wreaked havoc on the local guilds. They did nevertheless pass by busy fish markets who were cleaning up after a long day. They passed by more than a couple general stores, a weapon shop, even a lumber mill! The citizens patrolled the streets on foot for the most part but from time to time a farmer's wagon or a mounted knight of the Clover would press slowly down the road.

Finally, after a few days travel, they had reached their destination which rested just within the center of town. The temple before them was just as easy on the eyes as the larger vaulted ceiling complexes found in the nicer wards of Malfaction. However, this particular temple appeared cleaner, newer, and almost seemed to have a style all of it's own as it almost truly had it's own unique glow. Xander was elated to see what he had heard so much about. It's architecture was different than the temples of the capital in may ways. Instead of short stout windows built for defense it had tall sweeping window panes of stained glass much larger than the small ornaments in the lower ward's abbey back home. It's roof was tall and ornately impressive with fancy ceramic tiles carefully imported from the Shanoise empire. The stairs leading up to it's double doors had dwarven designs carved into them that were so incredibly elaborate and wonderful for the eye to behold hat they seemed fit to lead one directly to the shores of Celestia itself. A large detailed engraving of two dueling dragons, representing the battle between good and evil, decorated the heavy oak doors. The cultural mix of architectural designs was brilliant. Years back, during the great war, the collaboration would have been unheard of. Political alliances had come a long way between all of the great nations since the founding of the Gate City and for the most part they remained intact during and after the fall. Given the open wounds from the past war, the peace and new found balance seemed a godsend and that is exactly what the holy structure represented.

"Nice place." Freight mentioned. "Looks new."

"Oh it is, it is." Xander was unable to disguise his excitement. "Remember me telling you about the new temple?"

"Oh, uh, that's right." Freight scratched the back of his head slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten. Meanwhile the priest jumped from the wagon and jogged up the stairs of the temple like a child running off to play marbles. He excitedly cracked open one of the double doors and slipped inside. Meanwhile, Freight waited patiently before a squire finally appeared and led the wagon around the back to the stables. It was there the merchant was greeted by Xander and Father John. John wore the purple trimmed white robes of the priesthood even though he was also the head of the Order of the Clover as well as ruler over the surrounding territory. His perfect composure and kind yet hardened eyes proved him to be most wise upon first site. Nevertheless, Freight just saw a balding old man and in a way, sort of expected more from a man of such legendary repute. John just seemed so simple, so ordinary to the merchant.

"Freight," Xander proudly introduced them. "this is father John, head of the local parish and founder of the Order of the Clover."

"Thank you so much for your help on the matter." John greeted Freight with a warm embrace. "I hear this burden recently fell into your arms and so you have adopted the role of this child's hero. Let us rejoice that all is well for the moment thanks to your honor and to your responsibility. You are welcome to stay here as long as you would like."

Without awaiting a response John immediately made his way to the back of the wagon and prayed over the unconscious boy before gently lifting him up and into his arms. He cradled the child like a slumbering babe. To Freight's amazement, just as a tear of blood fell from the elder's eye, the child's own eyes fluttered open. The poor confused boy began kicking and screaming before he was finally overwhelmed with tears. It was an emotional sight even for the stubborn merchant to witness. Xander choked on his own tears upon seeing the boy awake for the first time. The two traveling companions nodded to one another through there tears in humble satisfaction. It had taken no time at all for Father John to wake up the mystery child and it would be only a matter of time before they would question him. This unnerved Freight as he suddenly recalled the guilt he harbored for knocking the sickly child out in the first place. The merchant silently thanked no one in particular that at the very least he didn't break the boy's nose.

Chapter 5

"Please," John motioned to one of his squires. "Take care that these two men are shown to the guest quarters. Dinner will be served in an hour after they have had the time to settle in."

"Thank you father." Xader bowed cordially. "I can not express the joy it brings me to see you again. I never thought the next time I would meet with my old mentor it would be under such circumstances."

They were led into the temple's back entrance and through well lit hallways. Tapestries of the parish grandly decorated walls of worked stone and bouncing torch light. Long purple throw rugs with intricate weaves of trees and birds adorned the floors with grace. John's squire took the guests to their quarters as instructed while John took the boy to a pair of nuns who were to be his caretakers on the interim.

Freight was taken to his own private quarters just across the hall from Xander. His room was humble yet adequate. It consisted of a basic fifteen by fifteen foot room with a small bed, a table, and a chest for his belongings. He washed himself as best he could with the wash bowl left on the table and spent the rest of the time before dinner changing his dirty clothes and relaxing his soar muscles. It wasn't much but it far exceeded the ailing comforts of the road. Meanwhile, across the hall, Xander performed a similar routine as the merchant. Instead of lounging around however the priest took in a few precious moments of prayer and meditation.

It wasn't long before an acolye was sent to accompany the guests to the dining area. They met with John while a basic meal consisting of vegetable soup and bread was served. This highly disappointed Freight who had expected more while in the company of the legendary warrior priest.

'Heck, I ate better on the road.' The burly man thought to himself while he politely said nothing of it at all. For the most part John led the conversation while Xander steered it this way and that with his questions about the temple's construction, the order, and a number of other topics that mostly bored the merchant. Xander also relayed the story of how the boy was found while Freight slurped down bowl after bowl of the soup. When offered more bread he just shook his head and went in for more of the main course like a hound who hadn't eaten in days.

"Thanks to the lumber mill," John finished one of his stories. "we came across the donations needed for the rest of the lumber needed to complete the roof of the temple. I am praying for a nunnery but we've recently come upon hard times once again. You see, with the iron shortage, the entire town has really been suffering."

"Iron shortage?" Freight nearly choked down his soup and snorted like a pig.

"Yes," John began to explain. "unfortunately production from our mines in the Shadowbelt has, hm, well, to be honest with you, it has come to a standstill you see."

"No, I don't see." Freight launched into business mode. "First I have heard of it actually. How unfortunate to hear."

"Well," John spoke somberly, "we haven't received a single shipment in over a month. With three major mining camps operating in the mountains delivering us shipments once a week we've had enough ore to trade with our neighbors for years now. Suddenly about a month ago, the shipments stopped."

"Unbelievable." Then merchant shook his head. "What have your knights discovered?"

"Well,' tears welled in the old warrior priest's eyes. "none have yet to return. Some fear the worst."

"Bandits?"

"I highly doubt it." John frowned.

"What then?"

"I sensed it to be one of two things.' He calmly stated. "Either the warg packs in the woods have gotten out of hand again or those damned zombies in the ruins up there have gotten loose from their prison."

"Wargs?" the merchant asked as he slurped his bowl of soup.

"Wolves the size of warhorses have been known to roam freely throughout the forest since before I even lived in the area. "Xander's face went pale as he answered. "John, you don't mean the ruins of Gate City do you?"

"I'm afraid so." John set down his eating utensils as his soft features hardened. "Since the undead are involved I have been thinking of accompanying the men on the next expedition."

"How can you be sure it's the undead?" Freight asked.

"So far the Order of the Clover has lost twenty two knights. John stared off into the distance. "All that returned was an undead warhorse. It's stomach was torn open and was an awful site to see from what I hear. One of our clerics was thankfully around when the thing wandered frightening close to town. It was put out of it's trouble easily enough, though I still fear the worst."

"Why haven't more of your knights poured into the mountains to investigate?" Xander asked.

"It's complicated." The priest sighed. "It's only been a few days since the last party departed. We have fortunately been able to keep the undead horse incident under secret tongue. I don't need to instigate rumors of an undead plague in the Shadowbelt sweeping through our tavern halls anymore than they already are. I have had to tell the townspeople that there knightly fathers have had to journey deep into the mountains in order to campaign against the goblins. It was the only way I could ease their minds aside from the word of god."

"Why don't you call upon the Knights of the Mist to assist?" Freight suggested with a shrug all the while thinking that the priest didn't seem as smart as he had expected a real saint would be. "They would be able to help clean up the mess in secret better than you're order alone anyhow."

"I am hesitant to inform the king."

"Don't you think he would want to know about this?" Freight nodded, trying to get John to do the same. "I mean, eventually your iron shortage will effect even the capital. In time, the king will find out from his council anyhow. I am sure he would want to nip this thing in the bud before it gets to that, right?"

"Not before I personally look into the matter." John shook his head. "If it is indeed a host of zombies I would expect no less than a couple hundred of them. That is if all the miners have been turned. Now that we may know more about our enemy I am confident we can eliminate them on our next sweep through the mining camps. If you have any suggestions, I am happy to listen."

"Maybe I do." Freight thought carefully for a moment while he tugged at his short beard. "After all, it is strange that only a single one of those foul beasts has wandered into town. Maybe you should let me look into the matter for you."

"To what extent?" Xander asked. "This is hardly your area of..."

"Look, I'm not a young fit soldier anymore but once upon a time I served in the kings army for five years." He slapped his gut and stated proudly.

"You didn't mention that before." Xander spoke sheepishly.

"Twas the trouble of my youth." Freight began. "I'll cover the costs of the next expedition. I'll find some tough swords that can keep their mouths shut. We wont have to worry about exposing the knighthood to anymore unnecessary risk. We'll investigate the camps with the cannon fodder I scurry up and if need be we'll poke around the ruins a bit and see what we can come up with. If I don't resolve the matter then I'll bear the financial burden, no big deal, but if I get your mining operation back on track I expect a share in the profits, at least for a little while anyway. How about a year?"

John thought long and hard about the proposal. The table candles flickered through the silence as Xander's eyes darted back and forth between the two men as he anxiously awaited the decision.

"I don't know if I can promise you that much." The warrior priest spoke with a soft honest touch to his voice. "If I bargain with the local guilds on your behalf I may be able to get you a cut of the first season of production once everything is back up and running."

"A deal it is then." The fat man smiled before changing the subject in order to remind the priest of the great deed he had accomplished. "I am still worried about the boy though. Do you think that he will be alright?"

"He should recover in a short while." John replied. "Its finding his parents that may prove difficult.

"Who knows," Freight shrugged. "he may be an orphan."

"What do you think father?" Xander asked. "Do you agree with the theory that this child may have actually come to us after a physical journey through the far reaches of hell itself?"

"It really seems a bit outrageous don't you think?" Freight laughed with a wave of his hand. "I mean come on, listen to yourself would you?"

"I suppose we wont be sure of anything until we talk to the boy now will we?" the elder priest's smile brought comfort.

After the meal, which turned out to be more productive than he first thought it would be, the merchant decided to head out of the temple in search of swords for hire. Along the way to the nearest tavern Freight thought about his meeting with John. He hadn't meant to be so rough while discussing business with the man. Its just an old habit of a negotiation trick that's all. Things actually went rather smoothly. Heck, if he hadn't been so to the point he may not have struck a deal. In a few months time he would be able to afford to start his own mining operation if he wanted to. It was a tremendous opportunity for the merchant. So much in fact that he forgot all about trying to sell the warrior priest the psylock he had brought with him from Malfaction.

Freight felt it was foolish of John to not immediately dispatch more knights into the mountains to find their brothers and enlist the assistance of the Knights of the Mist. It was better for his own business though so he couldn't argue too much about Father John's decision. At least the mission would remain secret and the townsfolk, for the time being would be none the wiser. With these thoughts in his head, the merchant marched up the steps of the Ragged Lion and entered the noisy common room. The tavern was busy and he quickly decided that it was a bad idea to hire mercenaries for a next day mission in a tavern.

"I don't need hung over sell swords." He second guessed his decision under his breath.

He wound his way through the song and dance of wenches and the dice games of the rogues before finally finding himself an empty seat at the bar in the back of the smoke clouded room. Freight repeated this sequence at not one, two, but three taverns before he decided to give up on his search for the night. The barkeeps just looked at him strangely whenever he brought the topic of mercenaries up. Eventually, at his last stop, The Drinking Dragon, one of the patrons at the bar overheard Freight questioning the innkeeper. After admitting failure, just as the merchant turned for the door, he was stopped by the eavesdropper.

You looking for a couple swords are you?" he was obviously drunk and Freight thought the man was just being facetious at first. He was young though and carried a sword at his side. His long greasy brown hair fell upon black leather armor covered with metal studs and small rusty spikes so Freight gave him and his eye patch a moment of his time.

"I'm looking for more than just a couple." Freight nodded. "Can you supply them with no questions asked?"

"Me and my team just arrived here in Johntown earlier today." He indulged his prospective employer with a bit of background. "Signed on with a merchant ship leaving the Southlands. They were a needing us do to increased pirate activity you see? Uneventful all 'round but at least we got paid in the end." He showed off his yellow teeth with a wide grin.

"How many strong are you?"

"Ten." A fight suddenly broke out at a card table behind him where one of the men was immediately stabbed in the gut with a dagger. The greasy mercenary looked back to Freight with an uneasy expression. "Um, did I say ten? Better make that nine."

The next morning John met with Freight over breakfast in the dining hall. Bread, eggs, and cheese turned out to be better than the previous evenings bland vegetable and onion soup. Xander eventually showed to the table as he was checking up on the boy who was finally up and around in his room.

"Terrific news.' the priest seemed invigorated. "The boy is up and moving."

"Great, terrific, truly wonderful," Freight added. "and right on time. Look, I found a small company of men to join me in my investigation of the mines."

"You don't waste any time." Xander spoke bluntly.

"They should be mustering the horses as we speak. As a matter of fact, we will be departing shortly." Freight relayed the beginning of the plan.

"Well done." John stated. "How many men did you say/"

"Nine."

"We've lost twenty two well armored, highly trained knights already. Do you really think nine swords will be enough?"

"If god wills it as he has the life of the child." John responded.

"That's the plan." Freight said casually. "Plus they work cheap. All they wanna do is support their habits so I got them for next to nothing."

John and Xander met each others questioning gaze then turned back to the merchant.

"Where did you find them on such short notice?" Xander sighed in defeated fashion.

"They're just some scoundrel sailors who just came in from the Southlands." Freight spoke with his mouthful. "Sailed around, passed the coast of the empire, most likely stopped in Malfaction and then down river here to Johntown. Recently arrived here just yesterday. They assured me they do not really know anyone in town so they should serve perfectly in every way as I see it.'

"I have been putting some thought into this." John spoke with conviction. "I mean, really praying over it and I think that I should accompany you."

"Father," Xander interjected. "you are nearly eighty summers."

"Terrific idea." The merchant chirped. "You can always travel under a different name if you'd like. The sea dogs would never know the difference."

"I want my son along as well." John pressed. "He's an excellent shot and we'll need the extra sword."

"Very well." Happy to see his plan come to fruitition so smoothly, Freight slapped his hand down on the table. "It's done then. It'll be an honor to have you along."

"I need you to stay here and watch over things." John turned to Xander. "My wife will care to the boy as would his mother. Now that he is up and about I do not want to make him feel uncomfortable with spooky questions about his trauma right away. His mind needs to heal now and Angelika will be happy to baby him until I return. I pray that he will open up to her naturally as most children ordinarily do. She will also assist you in running the place while I'm gone. Nothing to it really as things practically run themselves around here via the hand of our good lord. Feel free to speak at mass if I do not return in time. Ok?"

"It would be my honor." Xander excepted his duties as a small bolstering ball of pride began to well within his chest. "I thank you again for healing him. We, at the capital, are forever in your debt as usual."

"Think nothing of it and more of finding his parents for it is best that we put this behind us."

"What do you think happened?"

"Somethings are best left in the dark where they belong my son."

"How has Jorgren been?" Xander asked. "I havn't seen him in years."

"Very well indeed. He's seen twenty summers now and has been fully indoctrinated into our knightly order. He's spent the last couple of years now as a fully knighted man and has more than learned the ropes. Angelika and I couldn't be more proud."

As if on cue, a tall imposing figure covered in the heavy plate armor of the Order of the Clover clanked into the dining hall. His hair was long and brown and his eyes were deep set as they always seemed to bear a heavy burden. The sharp features of his face were matched only by the intricately decorated, freshly oiled armor that covered him. The traditional plate was masterfully trimmed with an elaborate design of ivy and clovers that seemed to almost come to life and grow over his helm and right down to his armored greaves. With his gauntleted hand to his heart, as was the way of the clover, he cordially greeted his father's guests.

"Well met.' He pounded his breastplate in salute. "Father, the horses are ready.'

"Very well, I'll be along shortly." John's smile was flush with joy as he showed off his son. "Do you remember Father Xander?"

"I am afraid not sir."

"Well it has been several years now." Xander laughed. "its good to see you anyhow. I was just inquiring as to how you've grown. It truly is an honor to see you in gods light."

"Thank you sir."

"This is our new friend, Freight." John introduced the merchant just as he was plugging his mouth full of his last bit of cheese. "he is a merchant from Malfaction who also has a few years of service in the king's army on his chest. He will be leading the mercenary party."

"I look forward to working with you.' The knight stated with a slight nod. "Now if you will please excuse me I must ask to be dismissed as I would like to say goodbye to mother before we depart."

"You may be dismissed." John nodded in approval and his son disappeared into the outer hall. "I took him under my wing when he was about the age of that little one you brought to me. His father was stricken with lycanthropy and had slain his mother."

"That's horrible!" Freight was truly horrified.

"The toughest part for him was taking his fathers life in defense of his dieing mother." The warrior priest shook his head at the memory. "At least, that's the recollection he has had to live with all these years. After the tragedy the parish took him in and I have raised him ever since."

"How tragic." Freight didn't know what to say. "Just horrible."

"Know need to worry about it now for he has grown up just fine although he is still awfully quite from time to time." John sighed softly. "he's grown into his own now and is well on the way to making captain some day. If I live long enough to see it through I plan on leaving control of the order in his hands when I pass."

"He must be your greatest treasure." The merchant thought of his wife.

"That he is." For some reason the priest recalled a very dark and repressed memory. "That he is.'

John took it as a sign that a great change was upon them all.

At his age John was still physically strong enough to don the armor of his order. His custom made suit was crafted by the elves and made from a magical metal that made the armor as mysteriously light as a suit of leather armor. He was able to comfortably wear it all day long with as little repercussion as a slightly stiff back which he healed with his powerful prayers. In order to hide his identity while traveling the streets of Johntown he wore the helm of a lieutenant and draped himself in a dark cloak. He decided against carrying a sword. Instead he was armed with The Maker of Fate that, similar to his armor, appeared beyond his physical ability to successfully wield.

The warrior priest passed through the outskirts of town and into the rolling plain towards the forest that rested at the foot of the Shadowbelt Mountains known as Shadowood. It was there, in a small forest clearing, he rendezvoused with the rest of the party. They were twelve in all and hardly the strong disciplined unit of the order he was accustomed to. These men appeared heartless. They looked as if they had never known honor and lacked the fire in their eyes John deemed necessary to complete the mission. They also appeared plenty hung over from a long night of drinking.

"Well met captain." Freight, incorrectly saluted the priest while mounted upon his dusty old, ill looking riding horse. He wore no armor for he was unable to find an armoror in town with a set of leathers that would comfortably fit over his well fed frame. He would have had to wait at least a day to get a suit tailored to his specifications and he just didn't have the time to wait. With his blood father's naval musket strapped to his back, Jorgren feinted a nod of approval in Freight's direction and steered his horse over to John so that he could speak into his ear without anyone else hearing what he had to say.

"Father," he hissed. "these men have less honor in them than a pack of wild dogs. They are the kind of men my father spent his life in the navy defending our kingdom against. They are down right pirates."

"Pirates?" John coughed and surveyed the men one last time. Most of them wore no armor at all aside from the two of them that donned a set of stinking leathers. Some of the men wore archers gloves but carried no bow. One of the men even wore a full helm even though he was only dressed in the clothes of a commoner. They were a rag tag bunch for sure but John, usually the optimist, doubted that they were actual pirates at first. Then he took a bit of a closer look. They did all carry scimitars, cutlass's, and rapiers while one or two of them were strapped almost head to toe with a dozen daggers. Most of the sailors were missing teeth, smelled like a cloud of whiskey, and had long greasy, most likely lice ridden hair. A variety of incomplete tattoos covered any exposed skin and some even raced up their necks. One of them, an oriental from the empire from the looks of him, even had what looked like a small dragon's claw permanently inked on the side of his face that ran down his neck and all the way down to the side of his bear torso where a brilliantly bright golden dragon was carefully inked. John instantly recognized the piece as symbolic of one who has achieved a particular rank within a subverse guild within the dark underbelly of the empire.

"Maybe your right." John admitted. "Maybe they are pirates. I understand you're concern but you must know that god has placed these men before us for a reason."

"Please just promise me.' Jorgren pleaded. "that if they even hint of disappearing with the horses I can bring them to a swift justice."

"Sir John, I assure you..." Freight chimed in.

"You have my word." The warrior priest cut him off.

Jorgren unslung his arquebus, the ancient musket from his back and raised it above his head. As Jorgren signaled it was time to depart Freight nodded in agreement and ordered his men to take the young knight's orders as if they were his own. The host turned their steeds and started forward into the forest with Freight at the front and John, along with Jorgren by his side, keeping to the rear guard. Jorgren was happy to hold their flank as he deemed it especially important to guard his father's position. A beaten path was carved wide through the brush and trees had been cleared to create a path all the way to the foot of the mountains. This was the same path the men from the mining camps used to transport their caravans full of cargo over the years and therefore for being unpaved it was a fairly wide, well kept route.

The mercenaries carried on and joked around as if they were still in the tavern while they rode forth. When Freight wasn't looking they'd peak over their shoulders to see if the rear guard was paying attention to them, and if not, they'd sneak a swig from their wineskins.

"Tizz a shame about Green tooth." One of the mercenaries barked. "He was a good man to travel that cold ocean with. How dare they accuse him of cheatin. That stinking local rat just ran him through right there in front of us. Must've been something we could've done to stop 'em."

"Where was dem knights then? Another mourned. "Had it been one of us that caught a local cheat and cut his throat the guards would have hung us all."

"Aye.' The others grumbled and sipped their drinks after simultaneously looking over their shoulders to make sure the coast was clear. Fortunately for them John was in the middle of a conversation with Jorgren and Freight really didn't mind. As a matter of fact, he took a pull himself from his own stash.

"We were running that deck against those men for a couple of hours." One of the pirates reminded. "And after throwing loaded dice 'gainst them for how long?"

"I might be expectin something like that in the empire or maybe even the docks of Malfaction," another spit his rum tongued words. "but to cut a man down here in the middle of Johntown? I expected different. Things sure have changed since I was last here."

"The guard did finally show but we had beat that murderous dog within and inch of his life by then, remember?"

"Yeah, that scum sure was lucky." Another cautious glance back was taken. "Damn knights told us to leave town and never come back or we'd be quartered like heretics."

"Do you think it's true." Another one of the sea dogs asked.

"What does it matter? Freight stuck up for us and now all we gotta do is get this job done and hit the water again. We're to be really getting paid that way. It sure aint too far for us to get back to the capital from here where we can charter a vessel and...."

"Maybe I can help you with that.' Freight had overheard the conversation and couldn't help interjecting at that very moment. "I have many contacts throughout Malfaction and even beyond the borders of Roseguard. What I am saying is, if your looking to do more business with the empire, I might be able to make that happen."

The men looked at one another as if they could care less which instigated Freight to keep his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Father John and Jorgren continued to pay little attention to the mercenaries as they discussed matters of more importance.

"Camp Tunnel is the hub of our operation up there." John explained. "It usually has anywhere between seventy five and a hundred workers. Depending on the season, Tunnel may house as many as a hundred and fifty miners. Tunnel is our leading producer of iron ore and a critical economic foothold. Its operation must be reestablished at all costs."

"I have been there once," Jorgren responded. "when my squad was dispatched a couple summers ago to clear a host of goblins from the area."

"I remember that." John smiled warmly. "You kept them from spreading their filthy tactics throughout the tribes of the Serpent Lakes as well as our operations here in the mountains."

"I wasn't aware of the other mining camps existence until recently." The young knight humbly admitted.

"Well," the priest began. "there is Camp Jewelry two miles or so west of Tunnel. Jewelry not only recovers iron ore but has also become a valuable resource for recovering amethyst and other lower quality gems. Once a large deposit of emeralds was even found! The camp is much smaller than Tunnel however, as it usually hosts no more than forty workers at any given time. Usually the most trusted and experienced the area has to offer. Camp Pick Axe is thirty miles east of Tunnel and operates with only a couple dozen miners. They produce not only iron ore but also stone for construction. That brings our total of missing miners to absolutely no more than one hundred and fifty. It makes me sick to think of what would make that many men, along with a dozen knights just disappear."

"My opinion," Jorgren tried to speak casually. "is the same as your own: Undead are the only answer. The miners had grown accustomed to fending off the wargs on occasion but they would be helpless to an undead plague. That's why I brought her along." He motioned to the arquebus strapped to his back with a quirk of his helm.

The weapon Jorgren carried was extremely rare indeed for it represented the height of modern battlefield technology even though it was so very old. Each captain in the king's navy had been awarded one, as was tradition, upon acquiring their rank. Jorgren's blood father had served for thirty years and retired before his life was ironically, taken by his own weapon (at least in Jorgren's eyes). It truly was the one item, aside from Jorgren, that represented all that Malchem had achieved in his life. The mercenaries made sure to stay a clear distance from the knight ever since he first road into the rendezvous spot carrying the intricately designed piece. Out on the ocean, many a pirate ships had been boarded by use of such weapons when, as they looked at it, an honest melee was all that was do to them after a brutal canon bombardment.

The trip through the forest seemed to go by fast enough with all the needless banter and the drink. Freight was surprised to see the ground slowly rolling into hills as the foot of the mountainside was nearly upon them. The party decided to take a quick break just past noon before they headed up the mountainside. John and Jorgren made a fast meal while the others napped or stood around tossing jokes back and forth. Freight was busy showing off his short sword which he was actually extremely proud of. He even allowed Gron, the man he had first spoken with at the tavern, to hold it, check its balance, and take a few swipes with it at an imaginary enemy.

"Go ahead," Freight dared. "it works as a ranged weapon as well." Gron looked at him quizzically. "You'll see. Go ahead and toss it at that tree over there."

"Do you want me to break your blade?" Gron, the greasy haired, eye patch sporting swashbuckler looked at the merchant as if he were mad.

"You'll see." Freight cryptically replied.

Gron shook his head and gazed at the ground before lifting his eyes and quickly snapping the blade forward, end over end like a throwing dagger. It bit into the tree like a hefty hand ax. The blade however was only stuck in the bark for a couple seconds before it nearly instantaneously reappeared in Gron's hand.

"Amazing!" the mercenary declared as he looked around at his companions making sure they had also witnessed the spectacle.

"Indeed." Freight didn't argue. "You know, I have the best resources for magical weapons in all the land. Surely, you must stop by my shop once you make it back to the docks of Malfaction.

"Freight," Jorgren called across the way. "can we speak to you for a moment/"

"Excuse me," he took his sword back from the mercenary and sheathed it before making his way over to the knights.

"Camp Tunnel is just a couple miles from here." Jorgren stated upon the merchants approach. "I'm going on ahead to see that the way is clear. We find it odd that we've found no sign of the riders who have come before us. Something doesn't seem right. I expect to find the camp abandoned. Once I scout it out I'll be back to fetch the rest of you and we will begin searching the tunnels."

"That is if the camp is actually empty." Freight reminded.

"Correct."

"I appreciate your company son." The burly man clamped the knight on his armored shoulder. "You have a wonderful future in front of you so be careful. Should I send a couple of my men with you?"

The young knight looked past the merchant to witness half of the men tossing scimitars at trees. Father and son made eye contact for a brief moment and the warrior priest cast a brief smile.

"No." Jorgren declined. "I ought to be alright on my own. If anything goes awry hurry away or signal for immediate reinforcement with my horn."

"Very well," John spoke. "we will await your signal. God be with you."

"And with thee." He spoke the traditional response, mounted his warhorse, and headed for the path that led up the mountainside.

"Father," Freight mentioned. "for some reason I am suddenly very worried for the boy."

"He will be alright." The priest spoke soothingly. "he is finally a fully indoctrinated member of the knighthood."

"No, not that boy." Freight corrected. "the little one we left back in town with Xander."

"The worst is behind him now." John spoke as if it were a matter of fact. "Since he made it this far he should be fine. After all, he is in good hands within the house of god. He rebounded physically just fine. Children most always do. Spiritually is another thing all together and that healing process is one that will take time. In the house of our lord the almighty will heal all. I need not remind you of that do I? The child has been through more than most folks twice his age have but the lord has a reason for that."

"Do you think," the merchant asked. "the boys sudden appearance, or planeshift as you priests put it, is related to the disappearance of the miners in any way?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" the priest's face clenched as if he couldn't fathom the possibility.

"I don't know." Freight wiped the sweat from his forehead. "It's nothing I guess. I just have this awful feeling wrenching in my gut all of a sudden."

Jorgren's horse slowly made its way up the trail that led into the wilds of the Shadowbelt. The mountainside was covered in thick oak and a deep underbrush but the trail, like the one leading up to it, was well maintained. After about a half a mile he dismounted to take a closer look at a set of tracks he had found. The area reeked of death and buzzed with swarms of nasty little insects. The tracks appeared to be from the previous company that had passed his way. The prints were many, too many to count, indicating at least a dozen horses which were the exact amount sent on the previous mission.

The reason the knight dismounted to take a closer look, however, wasn't to verify this strange fact. By analyzing the hoof prints it was evident a battle had recently taken place. The tracks were scattered in all directions as if the enemy had the company flanked. Blood was caked into the dirt all about as it had yet to be washed away by the rain that must have skipped over the area. Another set of prints aside from man or horse also dominated the scene. Wolf tracks, larger than the hoof prints left by the warhorses, circled the knights and tracked through the blood. The knights had been out numbered and god only knew why the tracks all of a sudden appeared this far down the path and not on the edge of the forest where the trail began.

The smell of decay was overwhelming. Jorgren had to hold a rag to his face as he searched about. His horse whinnied and shook its head violently for a moment as if to say to it's master that it also knew what had happened. It was as if the beast could smell the blood of its brethren. Jorgren followed the skin crawling buzzing sound of a swarm of flies just off to the side of the trail where it smelled even stronger of a rotted out grave.

A clumpy corpse of a giant wolf lay dead beside the slaughtered horse of a brotherly knight of the order. The damned thing actually was larger than his horse! It was easy enough to identify the massive war horse by the clover insignia woven into the blanket underneath it's saddle. The young knight shook his head and spoke a brief prayer before searching the opposite side of the trail for more corpses. It was obvious the violent battle had spilled into the brush that lined the trail. Blood stained leaves and large bushes were left trampled upon all about. Oddly enough, no more corpses were found.

Jorgren took in a deep breath while he contemplated whether or not he should move on ahead or go back and inform the others of what he had found. Instead he followed the Warg tracks off the beaten path and into the woods. The Wargs appeared to have come at the men from both sides of the trail in ambush. While following the origins of the tacks he had almost come all the way back around to his companies camp. He could even see some of the mercenaries in the clearing sparring or just lounging around. He thought twice about at least informing John of his findings and then headed up the mountainside.

"No need to give cause for alarm quite yet." he figured as he still had a few hours of daylight left.

Up the mountain trail he went but with a bit more caution. At least he had identified his enemy. As well it seemed only one knight had fallen but by the looks of it, unlike his warhorse, he had survived the confrontation. He figured it was likely that the men who had survived the attack would have immediately made for Camp Tunnel as it was less than a couple miles away from the scene of the battle.

The hoof prints seemed further spread apart after passing through the scene of the battle indicating Jorgren's theory may have been correct. What confused him though was how utterly desolate and abandoned the camp seemed upon arrival. He figured that after what he had just seen it was possible that some of the knights held a garrison there. Wishfull thinking. Not a single soul stirred even though it was the middle of the afternoon when the miners should typically have been hard at work unloading carts of ore, repairing tools, or even beginning to prepare the evening's meal which was quite a big job to do every day for over a hundred hungry workers three times a day. An unexpected quiver of fear fell over the knight like a cold wet blanket. His mount felt the tension as well. It whinnied and walked in circles uncontrollably as it attempted to turn back while its master held tight the reigns and tried to command it to move forward. Something was deathly wrong.

Upon the escarpment that led to the steep mountainside that ranged even higher into the clouds rested a hundred yard clearing that the miners had made their home for years. Two structures stood upon the clearing. One was a very large single story log cabin that served as a barracks as sorts for as many as a hundred workers. The craftsmanship was precise and was equally rivaled in quality by the smaller storehouse structure beside it. The storehouse was where the miners stored the raw ore they gathered and was located between the barracks and the cave that served as the mining entrance. Cart tracks made a roundabout outside of the cave and in front of the storehouse. Overall, the camp's design seemed well planned and quite logical. But where were the miners? Where had the knights gone? There wasn't even a single horse around other than his own. Camp Tunnel had truly turned into a complete ghost town.

After a quick survey of the camp, Jorgren dismounted and walked his steed as calmly as possible to the hitching post alongside of the barracks. The trough was empty but he paid it no mind as he began taking a closer look at the ground about the area in search of more tracks. It appeared the riders had made it this far for he found what he was looking for. What disturbed him more than the awkward abandonment of his surroundings were the pools of dried blood that had collected, creating patchworks of mystery about the camp. The knight's heart sank for he had found the indication he was afraid to find.

On instinct, he unslung his arquebus and double checked it. He took his first steps towards the barracks entrance while making sure the black powder and the bullet were both properly loaded. A large water barrel with a pump faucet stood beside the door. He moved beside it as quietly as his plate armor allowed as if the enemy were upon him. He decided quickly not to take anymore chances for as he moved for the barracks, just for a brief moment, he could have sworn he had seen a silhouette pass behind a window. He paused for a second and decided not to peer in for if he hadn't already been compromised it might expose his location to the enemy. Certainly, if it were friend and not foe he had spotted, he would have been immediately greeted with a warm embrace. This was not the case.

He stepped from around the barrel, flung the door open, and leveled his arquebus. The scene before him was like nothing he had ever witnessed. The barracks was comprised of a single massive room with a perimeter lined with dozens of wooden bunk beds. Several tables and chairs laid about the center as did piles of human corpses that wafted the stench of decay so strongly, the knight became dizzy and nearly lost consciousness. Dried up blood and entrails covered the beds and even dangled from the ceiling as if several of the corpses had exploded all over the place. And then, just as vomit flowed up and into the knight's mouth, one of the bodies moved.

The shambling, mutilated, armless, torso of a miner arose from the mass grave and slowly attempted to stagger forward. Jorgren swallowed a mouthful of bile and aimed his weapon. Once the abomination's head was locked on he fired like hell.

"Click." the arquebus sounded as he pulled the trigger. It was a dry fire!

"Damn it." The knight cursed. He began trembling while more of the corpses began to rise. "For god's sake."

He spun back around and out of the door in an instant just as the lead zombie closed within a dozen feet. Slamming the door fast, he desperately grappled the cumbersome water barrel after slinging his weapon over his shoulder. The barrel had to weigh nearly a hundred pounds even though it was only half full and it took more than just a second or two to walk it in front of the door in order to block the entrance. With that done he ran to his horse and removed several torches from his saddle pack. After removing a mason jar of flammable oil along with the torches, he made his way quickly to the back entrance of the barracks. Jorgren smashed the jar against the backdoor he had found and then fired up the torches with his flint and steel. It took only an instant for the door to turn into a death trap for any zombie that tried to pass through; at least that's what he hoped for anyways. While he lit another torch off the existing fire he heard glass break around the other side of the building and his horse whinny hysterically in alarm.

"They're going for the windows." He spoke allowed to himself in a calm, calculating manner.

At full speed he clanked his way back around the flank of the barracks and back to front. One of the zombies was hanging half way out of one of the windows when the knight came into view. Jorgren dropped the torch, drew his sword, and charged the foul creature. He took its head clean off in one powerful swipe of the blade. The door bulged while the zombies pressed hard against it but for the moment, the water barrel was actually holding the brain dead zombies fast. At least for the time being anyhow.

He snatched up the oil and hurled it through the window beside the front door. The corpses that had been hit by it oil burst into flames just as he followed up his last hurl with another torch. The stench was sickening. Jorgren again became dizzy and this time couldn't help vomiting up the contents of his stomach. The inside of the barracks had quickly turned into a small inferno.

The knight readied himself to head back down the mountain to warn the others. It wasn't to his surprise to find that the job wasn't over yet. A pair of flaming corpses finally bust the front door open and knocked the water barrel free. Jorgren unslung his arquebus and again leveled it at the enemy. It had misfired before but the powder capsule hadn't charged so the led was still good. He quickly replaced the capsule in case it was the problem then banged on the weapon with a gauntlet covered fist, took aim, and fired with a thunderous roar and a cloud of thick dark smoke.

The blast popped one of the zombies heads open like a squished melon and dropped it to the ground in a flaming pile of roasting flesh. Jorgren didn't have time to reload so he simply dropped the weapon and unsheathed his blade. Without mercy, blade raised high, he charged his flame engulfed enemies. The young knight hacked away ferociously making sure the things were truly dead this time around. The flames circling the entrance didn't seem to keep the other zombies at bay for they just lumbered past and stumbled clumsily towards the warrior.

Without hesitation Jorgren engaged the undead with a fury that refused to feel pain. The vulnerable unthinking zombies flung their fiery arms wide in poor attempts to grapple the knight but one after another they fell from massive wounds taken to the head. They didn't fear the flames nor did they fear the warrior's blade. Wave after wave, decapitation after decapitation, they just kept coming. They felt no fear and never flinched when splashed by their own undead gore. Psychologically, they were the ultimate infantry.

After slaughtering a couple dozen of the things Jorgren's stamina began to wear thin. Ready to fall back, he pulled his signaling horn from his belt and let loose a single long note that echoed down the mountain. A chorus of howls responded eerily close to the battle as if they were waiting for his signal. Three giant wolves, each the size of an ox, wheeled around the path leading up to the encampment. The knight's horse kicked and bucked desperately trying to free itself from the hitching post for it was left helplessly in the path of the savage animals.

They were a good seventy five yards away from Jorgren. He had just enough time to recover his arquebus and reload it with zombies closing hard on his flank. One of the dire wolves broke from the pack and leaped onto the back of the helpless warhorse. The beast locked on with unforgiving jaws and tore the bulk of its fleshy neck free with one violent shake of it's head. The other two Warg's were within range when one of them, in all of it's excitement, slipped and tumbled to the ground. Jorgren blew half of the lead Warg's head clean off while the second struggled to regain its footing. The knight cringed upon witnessing his horse getting torn to shreds. He dropped his arquebus and again drew his well used sword.

Little could be done to save his steed but at least he had evened the odds on his immediate front. Ignoring the zombies that slowly limped towards him he readied his sword to receive the wolf's charge. As expected, the four foot blade ran right through the beast. All of the dire wolf's weight fell hard upon the knight and pinned him down to the ground. Even with the mighty blade sticking through its chest and out of its back the wolf pressed its attack with savage authority. It was just then that Jorgren realized his enemy was already dead but somehow still living. In place of a healthy hide, old festering wounds littered it's stiff fur like a leprous beggar in the days of old. Blood flowed from its jaws like a bubbling waterfall and it stank of a catacomb.

The undead warg locked its jaws onto Jorgren's shoulder plate and shook its head like mad. The leather strap that buckled the piece of armor down snapped like a twig and the knight fell loose of the beast's grasp. Once he had the initiative the young warrior didn't waste a second. He slipped a hidden dagger out of his gauntlet and plunged it at a deadly angle through the zombies left eye and out of the top of its skull. Rotted brain matter clung to the tip of the blade that just barely broke through the top of it's skull like a drowning man desperate for oxygen. The beast fell over and off of Jorgren while it was clutched in its rattling death spasms and it landed where it would forever be taken back into infinite darkness.

The knight jumped to his feet and retrieved his blades from his victim all the while keeping one eye on the half a dozen zombies that immediately pressed his right flank. The warg that wildly feasted on his horse seemed to pay him no mind. He glanced at his shoulder that he feared had been wounded. It felt numb from the pressure of the monster's jaws but thank the god's it appeared the warg's diseased ridden teeth didn't puncture his skin. His armor had just barely managed to save him from joining the ranks of his mindless enemies.

Ash from the burning barracks rained around the blood soaked battlefield. Jorgren tossed aside his helm allowing the breeze to catch his damp stringy hair. His enemies blood nearly covered him from head to toe, further fueling his rage. With a brain matter covered dagger in his left hand and his battle hungry sword drawn and ready, he fearlessly dove into battle against the wave of undead that was set against him.

Father John was meditating, the mercenaries were sneaking their last sips of whiskey, and Freight was rambling on and on to Gron about the wonders of psytech when the faint sound of Jorgren's horn echoed down from the Shadowbelt. Having recognized the signal before the others, John jumped to his feet in a flash.

"That note is one of distress.' He cried. "To your steeds now. It is time we ride at full strength with weapon in hand!"

With that he mounted his warhorse, drew forth the Maker of Fate, and gallantly raised it into the air.

"To ruin!" his shout created a warm fearless aura deep within the chests of every man within the company.

Thanks to John's enthusiasm Freight and his mercenaries shared a new found sense of drive and commitment. Freight was impressed with the man's leadership abilities.

"Had the old man cast a spell on us?" he wondered.

"Finally, some action." Gron urged everyone on while they cheered with drawn swords and sea worthy battle cries.

The company broke camp in a hurry, even leaving a couple smoldering cooking fires behind. They raced up the side of the mountain without stopping to take notice the battle scene Jorgren surveyed along the way. After about a mile the men could smell the fire burning in the distance and see its dark smoke clouds gathering in the sky once they reached a part of the woods where the canopy broke free. Trouble was amiss and they knew it. They began to slow upon witnessing the fire.

"Onward!" the warrior priest commanded. "Do not hesitate for death is upon us all."

The intensity of his voice again seemed to clear the fear from the parties collective mind. They picked up the pace and wound their way up the mountainside. They finally galloped into the fiery ruins of camp tunnel. Jorgren stood in the center of the carnage bathed in the best of it all. He was covered in it from head to toe but still standing while the enemy lay in broken mounds all about his feet. The dark smoke clogged sky rained soot and the flame engulfed buildings behind him created an eerily overcast backdrop of fire induced destruction. Without a single remaining enemy in sight, Jorgren stood strong. Breathing heavily, just finally getting around to catching his breath, he greeted his reinforcements with a gaze that lusted for more violence. John dismounted and called out to his son.

"What say you?"

Jorgren knelt to the ground and raised a limp man up into his arms.

"A survivor." Freight choked on his own words when he noticed the color of the man's robes. His head was bald and his ears were pointed like that of an elf. Though he was covered in ash and soot his skin glistened as it reflected the light from the fire like a dark crystal. The red robed man, like the boy Freight had found, was covered head to toe in slime.

"We have a problem." Jorgren responded in turn.

Chapter 6

Shortly after John spoke a short prayer the red robe began coming to. He was given time to recover while Jorgren relayed his tale of the recent battle. He darkly described the gruesome encounter and how he had found the limp red robe just within the cave entrance.

"At first I thought he was some kind of necromancer.' He explained. "Luckily I recalled my short stay in Gate City a few years back. The men that secured the portals donned the same red robes and sported similar tattoos about their necks."

The psion appeared in his early thirties and had a smooth bald head worthy of praise for it's fine upkeep. His thin dark eyebrows were nearly invisible and his pointy ears hinted towards an inhuman inheritance. A massive tattoo of a dragon wrapping around his neck was a masterpiece of perfection that could have only been designed by the strokes of the finest elfin artists. Both John and Jorgren knelt by the fallen psion's side. His shaking had calmed but it was evident he was still in great pain.

"He kept shaking and screaming," the knight paused for a moment unsure at first whether or not he should repeat the foul word: "Malanchuan".

Freight was immediately taken aback. Even the priest's eyes seemed to open a bit wider. The silent glances the men traded spoke volumes. John prayed over the injured once again and this time tiny tears of blood trickled from the priests's eyes. John's healing powers took hold once again with authority. After much praying they were finally able to help the stranger to his feet. The red robe looked around in a daze

until his vision finally straightened out. He shook his head and slowly asked in a raspy voice.

"Wh-Where am I? Who are you?"

"I am Father John Madle." The priest's gaze pierced through bloody tears and deep into the elf's eyes. "I am head of the knightly Order of the Clover and lord of Johnstown. This is my son Sir Jorgren, Knight of the Clover. That man over there is Freight, a merchant from Malfaction and a former soldier of the king's army. You are in what remains of a ruined mining camp located in the northern perimeter of the Shadowbelt."

"The northern end of the Shadowbelt?" the red robe squinted and shook his head to shake off the cobwebs. "How far are we from Gate City?"

"Less than a couple miles." The priest nodded. "And who might you be?"

"I am Pic Smirnaelam of the psychic order."

"He sure don't look like no psychic from here." One of the pirates scoffed. "Looks more like one o' them meddling wizards if you ask me."

Pic didn't hesitate for a moment. A dagger flashed in his hand and was flung a dozen paces end over end with lightning fast reflexes. The blade sank deep into Gron's skull with deadly precision. The scoundrel's face froze while the life in his eye faded like that of an empty oil lamp. He sank to the ground and crumpled into a motionless heap before the men. Four of the pirates drew blades. They cautiously began closing in on Pic with vengeful blood lust haunting there eyes.

"You'll pay for that." One of them slurred.

Pic, straight faced and calm as the ocean on a good day, only had to raise but a single hand. The four men were helplessly held still by the seemingly harmless gesture. Literally frozen in terror, they had become completely paralyzed.

"You see," Pic remarked as his eyes met with Freight's. "That man was a thief. Go ahead and check his blade merchant."

Freight shut his gapping jaw before drool fell from it and walked over to Gron's body. He knelt to retrieve the mercenaries blade from it's sheath and almost fell over in shock afterwards. In Gron's sheath he found his own magic imbued short sword he had been showing off to the men earlier in the day. Freight stood, spun around facing Pic and drew the sword in his own sheath. Though a short sword was in his belt he had drawn a very different, very ordinary blade compared to the one he usually carried.

"Amazing!" Freight, along with the rest of the party was astonished.

"Like I said," the psion cleared his throat. "He was a thief and needed to be dealt with before he stabbed you in the back with your own blade."

"You don't say?" the merchant was impressed. "You can't craft psylocks by chance can you?"

"That will be quite enough." John interrupted crossly. "We thank you for your service noble psion even though I would have preferred a more godly method."

"I am sorry father but I could not think of a more godly means of dealing with a thief." Pic bowed low. "I just got to him sooner. Anyhow, I thank you and your son for the assistance. I owe you both a great debt."

"What should we do with the rest of the wretches?" Jorgren asked his father.

"They are innocent men wielding their swords under Freight's coin." John reminded. "Pic would you please dispel these men from your grasp?"

The red robe wiped away a layer of slime from his face and nodded in response. As he did his former would be attackers regained control of their motor functions. Unsure of what to do, they looked upon one another for a sign of what they should do next. Eventually one of them sheathed his sword and the others followed.

"Have your men setup camp." John ordered Freight. "Much work has yet to be done."

"Very well." The merchant led his men about their duties and left the knights and the psions to discuss matters in private.

John untied a bedroll from his horse's pack and passed it over to Pic. The priest indicated that it was to be used to clean the slime off of his body before disease, or worse, set in. Jorgren left to see if he could salvage anything from the water barrel though he doubted he'd be successful. It was an excuse to give John time alone with the psion.

"I have many questions." John began.

"As do I." Pic looked around at the festering corpses. Freight had begun ordering the mercenaries to begin tossing bodies into the fire and the stench was just awful.

"Jorgren found you in that cave over there after battling the zombies that took over the mining camp. You are lucky he didn't think you were the zombie master while he was in the middle of his battle rage. He mentioned that you were continually calling a name while unconscious. What does the name Malanchuan mean to you?"

It all flooded back to the psion in an instant. His lost friend, probably dead. The portal that suddenly activated on it's own. The hell. The lake. The children!

"The children." He mumbled to himself as he stared off into the near distances of momentary dementia.

"What children? Who are they?' John urged him on.

"Two boys." Pic continued. "They were sons of an old friend who went missing while running errands for your king. The boys, one ten, the other fifteen, begged me to help them find the father their mother feared dead. I owed it to my friend to do the right thing. I also feared my friend dead and figured it best to help the family find the proper closure. Instead of uncovering the children's father it seems that we had literally found a portal to hell itself! The damned thing sucked us right into the afterworld like, like it had a mind of it's own. It was one of the most frightening things I've ever experienced. For all I know, I may still be in the grips of one of it's infernal levels."

Nearly consumed by paranoia in that instant his eyes began darting around frantically.

"Pic, I assure," John tried to comfort the man to no avail.

"The last I saw Jacob he was drowning in a lake that was filled with maggots. Leeches, and this venomous slime that made us all hallucinate. At least I think I was seeing things. I'm not sure on that. Jacob, the youngest, managed to resurface but the demon tricked him. Before I blacked out underneath that fiery sky and lost sight of the two brothers, a gigantic serpent swallowed the youngest whole. The next thing I recall I woke up here. I'm not sure what happened to the children. I'm afraid they are dead."

"At the very least I can assure you that both of them are indeed not dead." The priest reveled.

"What do you mean?"

"The youngest, Jacob you say, was found in the streets of Malfaction a couple days ago. Rest assure for now it seems he has survived the ordeal. As for Thomas, it appears he may emerge any day now."

"Hopefully, there is life left in his lungs when he does."

"Yes......Hope." Father John paused. "Was the portal you spoke of here in Roseguard?"

"It was just on the outskirts of Worhaven." Pic stared off into the distance. "I feel responsible for everything."

"Have no fear." John's voice was soothing. "for the worst of this is behind you."

"So you say.' The psion looked around the camp. "And what of this? For what reasons have the guardians of the ruins left their posts? Something is awry and I fear that we both know who is responsible."

"I'm afraid your right." John sighed. "however, it's nothing god wont see us through."

The psion rolled his eyes.

Pic took the time to properly clean himself as best as he could. He soaked his robe in what bit of water he could muster and freed himself of the hellish ooze that covered him. John offered the psion the extra white robe he had brought along but Pic kindly declined. The old warrior priest had many questions for the elf but gave him some time before laying into him. John sensed no evil in Pic and believed his actions to be in good taste however his appearance only served to create more questions that had no answers.

While John assisted Pic with his recovery Freight and his men worked into the night preparing their camp and organizing a meal. With the breeze that swirled in the air it was difficult to avoid the risk of spreading the fire and so the tents were positioned accordingly. Jorgren informed Freight that he was going on to the next mining camp in order to assess the situation there. It was as if the knight had no fear in conjunction with the stamina of an immortal. He cleaned up a bit, grabbed a random horse, and hit the road once again after receiving John's approval and an extra potion of healing. In the mean time, after a short rest, Freight was to take his men into the mines to search for any signs of life. John and Pic were to stay behind to discuss further plans.

By the time the mercenaries were ready to explore the mines the fires had subdued themselves to smoldering embers. Darkness had taken hold of the sky over the camp. The grounds were riddled with ash and half burnt rubble and ash still rained down from the sky. It was sickening work but the men had done their best to not leave a single body part out of the fire.

A sense of peace flooded the camp not unlike the calm before a rising storm. Pic declined his portion of stew in distrust of the mercenaries. He feared, and with good reason, that his meal may have been poisoned by the greasy pirates that Freight had called mercenaries. John couldn't stand to see the psion starve so he called upon his holy powers to cleanse the meal of impurities and looked upon the half elf who begrudgingly tasted the stew atop a rolling, almost sick stomach.

"I can hardly believe you actually found both Jacob and I." once Freight and the mercenaries departed Pic spoke freely. "It brings me hope that Thomas may pull through though I find it highly unlikely. What we went through together is unimaginable and I just can't seem to stop thinking of the events that brought me here. The realistic side of my mind reminds me that the odds are against all three of us safely coming back to the world in one piece. I don't know how else to explain it."

"It is all in god's hands." John smiled warmly and poked at the fire they sat beside with a stick. "How else can this miracle be explained? For all intents and purposes of the demon lord, none of you, not you or either child for that matter, should be alive today. But the truth is you have made it back safely. Your very presence is a beacon of light in the darkness of the world. It is by the merciful glory of god alone that the two of you have come back to this world. Rest assured he has a plan for us all."

"Have you been there?" asked the red robe. "Have you witnessed the fires of it's sky? The wriggling flesh of it's shores. If so, I believe you wouldn't be so optimistic."

"Have you ever recognized the moments you've witnessed as the glory of the good lord?" the priest responded smoothly. "Have you never realized you receive his gifts daily and he fights the darkness through us by lending on to us a shield of his might however invisible it may appear to some?"

"He fights the darkness so we don't have to, huh?" Pic shook his head.

"Who do you think gifted you with your powers?" John shrugged almost too casually. "Malanchuan?"

"I gifted myself with my powers through the hard work of unlocking the recesses of my mind." Pic tried to explain. "Look, there are a million different gods on the other side of those portals who are worshipped by a million different kinds of people in the universe. For all we know the gods exist only because we as a society have thought them into existence. They are as real and insubstantial as the thoughts of a non psion. The situation wasn't caused by on of your gods it was caused by a demon lord. It your god wants to lend a hand then so be it. We need all the help we can get. But don't go telling me that you follow an all powerful god that will see us through if we only pray. If your lord is all powerful then he is actually worse than the demon lord. Why didn't he cut the serpent off at the head instead of allowing the situation to come to this? This is no test. This is war. Do you blindly follow, in reality, the god of war? It's all about survival, life, death, and nothing aside. It is the drive to obtain enough power to stay alive and procreate and nothing else. Please excuse me but after what I've just been through the last thing I'm going to listen to is a priest's theology. I'm afraid it only deteriorates what little optimism I may have had left for the jungle we are all forced to live in."

"At least you would agree that you are not here with me now by the grace of a demon lord who knoweth not one shred of justice.' The priest rebutted. "Afterall, it was the son of a priest that found you, remember?"

"I don't know." The half elf met Johns eyes with his own. "Maybe I am here by the deceptive schemes of a demon lord. It may be that he let me come back for a sadistic reason unbeknownst by either one of us. I don't understand. Why would your god only save Jacob and myself. Where the hell is poor Thomas? With his mother? I doubt it. The entire situation is just some demonic scheme. How do I know I am not still within the grips of the inferno? I am sorry but I do not see your god's hands involved in the matter. If Thomas turns up I might change my mind."

"It could be that we have only a matter of time before we find Thomas just as we found you and the little one." John spoke with strong yet delicate conviction. "After all, it was only a matter of time between the youngest child's arrival and your own.

"It is just as likely that Malanchuan has thrust poor Thomas into the raptures of hellish slavery. It is just as likely as your guess but I will hope for the best."

"Hm, hope." A long pause ensued. "There's that word again. You argue against your own words sometimes."

Pic had nothing to say in response. He didn't mean to be rude and was afraid the man would see his words as such. No matter for he had just been spit up from the bowels of hell and had more important things on his mind aside from being in polite opposition of the belief's of others. Besides, he was especially in no mood to argue religion with a priest.

"We must take the matter of Malanchuan before the red circle." Pic stated. "This is within their jurisdiction."

"I disagree. The lines of their jurisdiction have been highly contested in the past." John raised an eyebrow. "The northernmost part of the Shadowbelt is of Roseguard. Besides, wasn't the council destroyed along with the destruction of Gate City?"

"Destroyed? No. Disbanded? Yes," Pic went on. "but only temporarily. It's very dangerous for them to share the same physical space too often. I'm sure you understand."

"I don't know if I do." John shook his head. "Maybe we should call onto them for advice. The undead are most likely from the ruins. The plague started from their desire to secure those ruins.

"We don't know that for sure." Pic glared at John as he defended his order. "The plague would have never been set free if it weren't for your people meddling with something they shouldn't have. Or maybe it was one of your demons that started this mess."

"That may be." though John agreed he shook his head. The psion had rubbed him the wrong way. The priest sighed in recollection of the treacherous road the tortured elf had tread upon to find himself in present company and feared for his soul. He thought of the second fall of Gate City and the role the psions were said to have played. John's dark thoughts only presented concern for more worry. He turned to his lord in silent prayer before returning to the conversation. Many questions remained for Pic to answer.

"Please, if you don't mind, tell me the tale of how you and the two young one's stumbled into the inferno.

For a solid half an hour Freight led the mercenaries along the mining tracks of the dark tunnels before ordering a quick rest. They had passed through what seemed like a hundred miles of zig zagging cavernous tunnels and track laden halls. The way was grueling. Several passages had been dug by the miners leading in all directions. In order to not lose their way, which seemed an easy thing to do, they marked the walls with a bit of chalk as they went along.

Even though they traveled without incident, something just didn't seem right to the merchant. That uneasy feeling rolled across his gut again like an internal early warning alarm. He had thought they would have certainly have encountered the undead by now. The mercenaries grumbled amongst themselves in disappointment. They were made thirsty for battle since John had offered a bounty of one gold piece per zombie head that was brought back from the caves. It was all the priest could do to get the men thinking of something else aside from the death of Gron. Some of the men continued drinking while the others secretly spoke of mutiny upon their return to camp. In the mean time they figured they might as well get their anger out through their blades.

"We passed by a passage back there that sank deeper into the lower levels of the mountain." A couple of the mercenaries argued over which tunnels they should all be taking. "If there be undead here, I bet that's where they be."

"Makes sense to me." Freight agreed.

"I doubt it." Another argued. "These miners weren't even working down there. Undead are attracted to living flesh. You do know that don't you? If they get to you they'll eat your brains like it were fresh cat fish."

"Its obvious the miners weren't pulling ore from that passage and that's exactly why we are thinking about searching it you dolt!." Freight raised his voice. "You think undead would lay in hiding up here right under our noses?"

"We'd have smelled them in that case." A toothless pirate replied. "'Sides, I figure them to be fearless wretches ever hunting human flesh. Wouldn't they want to be under our noses? No reason for them to be hiding."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Look, I want everyone organized into two lines." The merchant barked his orders to the mercenaries. "We'll walk two men abreast as we go down there. I want to see a torch bearer in the front, the middle, and at the back of the line."

The men lazily formed ranks before heading back out. The merchant had never seen such an undisciplined group before in his entire life. But with the death of Gron compounded atop the event of the previous evening Freight could see why they weren't exactly in the best of spirits though their heads were quite literally bogged down by them. Nevertheless, he pressed them forward in their duties even though some thirsted to dirty their blades more than others. And so the mercenaries marched on through the dark passages in the hunt for that which is nigh living nor dead. They traveled deeper and deeper into the depths of the stalactite ridden mountain as cautiously as was possible for the rag tag explorers. After some distance was covered the way opened into a large cavern.

"Looks like a good place to rest." One of the mercenaries commented.

"Nonsense." Freight snapped. "Everyone that doesn't have a torch in hand, get one goin and get ahead on. I want this entire place searched from top to bottom. Got it?"

Freight's uneasy eyes darted around and soaked in as much of the cavern as the existing torch light would allow him to see. Soon the visibility was doubled by freshly lit torches while the men stood in awe of what they had uncovered. The cavern hosted a massive forest of the likes which none of them had seen before. A sea of interconnecting stalactites, stalagmites, and faintly glowing purple molds littered the area that was nothing more than a wonderous grove of giant man sized mushrooms. Some of the fungus even reached the ceiling that hung twenty feet or so overhead. As impressive as it was, Freight didn't take time to drool in awe like the others.

"Split up in pairs," he ordered. "and search the place for a way through this mess. Be careful not to touch anything. Some of this stuff is likely to be poisonous. Alert me immediately if you discover something unusual."

"Unusual, huh?" one of the mercenaries snickered.

"That's right," the burly leader wasn't at all humored by the sarcasm. "anything unusual aside from the man sized fungus. Now get a move on."

The men split up as commanded but they weren't exactly on their best behavior. Some of them hacked away at the giant mushrooms with their swords while others found dark corners to sneak off to and sip their back up wineskins. Freight, on the other hand, was all business. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees since their break and the ground he walked upon was moist and slippery uneven rock. Aside from the swordsmen rummaging around, all was silent. No evidence appeared indicating that the miners had ever even passed through the stinking grove.

"I found something!" the voice bounced off the walls and echoed into the recesses of the cave and down the passages where it finally faded into the oblivion.

Freight headed for the origin of the discovery and came upon a grungy eye patch bearing pirate with a wide grin.

"Well, what is it?" the merchant demanded.

The pirate pointed at the nearby wall. A tunnel, just large enough to crawl through, was found hidden behind a large pile of rock and human bones. The cavernous walls appeared to have been recently chipped away as the shavings were piled to the side. After a few feet, whoever created the crawl space encountered what appeared to be dwarven block and it was also smoothly tunneled through. Where ever it led was beyond the range of the lit torch Freight used to poke around with. A chill breeze blew out of the small tunnel carrying with it the foul stale odor of decay. It spit upon their faces and assaulted their senses as would a warning bell to the ears or as a flame would to retracing fingers.

"Looks like we rolled straight sixes on 'dem bones" the one eyed pirate proclaimed with a shuddering voice. It was all he could do to keep the deep sensation of roiling fear from overtaking him.

"Alright," Freight cleared his throat. "if anything at all there's nothing more than a couple of stinking zombies on the other side of this passage. I need two volunteers brave enough to score their first claim of the bounty."

One of the mercenaries stepped from behind a large green spotted mushroom and came forward without giving the offer more than a seconds thought.

"Well," the volunteer said. "dontcha be expectin me to split my take with ya sea rats."

This influenced another volunteer to step forward.

"Remember to aim for the skull." The merchant reminded. "Running them through will only waste your time and will only make you more vulnerable to attack."

With that they were motioned to go on ahead. The lead man, with a dagger's blade clenched between his lower and upper jaw got on his hands and knees and crawled into the darkness with nothing aside from a wavering torch to be his guide. A tense wave of silence fell over the mercenaries who gathered to watch as the torch light from the two scouts vanished to the other side of the tunnel. After about thirty seconds the two pirates, caught in there own death thrulls, could be heard screaming their last words. Their final gurgling gasps turned into fatal gags and the echo of guzzling blood. All of the men, including Freight, jumped back as if a beast had leaped from the tunnel to attack them. Instead of a wild undying monster the decapitated head of one of the scouts gruesomely rolled through the passage only to find rest at their collective feet.

"Cy-Cyclops." One of the swordsmen gasped his mates name in horror.

"I guess it won't be as easy as we wanted it to be." Freight sobered the fighters. "now all of you, get in there and avenge your brothers."

"Are you crazy? I'm not going in there!" one of the men was overcome by not only grief but a penetrating mortal fear that shook his bones like ice. With that, he turned and ran out of the cavern and headed back the way he had come.

"Well, that's three down." The burly man laughed it off like it was nothing and then raised his voice. "Now get going and earn your coin you salty, rotten, worthless, sea dogs. Get going before you have an angry psion to deal with like your cowardice friend there."

The mercenaries gave each other half way attentive drunken looks. They all agreed without so many words that they would rather deal with whatever was on the other side of the crawl space in place of engaging the strange red robe. They went ahead, one by one, and cautiously crawled into the small tunnel. Freight followed behind the last mercenary to fall in.

The hole appeared to burrow through a ten foot stone block wall. After a short crawl the men were deposited inside a large room that had walls and floors of well crafted worked stone. Runes and fresh blood covered the stone floor on which two freshly dead corpses lay in the middle of. One of the bodies was missing it's head and blood was still slowly spilling from it's chopped neck.

The room that was more like a large pillared hall, appeared to have once been a holy place but it had since been defiled. Statues of angels and other celestials lay in pieces all about the rune engraved ground. Ebony gargoyle statues stood above them, smiling, glaring. Fifty feet away, on the far wall, stood a large iron door covered in intricate runes made of immaculate holy shapes and patterns. Freight had seen massive psylocked vaults before and the set of double doors, aside from the holy symbols, certainly appeared identical to what he had seen in the past. The mercenaries however paid little attention to such detail. Instead they trembled in fear of the guardian beast that

stood before the portal.

A massive tide of pure chaos and malevolence overwhelmed the group of men like a powerful wave crashing onto the deck of a ship and devastating its sails. The raw emotion alone left them mostly paralyzed with the trauma of terror. Standing before them, just in front of the doors, was an enormous twelve foot tall beast with the head and legs of a brown furred goat. It's torso was that of a giant human and was covered in soars and scars and patches of rotting flesh. It wielded a powerful glaive, piercing glowing red eyes, and had hooves that looked like they could crush a man's skull like an egg. It's murderous ice cold glare glanced over it's opponents who were left trembling before it's awful demeanor. This pleased the beast in a horribly egotistical fashion. When the demon spoke it felt like daggers piercing the skull.

"Who is it that sent you insects to disturb my slumber?" as the abomination hissed the words, it's tongue flicked from it's jaws like a serpent. Only Freight was able to conjure the fortitude to answer. Though he knew it was best not to converse with such a foul creature for some reason he felt compelled.

"We appear before you on behalf of Father John of Johnstown, head of the Order of the Clover, and warrior priest of some great renowned." Freight managed to stammer. "He demands you and your minions leave this place and never return. In doing so he will graciously spare your life."

The merchant had no idea where he had mustered the strength to order the terror of men that stood before them to do anything at all. As a matter of fact, the merchant was almost sure that John would never spare the things life if given the chance. It just seemed like the right thing to say at the time. Freight's hands began shaking when he realized the possibility that he may very well be facing the atrocity that Xander had spoken of. The one who is known as one of the few lords of demon kind; A lord among demons and the one who withers all life. The one who has captured innocent children just to suck them down into the most indecent layers of hell to be tortured like no one on earth ever should. Freight somehow overcame his fear and raised his blade against certain death.

"Fool," the beast spit acid as it began laughing maniacally. "don't you know all mortals that dare touch me wither and die like rotted grapes upon the vine?"

With that the demon tossed his glaive upon the ground and unstrapped a weapon more suitable for close quarters bloodshed; a beast of a double sided battle ax.

"Don't you know," Freight gulped during a slight pause. "the blood of the priest heals?"

The mention of John enraged the guardian. It snorted and two puffs of steam rose from its nostrils and it stamped its right hoof upon the ground in preparation for a charge. The retired soldier within Freight instantly recognized the horrors intentions. Whether he had meant to or not, he had just completely challenged Malanchuan to battle.

"Retreat!" the burly man's voice echoed throughout the chamber and bounced off it's high ceiling. Hopefully it would be enough to wake his men from their terror induced stupors. He immediately turned around and dove back through the tunnel that deposited him into the mess in the first place. Like a babe, he crawled on all fours through the passage and safely back to the mushroom grove. He could here the cries of the mercenaries being brutally slaughtered behind him. Sweat fell from his brow and the fear he had once contained began to rattle loose. Freight's hands began shaking uncontrollably as he paused to look around the mushroom cavern. In that moment he realized he had forgotten which direction he and his men had come from.

"My god," he trembled aloud. "what am I doing?"

With a shake of his head he came to his senses and started out of the grove at full speed. And not a moment too soon either. If it weren't for his head start and of course the mercenaries that served as the perfect cannon fodder, he wouldn't have had the slightest chance of survival. About a minute after Freight retreated from the area the ground began shaking as if plates below were shifting and an earthquake had ensnared the mountain.

The thirty foot stone block wall that separated the mushroom forest and the defiled hall shattered into thousands of pieces as the demon lord rampaged through it like a juggernaut. After smashing through the wall he melted the mushroom grove into jell with his cancerous glare. Fueled by the rage of battle, he stomped through the once peaceful garden and crushed the nearby stalactites with his unbreakable ax. The lord of demons stormed off into the direction Freight had disappeared to with reckless abandon.

All hope fled from Freight's soul when, even from where he was, he heard the powerful echo of the wall blasting to pieces and felt the ground rattling underneath his boots. Sarcastic comments, business schemes, not a single thought entered his mind aside from those that desperately drove his survival instinct. The thought process that some may have considered inherently evil took over his mind and the predominate thought was a simple one: run for your life for the devil is on your heels! And so he ran until finally he was out of breath and his fat legs could hardly carry him much longer. The merchant jogged around a corner and finally stopped to catch his wheezing breath. He quickly fumbled for the trinkets that hung from his belt and managed to remove a small coin purse. He spilled it's contents into his free hand and found what he was looking for before he flung the remainder of the contents to the ground as if worthless junk.

Freight placed the burnished gold ring onto his right index finger and pointed his fist at the cavern floor on the other side of the corner he had just turned. Hearing the enemy down the way he wasted no more time. An icy blast shot from the ring and covered the floor, wall to wall, for a hundred feet down the hall he had just run past. It took only an instant to complete before he gasped another deep breath of air and desperately retreated for the exit.

Approximately thirty seconds later Malanchuan shot from around a corner that led to the frozen strip of the cavernous hall the merchant had just enchanted. The beast immediately lost it's footing and with a hundred curses in a thousand languages, slipped, fell, and slid across the ice. Aside from injuring the demons pride it hadn't done much damage but at least it bought Freight some time. Malanchuan, after a small struggle, carefully made his way back up and onto his hooves where he nearly slipped and fell a second time. Though he never ordinarily feared a thing he feared his prey was getting away. Without wasting another moment he instantly teleported himself over and onto the far side of the transmutated hall.

Freight was ready to collapse. He hadn't run so much since he left the military a hundred pounds ago. He thought to himself that there was no way he would make it. He should just give up. He stopped once more to catch his wheezing breath. Just then he caught a glimpse of the wavering light of the cooking fires skipping into the exit up ahead. He could hear Malanchuan closing in on him and set off without looking back. With renewed vigor he made his way hastily to the exit. His sprint quickly drained his new found energy but it did finally deposit successfully outside of the cave before he collapsed into a bloated panting heap.

Pic was engaged in deep conversation with the priest when he watched the merchant lumber out of the mining entrance and collapsed right there on the cart tracks. The psion knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there was trouble in an instant. He peered into the darkness of the distant cave and clearly spotted what gave the merchant chase. John instantly recognized Pic's eyes widen in disbelief and spun around to see for himself. Pic placed a finger to his forehead and called forth a power that immediately teleported Freight across the way and behind them and away from the harm of the demon that was fast on his heels.

"Brace yourself." He warned John as Malanchuan burst into view. The moonlight washed over the beast's enormous frame as it halted just outside of the cave's entrance and lumbered over Freight's shivering body.

"Preissssssssst." The demon hissed with a flick of it's tongue.

"Malanchuan." John stared down the hulking fiend. "Do not defile my vision and expect me to tremble in fear. You are but a moth to my holy flame. Prepare yourself for your wings are about to be severed by the will of god."

The demon raised it's battle ax above it's head causing the sky to darken further. The monster forced the moon to quickly retreat behind a set of storm clouds that just suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"It is you who are mistaken priesssssst." Malanchuan responded and the fire that raptured the barracks earlier on that day violently sprung back to life. The flames instantly spread to the tents the mercenaries had setup for camp and lit the battlefield between the enemies with an eerie glow. The men faced the demon lord like gladiators in a fire wreathed arena. The combatants focused on nothing aside from their enemy. Their well trained unbreakable focus paved the way for their battle prowess to fully set in. It would be nothing aside from a bloody duel to the death.

"John, look out!' Pic pointed to the heavens.

Several massive molten lava fireballs shot down from the depths of the ink black night. The meteors were the size of buildings and headed straight for them. It had all happened so fast. Several bright rays of light, seven in all, shot out of john's hands and deflected the meteor shower back out into the atmosphere. Malanchuan, recognizing the skill of the successful counter, cast a quick spell that successfully slapped full force into the psion.

Pic vanished from John's side and reappeared atop the largest meteorite his companion had reflected. The flame licked at the bottom of his robes and would have disintegrated his legs had he not tumbled away from danger so quickly. The force of gravity left him in a free fall a mile above the peaks of the Shadowbelt. It was not the first time something like this had happened to the psion and ever since he was always prepared to defend himself against such cowardice attacks. Calmly, at one with his mind and his extreme surroundings as would a monk, Pic released another teleportation power. As suddenly as he disappeared he blinked back to the priest's side as if nothing had happened.

"I expected more creativity from a demon lord." The half elf jested once he landed safely upon his feet.

Infuriated by his spells outcome, the demon lord stomped it's hooves on the ground and conjured a small earthquake. John was still in shock and found it difficult to react as the earth beneath everyone's feet began to violently tremble. As the earth shook Malanchuan flipped his ax into attack position and charged his foes, horns forward like a ram. Maintaining his balance, John managed to cast a protective spell around himself and the psion so that no single aura of negative energy could penetrate it's radiance. Pic used another one of his powers to create an extra-dimensional pit trap just ahead of the demon's charge. The beast, in mid charge, fell through the magical ripple and reappeared three hundred feet in the air above camp tunnel. The atrocity dropped to the earth like a plummeting dragon. Malanchuan slammed into the ground so hard his fall created a thirty foot wide crater around where he landed. Dirt and rock exploded all about and rained down upon the three men who had witnessed the demon lord's flight. Freight, quick thinking in the heat of battle, recognized his chance to participate. He fired his ice ring's freezing ray mercilessly into the demon's would be grave. John simultaneously cast an ice conjuring spell and helped to divinely fill in the crater that may have very well marked the demon lord's final resting place.

"Now's our chance!" the psion shouted above the blasts of ice. "Banish the thing before it breaks free!"

Unfortunately, things were happening so fast the priest didn't have the time to call upon his god for an extra-planar banishment spell. Instead, fully expecting the beast to break free he readied his mace, the Maker of Fate. Once again, the ground began to rumble as if another earthquake were upon them. The three men looked on helplessly while the icy crater cracked and popped. Freight decided to give up on the battle and fled to the fiery ruins of the barracks to find cover. He had given all he had and it wasn't enough. Now it was time for him to flee. Just as he found the cover he was looking for the ice crater exploded sending sizable shards of high velocity debris in all directions.

Though Pic had also seen the explosion coming, he was unable to find cover in time as Freight had. Most unfortunately, neither had the priest. A chunk of ice the size of a horses head smashed into the side of John's helm. He instantly lost consciousness and fell over, still as the night. Breathing irregularly, with warm blood creeping down the side of his face, John had no chance but to lose himself to the flooding darkness that besieged him. Just then, Malanchuan leaped out of the crater and towards the psion who was once again, left alone to deal with the darkness of hell. But at least there was hope.

Chapter 7

Jorgren had traveled an hour by horseback before the undead in the area made themselves known to him. While his horse traveled along oblivious of it's stalker the underbrush along the trail suddenly burst to life! A warg dove across the path and tackled the warhorse causing it to crumple like a rag doll. Jorgren was catapulted across the trail and slammed shoulder first into the base of an oak tree. Dazed but otherwise uninjured he leaped to his feet and drew his sword. He was not about to lose two horses in one day.

The young knight charged into battle and chopped enough flesh from the warg to force it to let it's jaws loose from around the horses neck. In a one hundred and eighty degree leap it turned on Jorgren in an attempt to pounce upon him. It took the knight just a moment to notice that the warg was not actually truly living and breathing. He met the rotting beast's charge and his sword sank deep into the giant wolf's chest causing it's entire body to quiver and quake with a rain of cold blood.

Before all of it's body weight could fall upon the warrior he spun out of the way leaving his sword lodged in the warg's chest. The horse jumped to it's feet and Jorgren had to overextend to just barely take a hold of it's reigns to keep it from running off. With his other hand he drew forth a dagger and flung it deep into the warg's skull. It shook it's final death spasm and grotesquely slumped to the ground.

It was then that Jorgren noticed the wall of flesh that blocked the trail ahead. Down the way a large contingent of both mounted and unmounted men slowly lumbered in his direction. The knight's face lost it's coloring as the tingling sensation of fear swept over him. It was as if a hundred zombies had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The tide of undead seemed to have been approaching faster than they were actually moving. Jorgren quickly checked his horse to make sure it's wounds weren't fatal. He then used all of his strength to roll the bloody warg over to retrieve his sword.

In a blink of an eye he was up and on his injured horse heading back to the ruins of camp tunnel at full speed. He wasn't about to leap into battle with another score of those awful things all by himself. If only his injured horse could hang in long enough.

Pic and Malanchuan had been locked in melee for what seemed like an eternity. Suspended in mid air and walking atop the flames of the ruined camp the demon wielded it's flame wreathed battle ax and the psion parried the attacks with an invisible sword of psycho kinetic energy. It seemed impossible for Pic to score a hit and so he spent the bulk of the battle defensively parrying and carefully dodging the wild attacks of the dark one. Pic was buying his time in hopes of John awaking soon.

Had the psion used a normal weapon it would have certainly been melted and his arm shattered just from performing a simple parry maneuver. The powerful psychic blade held true and precise as it expelled very little energy to maintain and John's protective spell remained intact. The demon lord, fuming with frustration, had grown extremely angry by the stalemate. Malanchuan swung his weapon wildly and occasionally spit a stream of flame that Pic was able to absorb with the protective aura the priest had placed around him. This only launched Malanchuan into a berserk rage.

It only took a small mistake for Pic to lose his positioning in the battle. After several desperate minutes of struggle Jorgren rode into camp upon a blood soaked stead. The psion took his eyes from the battle long enough to be thrown twenty feet by the shear force incurred when he unconscionably blocked a swing of Malanchuan's fist with his psychic sword.

As the demon lord closed in on Pic, in all his rage, he didn't notice the knight who dismounted his horse and ran to the fallen priest's side. Jorgren fumbled through John's belongings and finally found what he was looking for. He took a small vile, uncorked it, and force fed the liquid down the priest's throat. Pic had been thrown hard against the cliff face and tumbled down to the unforgiving ground just outside the mining entrance. The cart tracks had broken his fall and his arm to go with it. He lay nearly unconscious and twisted about the tracks nearly. Malanchuan swaggered down to his enemy with a vicious grin. Unmoving and slightly twitching in pain Pic lay helpless and bleeding.

"You lasted longer than I expected." spat the demon's poison tongue. "Maybe I'll keep you as a pet as I did with the rat that was unable to scurry away. What was his name? I'll force you to serve under that rat Thomas' command within my abyssal domain. It is there you will either conform as he or face an eternity of damnation."

Before the demon lord made it to Pic's side John was back to his feet. Though leaning heavily on the arm of his son he managed to quickly mouth the words to the powerful prayer. Malanchuan loomed above the psion and raised his fiery ax above his horned head.

"No!" John shouted. "It is you who serves as a slave to the gods!"

A cone of darkness burst outward from the priest and encapsulated the brute. Malanchuan's scream bounced off the mountainside and echoed down through the forest for miles. It was so powerful that it's surprising force swept both of the knights off of their feet and flat onto their backs. A moment later, once the darkness dissipated, the demon lord was nowhere to be found. All that remained in Malanchuan's place was a pile of a dozen small crystal stones cut like diamonds and rubies.

Freight peaked a look from behind his hiding place hardly believing all that he had managed to survive. As the fear washed away from him a sense of excitement and victory came forward with a strong rush of adrenaline. Malanchuan had actually been defeated. The feeling was exhilarating! Freight ran from his hiding place and out into the open shouting wildly.

"We did it! We did it!"

John ignored the merchant and instinctively made his way to the injured psion's side. As the priest took the time to heal Pic, Jorgren placed the gems the demon left behind in a large coin purse. Though Freight was quick to grab one up Jorgren was careful not to allow the unholy stones to make contact with his flesh. Once John was done reviving Pic he slumped down onto his knees utterly exhausted. Jorgren ran to his side. Along with the help of the elf, Jorgren did all he could to comfort the elderly man. John faded in and out of a consciousness seen through blood soaked eyes. After a bit of rest and the helping hand of his companions John managed to get back to his feet.

"It's over!" Freight raised his balled fist in the air. "Let us rejoice!"

John breathed in slowly and then exhaled before he spoke.

"It's not quite that simple." he placed his hand on the merchants shoulder. "I wish it were but it's not. What we fought here today was only the demon lord's shade. His shadow in this world. Believe me he is alive and well in his murderous home plane."

"What does that mean?" the merchant looked to Pic for an answer.

"We may have won the battle," the red robe stated. "but we've just begun the war."

"Nearly a hundred undead move toward our position as we speak." Jorgren relayed the sour news. "They are only a couple miles from here and closing in fast. We should make for town before they cut off our pass down the mountainside."

The four men agreed and hurried to muster what horses they could find. Most had run off when the shade appeared but the travelers managed. Once this was completed they rode to Johnstown with all haste as if hell itself was on their heels. At full speed it only took a couple hours to ride into town in contrast to the half a day's journey it took a lolly gagging group of drunk mercenaries. They had lost more than just a couple of horses and they would have to be paid for in full. The mercenaries wouldn't be missed by the people of Johnstown but John planned on holding a service for them where they would be honored as fallen heroes. The same would be done for the missing knights and the miners once they were once and for all put to rest.

More knights would have to be dispatched to clean up the remainder of the mess they had left behind. They couldn't afford for the undead host to follow them into town unchecked. Now that the order knew it's enemy a solid plan could be put into action. The men got back to civilization before midnight with what felt like the weight of the world on their shoulders. Though their weariness was heavy John decided to call an emergency meeting with Captain Engle Wencedon the Captain of the order of the clover.

It wasn't until nearly midnight when the captain came to the temple dressed in the ceremonial armor that was customary whenever he met with his superior. Engle had a long successful history serving the kingdom of Roseguard. Born into nobility, his father was a legendary constable of Malfaciton. Even as a child Engle excelled at reading and writing hence the reason he pressed his father for placement within the luxurious, and highly exclusive, school of wizardry. His father protested the idea and replaced his sons quill with a sword.

By the age of seventeen Engle was excepted into the Order of the Myst and served amongst it's ranks for fifteen years. During his years of service he fought back the goblin tribes in the Shadowbelt from invading Roseguard and as a lieutenant, during years of relative peace, he trained and commanded hundreds of soldiers. Over a dozen years ago when John founded the Order of the Clover he needed a strong captain to trust. Engle was recruited because of not only his impeccable honor and good standing throughout all of Roseguard but also, in the eyes of the parish, he was a man of god. Engle was quick to except his new rank of captain even though it meant relocating with his newlywed wife to Johnstown. John trained him in the holy arts of divine healing and plugged the hole in the knights heart created by Engle's father when he denied his son's admission into the arcane school.

The captain's gray frosted brown hair, accented perfectly by his mustache, spilled over his shoulders and draped around his intricate plate male, all the way down to his waste. His ice cold facial features, hawk like nose, deep set hard staring eyes, and a mouth seemingly always set in a frown only hid his honest heart and empathetic will. He carried in his heart the guilt of loosing a child. His wife had passed on recently while giving birth to his son who was unable to survive the ordeal. It was in Engle's perspective god's justice for the lives the captain had been responsible for taking during his past duties as a knight and a soldier. It was the way of the sword. If it didn't take you god would show you humbleness from the inside. Father John had helped him come to that realization. Though all the healing powers in all the world couldn't mend his shattered soul, his faith in god had given him the strength to move forward one day at a time.

"Father." Captain Engle greeted John in the temple's dining hall where most of their meetings had always taken place. The captain wasn't wearing his helm and for some reason the age lines in his face seemed deeper and his hair even seemed a shade of gray lighter than usual. But it had only been a week since they had last dined together! It was obvious that the recent events had taken their spiritual toll on the man. Engle's eyes glanced over the red robed man and the burly fellow at the warrior priest's side before saluting. Jorgren, who stood by the far side of the dining table, and John both returned the salute with a sluggishness brought on from the brutal road behind them. Engle seemed uncomfortable with Pic's presence but said nothing of it.

"So it appears a battle was bravely met." the captain eyed the fresh dings and dried blood on Jorgren's armor. "Is their any word of our lost men?"

"A dark word indeed." John replied with somberness in his heart evident by the soft tone of his voice. "Please sit down Sir Engle." the five men took a seat around the table. John cleared his throat. "We must begin making preparations for their services but first their is much work to be done."

"Then it is as I feared." Engle shook his head and sighed.

"Maybe worse," the warrior priest shifted his weight. "for no evidence has been found of their survival. No survivors, only undead, and more on on the way. The knights, the miners, all of them, so it seems, have been lost to an plague that scours the Shadowbelt as we speak. I have met it with my own eyes and battled it with the will of god."

"Undead." Engle grumbled plainly.

"I'm afraid so." John nodded as the two men locked gazes with unblinking eyes. A moment fell amongst the conversation in honor of the fallen. After a brief silent prayer John spoke up. "We have just now come from the pits of many intense battles with the enemy. They were much stronger than we had anticipated. Brave Jorgren had slain nearly a score of the undead with the edge of his sword alone. It took great concentration but we were finally able to banish the leader of the plague. If it weren't for the skill and battle prowess of Jorgren we would have all surely perished. I know this is not the proper ceremony but nevertheless I declare from hence forward my son will be known as Sir Jorgren, Lieutenant of the Order of the Clover. I expect him to accompany a host of knights into then Shadowbelt to finish the mission at hand. I need you, captain, to coordinate the effort and ease Jorgren into his new position of leadership, understood?"

"Yes sir!" the knights saluted the warrior priest.

"You mentioned the undead, sir." Engle inquired. "What do we know about there numbers?"

"Jorgren will fill you in on the details." John deflected the question. "There is little time to waste. I need this organized and carried out successfully by sunrise."

This unnerved the captain for a moment but he regained his composure without his weakness noticed.

"Yes sir." he repeated. "Is there anything else?"

"I want you to personally lead this mission so that Lieutenant Jorgren is properly trained to lead his own company. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Jorgren," John turned to his son. "you are more familiar with the banished lord's minions than any one of us. How many men will be needed to cleanse the camps and the surrounding areas?"

"In order to not be completely overrun we'll need at least a hundred men, sir." Jorgren responded confidently not allowing his weariness to show.

"Very well," John agreed. "You're request for a hundred knights is granted."

Completely revitalizing the young man, John stood and said a quick prayer that channeled a divine cleansing power through the freshly promoted lieutenant. After the prayer was completed Jorgren felt like he had all the energy in the world to fight on for days without rest. Divinely renewed, he had gained the strength and refreshed endurance to battle through the next afternoon if need be.

"Wake the squires and have them muster the men while you make preparations with your captain." John commanded. "I will prepare a message for the king before I retire for the evening."

"I'll see to it's immediate delivery." Pic volunteered.

The captain raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You are dismissed." John bowed to the knights as they saluted and marched out of the room. Freight waited for the captain and his new lieutenant to leave before he spoke up.

"Don't you think waking a hundred knights and their squires up in the middle of the night will alarm everyone in town?" the merchant warned the founder of the order. "I mean, you did want to keep this whole thing quite didn't you?"

"These are disturbing times," John explained. "but the light will prevail."

" If I may be so bold," Freight coughed and then continued. "as to serve as an advisor to you on the state of your community. What I mean is that with the missing miners, the fallen knights, a surprise midnight mission that will be the talk of the town in the morning, rumors of an undead siege, our psion friend being spotted by the commoners, and finally, the Order of the Myst eventually showing up on your doorstep, is all a recipe for social unrest."

"That is why the king must be notified." John passionately responded.

"At what cost?" Freight threw his hands in the air. "Families loading up carts and taking the next caravan out of town? A shrinking population? The rumor of martial law haunting taproom conversations? The fear of an undead army resting in the forest waiting to pounce?"

"I'm afraid you only speak of the absolute worst case scenario." John shook his head. "What are you really suggesting to me?"

"We call upon the council of my order before we go to your king." Pic interjected. "We have ways that are more subtle than the solutions of your king."

"This should continue to be covered up as best as we can see fit." Freight shrugged.

"I don't like the lies you want me to insinuate upon my people." John raised his voice.

"Take that child resting in the other room." Pic began to explain. "We don't want him living the remainder of his life haunted by the vivid memories of his physical pilgrimage through hell! I can replace those images with those of a more pleasant past so he can live a happy healthy life without that cloud of pain and sorrow forever following him around. If I can do that for this boy then imagine what my elders can do for your town."

"John," Freight cut in before the priest could respond. "did you even hear what Malanchuan had to say about that boy's brother? He claims to have enslaved him in his abyssal realm. Iheard it clear as day all the way from my vantage point. This problem doesn't end with the destruction of the plague. If you and I are truly in this for the children involved in the matter then we have further problems."

"You can't believe a word that foul thing pollutes your ears with." John's eyes lit up like fire. "Not one word. Do you understand me?"

"Ok, ok," Freight stammered. "I'm just saying that ninety nine percent of a lie is the tru..."

"I said thats enough." John raised an eyebrow. "Mark my words, if the other child can be found he will be found."

Silence took control of the conversation as each of the men allowed each others words to sink in. The priest scratched at the stubble on his chin for a minute and was unable to come up with anymore easy answers. He knew that it certainly wasn't the the will of god to plot so deceitfully. Years ago John had made a pact to run the town honestly and orderly just like a temple was suppose to be managed. He could understand hiding the truth from Thomas but to lie to so many people was out of the question. It seemed like something a king would do. Besides the truth eventually always exposed itself. When it did he didn't want to be misunderstood as the bad guy as so many other leaders have in the past. The people of Johnstown and the surrounding regions had the right to know if something in the Shadowbelt threatened their families. Thinking so heavily about it made John dizzy.

"I'll have to sleep on it." the priest finally broke the silence.

"So you'll delay notice to the king?" Freight asked.

"For the moment." John sighed and looked away.

A young squire no more than a dozen summers ran around town banging away on the doors designated by lieutenant Jorgren. It was very late and the interruption caused much haste and confusion throughout the residences. Children's fathers, mothers, husbands, knights both young and old were roused from there beds and relayed the vague emergency orders. Whatever was happening, it seemed as if the town was in great peril. Babies cried and women sat up the rest of the evening weeping and praying. Hundreds of citizens feared the possibilities and fantasized the worst. By sun rise, the talk of the town would be held in whispers like a dark wriggling secret. It was better for the children not to know the truth.

Chapter 8

John was finally able to find rest. He had taken the time to wash and change into a clean robe shortly following the meal he had been starving for. After a sentimental prayer and a few even minutes of meditation he curled up under the covers and slipped away into dreamland. His meditation techniques were the key to a good nights rest. John was taught by a Shanoise monk and to his surprise, in all of his power, the monk's techniques helped him sleep better than any of his divine influences had allowed.

Sleep came quickly to the priest that night as did the intensity of dream. It was as if the dream world were waiting for him to close his eyes so it might immediately assault him. At first he dreamed he was flying. It was complete freedom and it lightened his heart to feel such liberation. He felt like a child as he flew over the Shadowbelt leaving mortal fear and earthly anxieties on the ground far below.

In flight he felt immortal but the feeling didn't last long as the clouds darkened and lightning streaked across the horizon. He was thrust into the depths of an aggressive set of storm clouds that came fast. Within them he found himself in the middle of a grand hall with walls and pillars of angry storm clouds. It was as surreal as walking in the clouds but had comforts of every day life. A large table formed of roiling clouds and streaking lightning served as the center of the mystical chamber. It's corners were dark and mysterious and often small creatures could be seen dancing in and out of the shadows but John felt no fear.

Thunder rolled as John took a seat and joined the twelve red robed men around the table who had been waiting patiently for the priest's arrival. Pic was there as was every other powerful member that made up the psychic council. John humbled himself from the freedom of flight he had just experienced and was the first to speak.

"I should have thought we might meet in such a way." he didn't realize it at first but as he spoke his lips didn't move. "It's an honor to appear before you. For so long many had been led to believe you're council was disbanded with the fall of the city."

"For some time we have remained hidden from your people." an elder with long braided gray hair and a braided beard spoke telepathically. His words were soft and the feeling of the elders voice in

John's head felt like cool ice being run along his skull. "At first we feared it was the doing of the plainsmen, the Shanoise, or maybe even Roseguard who initiated the second fall of Gate City. We have learned otherwise and thus have renewed our respect for your cultures."

"Have learned otherwise?" John sceptically asked.

"A movement in our council secretly took the initiative to show the world the dangers of our ways when it came to the casual use of the portals." the elder explained. "A self contained disablement was enacted in order to keep your nations safe. We set and sprung a trap on the demon lord that locked him into an early assault he wasn't prepared for. Malanchuan was going to attack the city either way we just weren't sure what nation was lending aid to his foul plot.

At the time, your rulers were riddled with much greed and corruption and would not heed the movements warnings. There was little else we could do. Even the majority of our council was unaware of the plot. We lost many talented practitioners in the struggle. In the end, just as our ancestors had come to find, it was in the best interests of all the nations involved to leave the gates to rot and crumble. We can not afford demonic influences to propagate through our lands unchecked. We've made our sacrifices in order to protect the common people."

"I see," John didn't appear to fully believe the man.

"And now we here rumors of Malanchuan's return." the elder asked.

"They are not rumors." the priest spoke plainly.

"It is our fault for we didn't kill him years ago when we had the chance!" Pic raised his voice.

"Is it to my understanding," John turned to Pic. "that you and your order coordinated with demons to destroy gate city, territory of my kingdom, and in the end let our present enemy slip away unscathed?"

"Thats not exactly it." Pic was offended. "The demon bastard was poised to conquer more than just your own _little_ kingdom so we stepped in and negotiated terms in our own manner. Gate City was balanced upon Malanchuan's claw anyhow. I did, that is, we did what was needed. If it were wrong the celestials would have had the resistance slain. In fact, we saved your country and many others in turn. It's a shame but moral sacrifices had to be made. At the time the demon lord was using your people as pawns and so we made him into a pawn himself and nothing more. I had expected you to understand."

"Naturally, it's difficult for me to understand such twisted logic." a tear came to the healers eye."Twas a general's logic and not that of the heart. There is no excuse for consorting with demons even if you mean to use them as your pawns. In the end they have a way of getting the upper hand if you are unprepared for their treachery. Just look at where we are now. You say you carried out your actions with the helping hand of the celestials so it is difficult for me to know what to think of all of this. That is if what you say is indeed the hidden truth of the cities fall."

"It has been said that you have just recently banished one of Malanchuan's shades." the elder twisted his braided beard and raised an eyebrow. "Is that correct?"  
"It is true that my son found Pic at the entrance to the mines of camp tunnel in the northern end of the Shadowbelt. It wasn't long until we battled side by side against the rampaging demon lord." John went on to tell the story from beginning to end as he knew it. The psions at the table sat motionless yet attentive.

"It greatly worries us that he was guarding a psylocked portal that has yet to be mapped by our council." the elder psion responded. "Only one such creation is said to exist."

"Wherever the portal leads it matters not!" John raised his voice. "It should be destroyed."

"And it may be," the hooded red robed psion next to the elder interjected with a smooth feminine elvin accent. "that is if it is deemed a threat to the order. From what we gather it doesn't appear to be a portal that would lead the Shadowbelt into an abyssal realm. After all, as Pic had mentioned, take note of the defiled statues of celestials lining the hall the portal was discovered in; This strikes our collective curiosity. A demon would only do such a thing to that which is holy."

"The runes and symbols of the seven heavens have, according to the histories of our order," the elder continued. "been etched upon a single portal that has been lost to us for over a thousand years. It is written that through it our council once held direct association with the celestials."

"Association?" John's face contorted. "What is that suppose to mean? We, as mortals, don't need magical devices to commune with divine spirits. We only need our faith."

"It was more than a simple prayer that was shared with the celestials father." Pic calmed the conversation with his smoothness of his telepathic voice. "My ancestors, the ancient psions of the order, claimed to have once been able to travel to and from heaven itself by means, we believe, may actually be the portal you're men have recently discovered."

"Hm...." John humbly scratched his beard. "As blasphemous as the entire notion is in the first place, it would make sense for a demon lord to hold guard over such an artifact."

"Imagine dancing in the realm of god while remaining in your mortal flesh!" Pic's telepathic voice raised in excitement. "All of your questions directly answered as you physically kneel at your lord's throne! Isn't this all that you've searched for you're entire life? I know it to be possible for I have experienced it's opposite."

"Impossible." John shook his head in disbelief. "If that were the case why hasn't it been activated by the demon lord? Why has such a thing remained in shadow for so long? I have many questions and would like to study these runes with my own eyes."

"Father John," the elder went on. "My name is Symbolin Beolathien, elder of the psychic council. Though I am only human I have lived to see five hundred years. The engravings on the portal in question are so ancient, so foreign to even I, we believe no man can fully understand them. At first, it only brought visions of a shattered pyramid to my mind. As a matter of fact, that is what was written about the celestial gate of old once we figured it out. In the lost histories of my psychic people it is said that god himself created the portal and warded it in order to forever protect it against evil. If this is indeed the celestial gate then it's runes were actually created by god himself. No man could possibly decipher them and no demon could possibly activate it."

"That settles it then." John shrugged. "The gate we speak of can not be a celestial gate warded against evil by god for it has been desecrated and controlled by a demon for who knows how long now. I don't see how such a thing could be allowed to happen."

"Yes, from what we here it was desecrated but it couldn't be activated by the demon lord." Symbolin went on. "Maybe Malanchuan was waiting for someone or something to activate it from the other side. It's possible he was either seeking entrance into the heavens for some evil purpose or he may have only been waiting to slay whoever passed through it; maybe both. We aren't sure on that matter however we feel confident that this is indeed the lost celestial gate the histories speak of."

"What else do the histories of your people say about it?" John was intrigued.

"It is locked." Pic explained. "The key has been lost for ages and has been thought to have been destroyed a thousand years ago during the collapse of the Angwhut empire. As a matter of fact, the key was the topic of our council's discussion just before your arrival. You see, we have reason to believe that it wasn't destroyed at all. Instead it has been kept hidden. We collectively agreed it was most likely within the tomb of one of the fallen god's of the the Angwhut empire."

"What is this key you speak of?" John asked.

"It is, or was, an ornamental egg encrusted in rubies." Pic nodded as he relayed what he knew of the key as an attempt to get John to believe, as the psions did, that it still existed. "It was worn around the neck of the traveler who it created a powerful psychic link with. Once the link has been established, and only then, can the bearer will the opening of the celestial portal."

"Seems to me something only a high priest would be allowed to bear." the priest remarked.

"Or a psion king. During the age we speak of he would have been thought of and worshipped as a god." Symbolin asserted. "It is known that the key was last wielded by one of the former elders of our council who was also the last ruler of the Angwhut empire. When Emperor Teset was defeated by the barbarian horde his body was taken to a secret burial place somewhere in the desert sea of Angwhut. The barbarians had little concept of the power of the item. Out of respect for the emperor they buried him with it, or so we believed, along with many other personal items. _Whatever_ happened the psytech key has been lost ever since and most believe that it's since been destroyed. Without excavating the psion king's tomb we couldn't be sure."

"Does that mean you've already done so?" John continued with the questions.

"We must investigate further." the elder concluded. "The truth is that where we must go may be guarded by the same evil that you encountered at the celestial portal. Their is no better man to look further into the matter than yourself."

"You fear the existence of another shade?" the priest cleared his throat.

"Yes, encountering another shade is a possibility."

"The fact that another one of those things may exist in this world leaves me with little choice." John's words swelled with anger. "As long as that beast roams this world I will be there to thwart it. But where am I to begin my search?"

"The buried city of the lost holy emperor, is spoken in the common language of Roseguard as The City of Gold; but in the dead language of the lost emperor it is known as Ghulod Sheezthitk." Symbolin's telepathic voice pronounced the words of the foreign language as if it were second nature to him. "Are you familiar with the Angwhut Desert?"

"Honestly, I've never heard of it." the priest admitted.

"The Angwhut Desert compromises the bulk of the continent of Agoosh which rests twelve thousand miles across the ocean. Its nearly on the opposite end of the earth from where you make your home in Roseguard." the elder painted a picture in the priest's mind. "Agoosh is mainly a barren desert wasteland with a handful of sparse nomadic tribes who follow militaristic barbarian religions. They are all that is left of the mighty empire that once flourished throughout the land. Seventy five hundred years ago the desert was alive and well with the abundant life of a powerful civilization. It was controlled by psions who's ancestors had fled Gate City after it's first fall.

It is true that the psychic refugees of the original Gate City settled down on the continent of Agoosh and became like gods to the people there. A secret key in the form of an ornamental egg was imbued with ancient psytech which allowed its bearer to, aside from activating the celestial portal, reunite the disconnected continents as they once were. The council itself fell into a violent power struggle for control of the great key known as The breeze of said flower.

The rulers of the resgion, each controlling a powerful confederacy of their own, battled for supremacy on the fields of blood that forever cursed the desert sands crimson. In the end, only one of the confederacy's remained and so it reigned supreme for a few thousand years. A thousand years ago, its complacent god emperor, emperor Teset, was overpowered by a barbarian horde that formed from the nomadic tribes of the desert who lived separately from the laws of the desert empire. You know the rest of the story."

"And you believe you know where Teset's tomb is?" John responded. "How can we be sure that it's actually _his_ place?"

"He was mummified undead when we discovered his remains months ago in a tomb buried beneath The ruins of The City of Gold." Symbolin's voice echoed in John's mind. "Once defeated, we were confused by what we had found. We were unfortunately unable to recover the The Breeze of Said Flower. We did however discover a scroll in the mummies wrappings that had been preserved over all these years. It contained a complicated riddle."

"A riddle?" this time it was Pic's turn to ask questions as hadn't been told about the scroll when he was first told the tale.

"Yes, a riddle." Symbolin nodded. "Apparently, the ancient psion war hasn't failed to continuously play mind games with all that dabble with it. Unfortunately, the riddle wasn't in a language that is easily understood. Even stranger, the parchment claimed to have been from the times of the psychic wars when, according to our records, parchment was yet to be invented! As it was, stone tablets were in wide spread use in place of scrolls during those ancient days."

"Then it must be a forgery." Pic declared.

"Maybe not." the psychic elder speculated. "Do you really think the emperor would be buried with a forgery?"

"A trick from the barbarians?" Pic guessed.

"Doubtful." John answered for Symbolin. "We have only just began to use parchment within the past couple hundred years. When the last emperor of the desert empire was defeated, stone tablets were still the standard for scribes. They hadn't the advancement to scribe a scroll. That is, the ancestors of the modern day Roseguardian people hadn't the technology to scribe scrolls at the time and I doubt an empire in the middle of a desert wasteland with very few trees had access to the breakthrough before my people. What that means is that you weren't the first to discover the tomb and it is evident whoever got there first did so within the past couple hundred years. Whoever made the discovery left that scroll."

"Exactly what I was thinking." the elder nodded. "Still, how could someone, or something, awaken a sleeping mummy, partially unwrap it, and place a scroll within before wrapping it back together? Without getting your head taken clean off it's near impossible."

"Unless you are a necromancer." Pic justified.

"Stranger such," Symbolin went on. "the scroll certainly appears to be older than any I have ever seen in all my years. It nearly crumbles if you breathe on it too hard."

"Have you been able to decipher it? Has it revealed anything about it's creator?" Pic's telepathic voice rang with a touch of hope.

"Instead of being scribed in a dead language it turns out that it was actually encoded in a school of mathematics that is no longer in use." Symbolin hesitated and then eventually continued. "We had to recruit some of the most powerful arcane graybeards to have it's secrets deciphered in the utmost confidence. The language was of some strange mathematical dialect of infernal."

"The language of hell itself." the priest gasped.

"Stranger still, arcane means tested the parchment to be over a thousand years old lending credence to it's suspected infernal ties. Some sort of foreign enchantment preserved it over these years. After all of our labor and research it was finally deciphered. To the bafflement of all that were involved it said only this: Look to the blood of the priest that heals. In light of the circumstances we feel that may be you father."

"Thank you captain for giving me the honor of addressing the men." Jorgren spoke loudly so that all of the knights gathered along the dark forest's tree line could hear.

To some it was like a dream; maybe they were really in their warm beds sleeping soundly next to their wives. Maybe their children weren't really up crying for their fathers who were mysteriously called to arms in the middle of the night. The women of Johnstown knew nothing but relative peace for years now. But they, as did their restless children, knew something was amiss as they buckled on the men's armor and received no answers to the many questions they had. The tension before facing possible death had surfaced on the faces of the knight's families like the corpse of a drowning victim. The men had trained well and prepared themselves for anything. Many even looked forward to the imminent battle at hand even if it meant looking upon their families for the very last time.

"We face an enemy that is neither dead or alive." The cold wind carried Jorgren's baritone voice. "A host of zombies equaling our numbers at the very least has taken hold of the mining camps. Two score of the creatures were last spotted heading for camp tunnel to reinforce the devastated ruins discovered there. We go to meet them head on. Have no fear for they are easy enough to kill by the crushing of their skulls. Be warned that their bite will introduce to you the fate of our lost brothers and they are ravenous. We do not surrender to fear. Instead we crush it's skull under the hooves of our warhorse."

A stiff battle cry woke up the forest as all the men hollered their oath to the blade in unison. They marched their powerful steeds in procession along the trail before the captain ordered a full speed gallop. The horses rumbled through the woods with a thunder that would frighten nearly any enemy that lay in wait; except for those that were already dead. With the distance covered behind them it wasn't long until they encountered the first enemy contingent.

Jorgren, having taken the front of a hundred knights, was the first to spot the enemy a hundred yards down the forest's trail. He didn't even flinch for a single second let alone slow his headstrong pace. Urging the charge on with a roar the knights leveled their lances. Nearly two dozen armored men on horseback answered with a sluggish charge of their own. It wasn't until most of the distance between the two enemies was covered that the knights could clearly make out the details of the foe. For a split second, some of the knights thought to call off the attack all together. The enemy was wearing the armor of their very own order! Their glowing red eyes and rotting flesh couldn't hide their true identities for long. The undead the Knights of the Clover charged upon were none other than their very own deceased brothers brought back to life upon undead steads.

Jorgren's lance buried deep into the skull of the lead rider as the two sides furiously clashed. One side thirsted for flesh and the other justice. Unfortunately for some, even though the enemy was upon them, a few of the knights froze in shock and horror. As they personally recognized the living corpses they were too confused to move forward and so were unable to fight. Some of the confused knights of the order even left themselves defenseless to attack.

As both sides of the charge were about to meet steel upon steel an invisible wall of fear gripped the hearts of the living. It didn't phase lieutenant Jorgren though in the least. After his lance exploded through the first skull he would shatter that battle he drew his sword and began slicing away at the enemy without remorse and with little regard for his own safety.

"Hold your ground!" he shouted to his breaking unit.

Even though they outnumbered the enemy four to one the unnatural fear overwhelmed and crippled the knights. Though the negative aura swept through the men as fast as their blood pumped they quickly came to their senses and rallied around the brave young lieutenant and carried the fight forward. The sky seemed to darken above the canopy of the forest allowing none of the full moon's light to beam down onto the slaughter. As the scene of the battle darkened so did the hearts of the just who, upon Jorgren's order, mutilated what was left of their fallen comrades.

Once every zombie was destroyed, every undead warhorse crushed, the knights stood atop a mass grave of dissected family members. Some of the men had cousins, uncles, brothers, and even fathers stacked upon the funeral pyre that night. But their were no times for goodbyes. The corpses were left behind to burn through the night and their ashes were left to disappear into the rising sun of the early morning. They could not afford to let the plague spread.

Despite the mental anguish many of the men had endured no one was seriously injured during the battle. Even those who had been overcome by fear left the dishonor and the mourning behind. They did their best to manage onward with unwavering courage in their hearts. Eventually, they made it to the bottom of the mountain where Captain Engle called a halt to the momentum.

"We must move by our wits and not by our lusts or we will be ambushed by what we seek." he took Jorgren aside and explained. "I want you to send scouts ahead as we break for a short while to see what they uncover."

The lieutenant dispatched three scouts. Each headed for one of the mining camps in order to find the bulk of the enemy. The captain was right of course. There was little they could do until they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into. Jorgren had encountered two score of the undead heading towards camp Tunnel but they may have broken off from a horde of a thousand. It was Jorgren's hope that camp Tunnel remained empty. If it was they could use the high ground to lure the enemy into a trap. If it had to be retaken he could only pray that it would be the last of the enemy standing in their way or else the mission would not be completed by sunrise as scheduled. He worried they wouldn't have the time to wait for all of the scouts to report in.

During the first skirmish they had overrun their enemy with shear numbers. Aside from psychological impact and minor scrapes and bruises not a single knight had been seriously injured. Jorgren prayed that the good fortune would carry them forward. But was it fair to call what they had just experienced good fortune?

The majority of the knights waited patiently at the base of the mountain for their orders. The men in the front of the charge took the time to wipe down their armor, clean their blades, and say a quick prayer. By the time the horses were watered the first scout reported in. Captain Engle was surprised at the time it took to survey the enemy and assumed the haste meant news on the location of the main enemy force.

"Captain Engle." the scout saluted as the captain sheathed his freshly oiled blade.

"At ease." Engle replied with a salute of his own. "What news have you?"

"Camp Tunnel is as you feared sir. Its been overrun."

"How many?"

"Nearly a hundred of those, of those things." he stammered excitedly. "But they don't appear as formidable as the ones we engaged earlier. They bear no mounts, appear unarmed, don no armor, and as a matter of fact, appear only as simple undead commoners lazily milling about."

"Commoners, huh?" the captain questioned and then looked back to Jorgren.

"They must be the remainder of the miners." Jorgren decided. "Who else could they be?"

"That may be." Engle cautiously agreed. "Lets just hope the dead aren't being drawn from the ruins of the city or from the valley of ruin itself. If so, I imagine no end to their numbers. That is ultimately what we must uncover. The source must still exist for these creatures must be under someone's command in order to be marching strategically about the land."

"I agree." Jorgren was compelled by the logic. "What then are your orders captain?"

"We hold out. Secretly laying siege to the camp we will wait as long as time allows for our other scouts to report in." the captain relayed his plan. "We'll setup an ambush in case the undead force moves from it's current location. Who knows, as I've warned this may be a small detachment from an army of ten thousand waiting on the other side of that mountain. If we remain patient we'll soon find out."

"Very good sir." Jorgren agreed.

It was the waiting, the anticipation of battle that began to weigh more on the knights than anything else. The warrior's uneasiness and mourning had slowly turned into an unquenchable desire for revenge. Captain Engle could sense it amongst his troops. He had a sixth sense that could look right through a man and taste the desire of his sword. Even though the first battle had led to the enemies slaughter, it did strike a temporary blow to troop morale. However, as Engle scanned over his knights he could feel their somberness churning into the intense desire for revenge.

"Lieutenant!" Engle snapped after a few moments of reflection.

"Yes sir." Jorgren snapped to attention.

"Take twenty five men up the trail and onto the mountainside. Scout out and setup a couple ambush points. One for the initiative attack and another to reinforce the other. Make sure your locations take advantage of the enemy not only possibly coming from tunnel but from the other camps as well. Don't signal us for reinforcement. If all goes to hell just break for our camp. In the meantime, if I hear what I want from the other scouts I'll move in with the rest of the men and we'll press a full blown assault on those things all the way up into the tunnels if need be. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Jorgren excepted his orders.

"Lieutenant Granger!"

"Yes, sir."

"You will lead the ambush reinforcement team." the captain barked.

"Yes, sir." the middle aged battle hardened lieutenant agreed to his orders.

"You are dismissed gentlemen."

Both lieutenants saluted the captain and departed quickly to muster their men. Normally the captain would have only sent one of them to lead the advancement but Jorgren was green in the ways of command and he couldn't afford anything to go wrong. Neither could the captain afford to lose two lieutenants from a command mistake but it was a risk he was going to have to take.

Jorgren didn't like all of the sneaking around it took to setup the ambush points. Normally it was a dishonorable thing to lay in wait for the enemy covertly but this wasn't a living enemy that deserved honor. Not only were they inhuman they weren't even alive. They didn't deserve the rules of war typically enacted upon in accordance with the knightly measure. Still, all that aside, Jorgren didn't like all of the sneaking around.

The men in his detachment tethered their horses off to the side of the trail just enough for them to not be spotted from the pass. Jorgren decided to leave two guards posted with the mounts so at least one side of their flank was covered. Five men took cover along each side of the road with bow and arrow readied. They had already forgotten their fallen knightly brethren as they held the focus of assassins.

Approximately a hundred yards down the way a dozen more knights, led by lieutenant Granger, sat overconfidently upon their steeds not bothering to take cover. Instead, they waited, patiently in the darkness for the call to battle. They stood upon a crossroad that split the trail four ways. If the enemy was trying to slip the defense they would be aware. The lieutenants and their men had successfully taken the road. More importantly the enemy showed no indication they were even aware of what was going on. The trap was set.

Though it took longer than anticipated both of the scouts eventually reported in. It had appeared to them that the other mining sites had been abandoned by the undead all together. The two sites shared common characteristics of a battle having taken place. Broken, makeshift weapons were scattered about and even old blood stains had yet to be completely washed away. The sleeping quarters of both sites were in shambles. Even a few rotting limbs, a hand here and an arm there, were thrown about the blood stained floors. After carefully going over the findings, Engle made a decision.

"It appears the enemy has either withdrawn into the caves and fled deeper into the mountain or has gathered at camp Tunnel. Either way it feels like a trap. It's as if the creatures at Tunnel are just waiting for our attack.."

"Wha-What are we to do captain?" one of the scouts asked with a deep concern quivering his words.

"We bring our swords to them." Engle nodded with intensity. "Lieutenant Shand!"

"Yes, sir." the long haired, graybeard knight who was busy in deep conversation with a fellow member of the order snapped to attention and hustled his way to the captain's side.

"You are to go ahead with a detachment of fifty men and rendezvous with the ambush party." the captain ordered. "Lieutenant Granger, Jorgren, and yourself are to organize the immediate assault on camp tunnel. I will be along to reinforce the main assault as needed. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed." Engle concluded. "Scouts, immediately move ahead and inform the other parties. Move forward to Tunnel and survey the road. Report back to Lieutenant Jorgren immediately afterward for he will be taking seventy five men along that path."

"Yes, sir!" the two armored scouts saluted in unison and departed ahead of Shand's detachment.

By the time the scouts had reached the rendezvous points a couple hours had passed and the knights they had met up with had long since grown anxious for battle. As soldiers they were accustomed to the hurry up and wait routine but their prowess was on an open battlefield and not sneaking about like bandits along the road. The new orders came to them as music to their ears. It was time to finally end this once and for all. The sun was do to rise in another hour and they expected blood on their swords long before then.

The scouts reported the half a mile of forested trail leading up the mountain to the cliff side camp Tunnel resided upon was clear. Not only that but there was room for a strong cavalry charge once they reached the top of the trail. If successful they were certain to break the enemy in one foul swoop. That is, of course, if the enemy were human. Run them through with your blade and they don't die. Set them on fire and they dance through the flames as if swimming in a pond. Jorgren's anger towards them swelled.

Seventy five mounted cavalry, Knights of the Clover, closed the distance to the camp. In an inspiring act Jorgren took the lead without with smoothness and strength. Just before the unit rounded the corner to meet the enemy Jorgren halted their progress to again send in a scout to verify the enemy position. When the report came in he had found it hadn't changed. The enemy was organized in a cluster on the near side of the crater that Malanchuan left as a scar upon the mountainside.

The light tingling sensation of excitement lifted the soldiers on high. Their warhorses walk shifted to a trot, rounded the bend, and at the apex, launched into a sprint as the knights spotted the grotesque horde just a hundred yards away. They mindlessly roamed about clueless to the what was to come. The undead swayed back and forth and just stayed in place as if the cavalry hadn't been about to slam into them with full force.

Steel met flesh and severed heads from bodies in glorious dark fountains of blood. The zombies fought back with rotted teeth and decrepit lunges of their fleshy diseased ridden claws. It was like trying to cut meat with a wooden spoon. The undead hadn't even a chance of taking a single casualty into their ranks. By the time Jorgren's initial charge sliced through the enemy, reformed, and then finished its second pass through the walking corpses, it was all but over.

As the three lieutenants met one another their soldiers picked off the few straggling zombies with their crossbows.

"That was almost too easy." Jorgren remarked while his eyes darted about anxiously. The adrenaline of battle pumped through his veins and his armor seemed to be begging to be bathed in more blood.

"I agree." Granger surveyed the camp. "We should hold our position until we receive further orders from our captain."

As the lieutenant proceeded to dispatch a scout to relay word to the captain a deep baritone roar invaded the camp and assaulted the soldiers ears with crippling animosity. The knights pointed to the sky above and their horses kicked and bucked in a frenzy. One of the knights was even thrown from the saddle and lay in a cloud of dust under an unmoving heap of armor. Jorgren spotted the culprit in an intense instant. A massive dragon came at them from the heavens spiraling like a tornado as it dove. Frozen in fear, paralyzed by it's evil magnificence, their was little anyone could do. The knights had been drawn out from the cover of the forest and now sat in the open like sheep at the slaughter. The trap had been sprung.

The wyrms first flyby attack swooped low out of the early morning sky and lit a blinding inferno upon the good knights of Johnstown with its fiery breath. A dozen of the warriors were caught within the deadly range of the malicious attack. Their skin bubbled, popped, and almost instantly dissolved to a gel like liquid as dozens of the men and horse alike burned alive in the fray. Jorgren just barely stayed clear of the blast by diving from his mount and rolling clear. Unfortunately, his horse was turned into a galloping fireball. Worse yet, as no man ever should, Lieutenant Granger screamed in horror as the dragon fire consumed him miserably..

While the dragon climbed its way back into the sky and reached the pinnacle of its route, in that moment of chaos, Jorgen leaped back up and onto his feet. The remainder of the knights still upon horseback retreated just far enough to get away from the lingering flames. All they could do was regroup , keep an eye on the sky, and helplessly watch their brothers burn before their eyes. One of the knights spotted Jorgren getting to his feet about thirty yards from the main host of knights and he desperately shouted for him to take cover.

"Lieutenant!" the knight pointed skyward. "It's coming right for you!"

Jorgren raised his eyes from what was left of Granger to the dragon falling fast from the sky. He didn't know what to do. Sure enough, in another couple blinks of an eye the wyrm swooped solely upon him as he stood out in the center of the battlefield like a soar thumb. The beast didn't breath fire this time around. Instead it scooped up the young lieutenant as a falcon does a field mouse and carried him high into the air with little effort.

Upon the dragons second attack the remaining knights readied the horn for a full retreat. They were in fact so disturbed that they didn't even bother sounding the reinforcement horn. It had all happened so fast. In a moments time they had retaken the camp and then suddenly were blasted by dragon fire. After nothing more than a ten second window that allowed the knights to somewhat regroup they were stunned to witness their new lieutenant being carried off into the early morning sky. The massive winged lizard even left Lieutenant Granger to roast like a witch. It had all happened so fast they hadn't time to properly gather their wits about them. All they could do was tremble in fear and anticipation. Finally two of the knights broke from the squad inspiring ten more to follow. The horn was finally sounded.

"Hold!" someone from the front commanded before the full retreat was completely acted upon.

Before the company could fully break in retreat a hooded figure appeared floating high in the morning mists that were rolling in off of the mountain top and converging with the dark smoke of the burning bodies. In one subtle flick of the psion's wrist the dragon lost control of it's flight. Like a bird that had only one wing it uncontrollably tumbled from the sky. The red robe disappeared and almost instantly reappeared again upon the ground in the middle of the carnage. Struggling to carry the weight of a heavily armored knight he slumped to his to his knees. Trading their fear for astonishment the knights were baffled as they watched the dragon plummet to it's doom in the middle of Malanchuan's crater.

The beast slammed to the earth and thrashed about. It sprayed blood in every direction in gory waves of death. It's wings were shriveled and horribly mutated by the psion's power. The knights took full advantage of their chance to strike back. With an intimidating chorus of battle cries the soldiers closed in and circled their flailing enemy. As they did so they moved in quickly and struck with their blades before retreating fast. The brown skinned dragon spit fire harmlessly into the air above as it was overcome.

It screaming like a devil when it's tail was lopped off in one swift swipe of a blade. The severed tail bounced chaotically like a snake that just had it's head cut off. The deadly whip knocked several men aside before settling down into a softly thumping lull. It was only a matter of time before the dragon's head was taken by the surrounding force of highly skilled swordsmen. In the comfort of a blood raining victory the knights shouted their glorious declarations down the side of the Shadowbelt.

When Captain Engle heard the horn of retreat echo down the mountain he and his men were just beginning to work their way up the path. He instantly realized something was gravely wrong for the signal didn't sound for reinforcement but for a full retreat!

"What could possibly cause a force of nearly a hundred knights to flee?" the captain thought aloud to himself. "Had they already been overrun by the dead?"

The anxiety didn't last long before it turned into heart trembling fear. He scanned the mountain and saw the dragon climbing high into the sky in preparation for another devastating fly by attack. The hope of all the world fled from his mind and body as it delicately left his soul in a paralyzing instant.

"We must go to our brothers!" Engle cried out to his men. "Onward for it is time to show the enemy doom!"

The reinforcement squad burst up the trail as fast as their horses could carry them. The fear that raptured the swordsmen changed to excitement as the dragon seemed to lose control of it's flight and topple from the sky. Horns sounded, hooves thundered, and when Engle and his team reached the camp they were greeted by the glorious cheers of the dragon slayers. But the captain had come to find the victory bittersweet. He had lost a lieutenant and a dozen strong knights to a death, in his opinion, fit only for a worshiper of a false god. Jorgren met with the captain while wearing a mask of relief that hid his self appointed blame and deprecating grief.

"That's a big lizard you found there." the captain cracked a rare joke in an attempt to make light of the sacrifice that had occurred. But the victory of slaying a dragon of such proportions couldn't be done without sacrifice. Jorgren was trembling from nerves. His healthy face had lost all it's pigment and drooped like an abandoned dog. As his captain approached Jorgren shook his head and pointed at the smoldering corpses.

"We've lost Lieutenant Granger." he wasn't sure how to take it all in.. "The damn thing lit a fire upon us and the corpses around our horses hooves. The battlefield had turned into an inferno. The blaze brutally took maybe thirty lives. I don't know. The skin, it just slipped right off of them." Jorgren looked away ashamed of how helpless he felt. "Their screams I, I will never forget. I had nearly perished when the dragon grappled me with it's claws and carried me up into the heavens. If it weren't for the psion not only would my father's life have ended on this night but you would have also found me in one of the piles of scorched bodies that lay about. That is if the wyrm didn't get to you first."

Right on cue, Pic approached the two men and threw back his hood exposing the pointy ears of an immortal.

"The elf!" Engle was taken aback.

"Actually, half elf, sir." Pic bowed respectfully. "You might recall I was in attendance during your meeting with Father John at the temple."

"Oh, yes, of course." the captain fumbled while he clasped a friendly hand on the psion's shoulder. "Forgive me, respectfully, I didn't recognize you at first. The people of Johnstown owe you a great deal of gratitude. Come now for the people will want to here this tale. But first, I want some of this dragon to come back with us. Tonight we feast in honor of the fallen."

"Lieutenant!" one of the knights investigating the dragon's corpse called out to Jorgren. "I think you had better take a look at this."

Jorgren and Pic looked at each other as if to say, "What now?".

The captain followed the two of them over to the hulking corpse. Two symbols, each located underneath the dragons eyes around the upper cheek area, were etched, or tattooed into the beast's scales. The symbols were both identical: circles with the face of a horned demon inside of them.

"What do you think it means?" asked the knight who first discovered the markings.

"I don't know." Pic lied before telepathically contacting both Jorgren and the Captain. "It can only mean one thing; This dragon must be an actual disciple of Malanchuan."

Chapter 9

As usual John was up early performing his daily ablutions and preparing to lead the morning worship service. Angelica and Xander took care of Jacob and he even helped to prepare the floral decorations him for the morning's service. The warrior priest designated time to privately pray for the safe return of the soldiers brave enough to risk their lives in defense of Roseguard's countryside. As he ate breakfast he gradually became even more worried about the outcome of the previous evening. Jorgren and Captain Engle had yet to return from the Shadowbelt. Pic wasn't at breakfast and his private quarters were empty.

As the morning went on his concerns deepened. He did all that he could to prevent himself from fearing for the worst. By mid morning squires were dispatched to discover the location the captain and his knights. John settled down in his study to meditate when sudden visions of vivid clarity flooded to his mind. In an instant he recollected the all too realistic dream he had experienced the night before.

"Had Pic left without me?" he wondered allowed.

The holy man breathed in deeply and let it out slowly while keeping his eyes shut to block out the world around. He cleared his mind by focusing only on his rhythmic breathing. The sound of the air moving in and out of his body, the feeling of his chest inflating and deflating served to calm and balance his old worried mind.

After a half an hour of clarity John made his way to the sanctuary where he was to meet with his guests that had come to join him in worship. It was the same as any other day except that on this particular morning the sanctuary was far busier than usual. The pews were filled to capacity. A group of women and children approached the priest as he entered the hall. The townsfolk desperately pleaded for the priest to tell them where their husbands had gone off to and that he pray for their safe return during the service.

As it were most people in attendance were family members of the brave knights who left in the middle of the night for the deadly errand. John paused his progress to the alter several times to whisper private prayers and reassurances to members of the audience. As he took to the pulpit and looked over the sorrowful people he realized he should have prepared a special sermon in advance. If it weren't for his exhaustion from battle he certainly would have. He supposed it was the lords way of challenging him.

"Thank you all for your cherished presence this morning." he began after clearing his throat. "As you know these are trying times that we live in and god reminds us of that on a daily basis. It is with bleeding heart and humble mind that I stand before you all to assure you of what only god can supply: His infinite support. "

"The bulk of The Order of the Clover has been dispatched to face a challenge that threatens our countryside. It is only in our collective unity that god will feel our love and grant our prayers for the safe return of our protectors. I would like to take a moment of silence in honor of the missing miners and their mourning families."

This sparked a flood of tears from the audience who struggled to maintain the dignity of composure. During the moment of silence John silently cast a gentle healing spell drawn from an unspoken prayer. A gentle wave of peace fell over the guests and temporarily eased their heartaches with the slightest feeling of euphoria. As John prayed tears welled in his eyes and streams of blood slowly slipped down his cheeks. He dried his eyes with one of the cloths he kept behind the pulpit for such an occasion.

"God," his whisper carried to every corner of the sanctuary. "hear my prayer and show these fine people a sign of your grace. These loyal women and children have shown nothing but trust in you lord as they've come to you now for shelter from the spiritual storm in their hearts. Come now and heed their cries so they may leave this room with joyous hearts. Hear my prayer father and give us a sign."

As if it were a well planned production the double doors leading out of the sanctuary swung open and one of the squires of the order burst into the hall shouting with joy.

"They've come!" he called out with a bright quivering voice. "Our knights have been spotted just outside of town and they return victorious!"

"The lord has answered our prayers!" someone in the audience cried out in a tear choked voice.

The entire congregation immediately jumped from their seats and stampeded through the double doors, into reception, and out onto the street where they began making their way to the edge of town. John just stood motionless behind the pulpit. Only four people were left in the audience: His wife Angelika, Xander, Freight, and Jacob sat patiently. Freight was itching to follow the herd but out of respect thought it best to remain seated.

"It is grace that has brought you here my child." John looked upon the boy. "and it is grace that brings me joy."

Xander pointed at his forehead and then shook his head. John misunderstood at first before recalling Pic's idea of erasing the hellish experience from the boy's mind.

"Oh yes, I see now." the priest sighed as he stepped down from the alter and sat down between Angelika and the boy. John ran his hand through the orphan's hair. "Do not worry my child this is a glorious day. We have room to celebrate for our knights have returned home in victory just as you shall as long as you remain true to the lord."

The knights of the Order of the Clover slowly progressed down the streets of Johnstown with a mob of citizens rallying their homecoming. Women rushed to their husbands and children to their fathers. It truly was a sentimental sight to witness. The lead horse pulled a wagon the men had borrowed from a farm on the outskirts of town. In the wagon rested the massive head of the once formidable fallen dragon. Upon seeing the monster with their own eyes for the first time the citizens of Johnstown were speechless. They just stood there with their mouths hung open for they believed all there ordinary lives that they'd never have a chance to witness such a thing.

The parade came to an end in the middle of town just in front of the temple. John, Angelika, Xander, Freight, and Jacob stood atop the steps and marveled at the catch. As captain Engle and Father John greeted one another a hush fell over the jam packed street.

"What has the lord brought home for dinner?" John's joke invoked a round of laughter from the the people of Johnstown as he worked his audience like a master entertainer.

"Giant fire breathing snake with wings and spiced potatoes." the captain returned to the merriment of the audience.

"There will be much celebration!" John proclaimed to the roaring crowd while wrapping his arms around Angelika with joy. "I declare this day an official holiday to be forever remembered throughout the history of Johnstown. Now get the ale and the fires ready. We have a lizard to roast!"

The crowd cheered on like mad until John raised his hands into the air signaling for quite. The roar settled to a murmur and the priest took the opportunity to speak a prayer and bless the hundreds of citizens who participated in the successful missions homecoming. He thanked god for the brave and the fallen as well as the soulful citizens of Roseguard before concluding his prayer.

Many of the knights detached from the mob and went home to their wives to rest and prepare for the evenings festivities. John left the doors to the temple wide open for all who desired to come and give thanks. It was with great relief to the elder priest that Jorgren had returned to him unharmed. They spent some time together kneeling before the alter and going over the events of the dangerous mission.

Captain Engle also spent time in the sanctuary honoring the fallen in prayer and joining Jorgren in the debriefing. Out of respect for their culture Pic prayed with them and even shed a few heart felt words with the captain who couldn't have been more gracious of the half elf.

"You're actions have proven your honor is equaled only by that of the knightly order as a whole." Engle spoke his meaningful words with a heavy heart. "It is the people of this town that are in debt to you as you will forever be known as a friend to the order and a hero to all of Johnstown. Many of my men owe you their lives."

"You honor me enough with your comradery captain." Pic humbly bowed.

"Yet I feel that is not enough." Engle responded. "You will be the guest of honor in attendance at our feast. You will sit beside Father John and myself so that we may show you honor before our people. At the ceremony you will be knighted and inducted into the Order of the Clover as an honorary member."

Jorgren and Father John nodded in silent agreement.

"Thank you captain." Pic bowed again.

"Now," John clasped his hands together. "how about an early lunch in the dining hall so we may discuss further plans for the days events and most importantly, the future. The priest and the psion met one another's knowing gaze. It became evident to John at that point that the previous nights visions were more than just a dream. They may have truly been insight to prophecy during trying times.

They discussed plans for the celebration over a basic meal of pourage, bread, and cheese. John was able to gather even more details of the encounter with the dragon. They counted their losses and prepared basic funeral arrangements for the fallen. John sent a fryer to assist Angelika with the celebration plans that were agreed upon over lunch.

"It is a true shame to lose so many good men." Engle spoke somberly after John led a brief prayer. "Lieutenant Granger served under me for years. Aside from my brother I trusted none other in his position more than he. I expect Jorgren will perform the duties of his new found position with as much honor and character as Granger had. His bravery this morning has spoken volumes about what the future has in store for him. John, you have truly raised a valiant son."

"Thank you, Sir Engle." both John and Jorgren spoke at once which forced everyone at the table to smile.

Jacob, however, was not smiling. Instead he just yawned and played with his food. Xander looked on and nagged at the boy. He decided to excuse themselves from the table and leave the others to discuss matters openly without distraction.

The boy said his good byes to and even playfully jabbed at Freight in hopes to start a wrestling match. The men finished their meals in relative peace before John turned to the psion and asked that which rested heavily on his heart.

"Is it true? Does the gate really lead into the heavens?" his searching eyes pierced the half elf's gaze. An awkward silence propagated throughout the room before Pic answered.

"I believe it to be more than a strong possibility John."

"If you had only seen the portal with your own eyes father." Freight piped in. "The hall we found it in was lavishly designed with great care for the celestials in mind. Most of the decorations lay in ruin but it was obvious the fallen statues were fashioned in the likes of the celestials. I mean, even the portal itself had fancy engravings of the heavenly protectors around the strange writing. I'm no expert but it did appear to be desecrated holy grounds. Does the gate lead to the heavens? Nothing surprises me anymore."

"Hmm," the priest shook his head. "simply amazing."

"Maybe that thing was guarding the gate because it couldn't destroy it like it did everything else in the hall."

"When the citizens see a dead dragon," Pic remarked. "they celebrate in trust that the worst is over. But whenever one of those things is discovered the foulest of plots surround it. I don't think we even know the half of it yet. But if our theories are correct then you've just made a discovery of a lifetime, Freight."

"So you mean to tell me," Engle responded in astonishment. "that you all really think you've found a gateway to heaven itself?"

John only nodded slowly.

"I'll send a force to garrison the position immediately." the captain suddenly got up from the table to depart. "I go to delegate orders to the fresh knights I held in reserve. They will meet the enemy and take great care of the findings."

"Father, I'd like to lead the garrison company." Jorgren requested as he gave John a slow, fatigued salute.

"Your heart is in the right place though you body demands rest." John shook his head. "Besides, thats really the captains decision not mine. It's likely that he will agree with my opinion on the matter anyhow. Get some rest and meet up with the garrison later."

"As you wish father." the lieutenant excused himself from the table, bowed respectfully and retired to his quarters.

"Now," John turned his gaze to Pic. "what of our travel arrangements for the desert realm?"

"Desert?" Freight blurted.

"Freight," the priest asked gently. "would you please go on ahead and assist Angelika with the arrangements for the upcoming feast? There is much to be done and I'm sure she can really use your help right about now."

"Very well." the burly man's sigh sounded more like the grunt of a grizzly bear but he went about the request without another word.

The priest and the psion were left to discuss matters privately.

A large pavilion was setup in the center of town where tables were set by the dozen. Even a makeshift stage was slapped together in no time flat. All the while the dragon tail roasted on an open fire as it's sinister head was proudly displayed. After hours of preparation, hundreds upon hundreds, well over a thousand of the townsfolk gathered to celebrate the victory during that evening.

With so much going on it was difficult for Engle to enjoy the festivities. The only thing his troops could do to move forward was celebrate the loss of their comrades in place of allowing the sad facts to miserably consume them. It took time for the honor of their sacrifices to set in. Another detachment was sent back to the mountains earlier in the afternoon as it was apparent the knighthood had only won the first of many battles to come. To mourn would only hold the brave soldiers back from fulfilling their honorable duties. Their was no room for the warriors to grieve and so the traditional ceremonies were held.

Humbly late Captain Engle appeared at the gathering in freshly polished armor. He took his seat at a table just in front of the stage where John, Jorgren, Angelika, Freight, and Pic all warmly greeted him with glasses raised high. As it were Engle was so deep in contemplation during the length of the festivities many of his men thought that he was in mourning. Truth was he needed more time in debate and strategy sessions than in partying and his drab facial expressions may have been sending mixed signals.

"Fifty men rode out three hours ago to garrison the main camp." he updated the table with an overly stern seriousness.

"God be with them." was all John had to say in response as he was shaking hands with nearly every passerby who came his way. Angelika stood by him and spent her extra attention in prayer. Recent widows of the battle of camp tunnel came to their table and prayed with her in search of hope.

The renowned bard Larameih Windsong of the plainsmen was just taking to the stage while servants brought more wine and other fancies to their table. Engle and Pic declined the wine while both John and Freight heartily partook. The psion studied the priest interacting with the people who passed his way. Everyone who met with the priest showed their respect and reverence for the healer. Some even fell to their knees before him in praise. Others that held him in the highest regard bowed humbly or quietly asked for a private prayer.

"If only all figure heads in the world held this type of love and trust with their people." Pic marveled aloud to Jorgren. "This kind of admiration and respect can only be rivaled by that of the eldest leaders of the elvin nation."

As the men at the table were left to contemplate what was next, even the general possibility of war, the priest sipped his wine and made sure that the people were happy no matter what was going on. He possessed a true gift of the gods if ever their was one. John had spent the majority of the afternoon personally knocking on doors and bringing the news to the unfortunate families who had lost a treasured family member to the dragon's wrath.. The priest would need his wine that night.

Xander eventually appeared at the gathering with Jacob at his side just before Pic's knighting ceremony was set to begin. The child remained shy after his early behavior said little. Angelika was worried about the boy's mood swing but then again he was quick to laugh at the bard's joke so she was able to put her mind at ease eventually. Xander tried to keep Jacob entertained to no avail.

After nearly an hour John was invited on stage to not only begin the knighting ceremony but also to publicly promote Jorgren to his new rank of lieutenant. The priest quickly wrapped one of his conversations and rose from his seat to make his way to the stage. An honor guard of four fully decorated knights of the clover met with him along the side of the stage and accompanied him forward.

"Long live Sir John!" someone in a far back table shouted earnestly which influenced dozens of others to stand and chant with pumping fists. "Long live Sir John, Long live Sir John!"

"Thank you my sisters and brothers." he spoke with the compassion of a lover once the crowd settled down. Tears flooded his eyes and threatened to burst like a waterfall. Colorful flowers covered the backdrop of the stage and gracefully accented his gentle white robes. Obviously greatly moved by the reception he went on.

"We have survived today," a long applause rippled through the gathering before he was able to continue. "though some have not. Let us take a moment of silence for the brave men who have given their lives to protect this town."

Sixty seconds of silence ensued in peace aside from the occasional cough or sniffle from the grand audience before the stage. During this time a beautiful young woman in a gorgeous glimmering red dress came to the stage and began playing her harp. As she played John brought forth a scroll from underneath his robe and slowly unraveled it. To the melodic flow of the smooth stringed instrument, one by one, the priest began reading allowed the names of the honored fallen.

"Now we take the time to salute the surviving heroes."

John went on to call Captain Engle to the stage who did the honors of calling forth Jorgren and presented him the lieutenants helm of the order of the clover.

"In honor of your heroic deeds we stand here tonight alive and ready to humbly salute you." Captain Engle locked on to Jorgren's penetrating gaze. "From this day forward you will be known to all as Sir Jorgren, Lieutenant of the order of the clover."

"Thank you sir." Jorgren excepted the helm with great pride.

It was an intricately designed helm with carvings of ivory like vines dancing around it with clover accents. Less than a dozen of the helms had ever been created and upon touch it healed as if an ordained priest had laid his hands upon the bearer. The gift truly looked and felt like a hand me down from heaven itself.

Pic was called to the stage next for his official knighting. On behalf of the king, Father John awarded the half elf the honor of being the first nonhuman in the history of Roseguard to receive such a position. Though John hadn't received permission from the king himself he placed his ceremonial sword on the psion's shoulders. The red robe arose as Sir Pic Smirnaelam of the order of the clover. The alliance between the knighthood and the psychic council was complete.

"This would not have been possible without the combat support of Pic, my brother in arms." Jorgren placed an arm around the half elf's shoulders and proudly addressed the audience. "You will forever be known as a hero to the people of this town."

Even Freight was honored at the ceremony. He got up, bowed and waved and didn't forget to remind the audience of his store hours back in the capital. A bard from Malfaction began reciting a poem as the harp's melody again filled the air and The knights slowly made their way back to their respective tables.

"Oh, and one more thing." John almost forgot. "God bless the food. Now lets eat!"

The plates were served with overflowing greens, potatoes, and just a taste of dragon tail was spared for nearly everyone in attendance. It had turned into a joyous occasion for most as they all feasted and carried on. The knights sipped the dragon's blood like wine, the farmers graded the vegetable quality, and most of the town folk enjoyed their tiny share of the exotic steak. Usually, the delicacy would have been reserved for the knights but on this occasion John thought it best to do whatever it took to help the citizens ease their minds. With approximately two hundred dead, almost every family in Johnstown was affected in one way or the other by loss. John did all he could do to give back.

When the transmutation began the warrior priest was engaged in conversation with Freight and Jarsworth, the head of the local merchants guild. Just as the owner of the lumber mill came to John's table to join in on the conversation the plates and tankards began to mysteriously rattle around as if an unseen hand were shaking the table. Wine glasses spilled over like a popping volcano chain. Everyone at the table suddenly halted their conversations and looked at one another quizzically as if to ask, "Is is that you?".

Having just braved his first bite of the dragon meat Jacob gripped the table with both hands and shook uncontrollably.

"Jacob this is no time for games." Angelika raised her voice as Xander placed a hand on the boy's shoulder in an attempt to settle him.

"Get away from me!" the boy's voice was gutteral, infernal in nature like that of a demon and his eyes shot to life with glowing red luminescence.

"By the gods......" slowed by the wine John could only gasp in amazement.

Large bat like wings sprouted from Jacob's back like the extended wings of a huge crow. Xander tripped and fell before the child's feet trembling like a babe. The winged creature that was once a boy leaped onto the table and screamed a dragon like roar across the pavilion. Mass hysteria reigned throughout the audience. Just as Jorgren dove across the table in an attempt to tackle the orphan the winged nemesis jumped high into the air and didn't return. Instead he tore through the pavilions canvas and flew out into the evening sky.

From outside the pavilion people could be heard screaming with a panicked frenzy.

"Dragon! Run for your lives! Dragon!"

By the time the knights managed to press their way out of the chaos of the pavilion they found themselves at a true loss as to what they witnessed. The silhouette of a full grown dragon blacked out the bright full moon and headed for the horizon.

### The second half of the book was lost when my laptop was stolen, along with my backups. ###

So, you'll just have to watch the music video based off the second half instead. Oh fuckin well.

-About the editing : shut up and deal with it.

Ready for a mind trip?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BXkvLX5gTI&feature=fvst

