The Scars of Tascera: Searan's Emergency

[Shuuda]

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The Scars of Tascera.

Chapter One: Snowfall in Searan.

Darkened clouds hovered over the valley where he stood, watching the bottom with his azure eyes in a gentle anticipation. The young man, in his black armour, stood strong against the harsh winds as if he didn't even notice, only his silver, ear length hair moved. The clouds above burst with snowfall and soon smothered the grass with frost, descending faster with each passing moment, until, as if out of nowhere, a blizzard engulfed the land. But the young man still stood blissfully with a wide, yet calming smile across his smooth face. Finally, his body loosened and his curved lips moved apart. He sighed softly and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, playfully, but with a slight tone of impatience. Although it only fell for a minute or so, there was enough snow settled for him to hear the loud crackling of footsteps approaching from behind.

“Morgan,” he called, turning his head, “you're late.” The man he called to was much different from himself. He was built larger, as was his black armour, and more gentleman-like with his slick back brown hair, and thick well groomed goatee. He was clearly older than the azure eyed man; his face was rough and full of experiences. Despite all signs of ware and age, his eyes blazed vigorously in fiery crimson. He proceeded to grin apologetically.

“Aye, please do forgive me, most dreadful conditions further north,” he explained, “and you know how much I hate dragging myself though this stuff,” he continued, he made his displeasure viable by kicking the snow around him. The young man chuckled mockingly before diverting his eyes to the large bundle Morgan was carried in his arms. He had wrapped it in his red cloak.

“Got something interestin' to show?” he asked, with feigned curiosity. Although Morgan sensed the real lack of interest, he answered anyway.

“Ah yes, I found this up north a few hours ago, do come and see, it's most unusual.” He begun to unwrap a part of his fiery cloak from it. The young man walked towards Morgan and his mystery object; stopping when he saw a hand being unravelled, it was a lifeless grey with a feminine shape.

“Now hold on!” he said, in confusion. “That's... your surprise? A corpse?” he objected, but he still kept that same smile on his face. “Couldn't you have jus-”

“Now now! Who said anything about a corpse?” Morgan slyly interrupted. “This lass is living,” he continued to explain while he revealed her face. The young man took a few moments to inspect what was in front of him: she appeared to be no older than twenty, her skin was cold as stone, her long hair was ebony, and her eyes were softly closed. In fact, the only sign he could see of any life in her was a gentle breathing motion; even the snow that touched her face was powerless to melt. The young man's curiosity had perked slightly, but still did not express any concern for her. He turned his head back to the valley quickly to check for any change; but other than the snow that covered the grass, the trees, the road, and the bushes, nothing was different.

“Very well, I'll play along. Who is she?” he asked, looking over his shoulder, “and more importantly, why do you choose to bother me with her?” Morgan inhaled a large breath of air, then started to tell his tale.

“Well you see, I was travelling through the ol' woods near Kelfbrow to arrive here as soon as possible, since the letter you had sent was most insistent that I were to depart from my... business. So I was going through those woods since it was the qui-” he stopped suddenly, noticing the young man's eye raised eye brow. Although his this lips were still frozen in their smile, Morgan could sense the annoyance. “W-w-well as I was saying, I found this lass while I was at the edge of the woods. She was right there, wandering around naked like it was Solous on the South Coast. She didn't respond to any of my calls to her, and by the time I'd reached her, she'd gotten on the snow and went to sleep. And if that wasn't odd enou-”

“So why did you drag her here?” he interrupted.

“Because, it would be ungentleman-like of me to leave her, and since she's not waking up, I wanted to take her somewhere safe inside. However, I didn't want to be too late for this exciting moment you wrote to me about,” he continued to tell. “Speaking of which,” he said as he laid the girl; who was still wrapped in his cloak, softly on the snow, “it's time for your surprise. And I only hope I'll be as interested in it as you were in mine.”

“Ah, finally! Time to get down to business!” the young man cheered, brushing the snow out of his silver hair. He moved back to where first stood, with Morgan in tow.

“Down there,” he pointed into the right side of the valley bottom, “do you see it?” Precisely after he pointed, countless rows of men could be seen marching through the valley. They carried lances, shields and armour. From their viewpoint, they appeared as a brownish grey mass, slugging its way across the blanket of snow. A small squadron of long, scaled, winged beasts flew slowly just above the mass, each one being rode upon by an armoured knight sporting large spears. Morgan stroked his beard and pondered, staring at the banners being carried; which bore a large white lighting bolt upon a black and indigo patched fabric.

“Looks to me like Lord Farner's legions. What ever is going on, it must be most serious if Lord Farner himself is overseeing this-”

“Invasion, correct.”

“So he's finally acting against the alleged plots of the Rephall Pact?” Morgan wondered, his fiery eyes widened.

“Well, I'd expect that's their public reason to do so; and yet with such... questionable evidence.” The young man said. Morgan gave a pained stare at him as if his pride had been injured. “N-now what are you saying? That it's some... some form of lie?” He stammered. “I've known His Majesty for a very long time, heck... since I was a young lad even, and I know one thing: he's an honest and wise man, and he wouldn't ever create such veils.” Morgan proclaimed in defence.

“No no no, I'm not tryin' to say anything like that. I mean, for all the reasons he could have to make this decision I don't blame him; it's just,” Morgan sensed a huge change in his demeanour even though the calm smile never left the azure-eyed man's face, “I looked into it while you were away.”

“A-a-and?” Morgan was desperate to know. After a short pause and breath, the man spoke again.

“I couldn't find where the evidence came from, it's li-”

“WHAT! YOU!” Morgan then halted, fully taking in the shock. “You were unable to find out it's origins? Then perhaps it is something we need to look into.” The young man nodded.

“Yes, we will have to.” he remarked. His mood changed back to his calm self. “But first,” staring at the girl still in deep sleep.

“Aye, back to Kelfbrow, for rest and a good meal... I hope; I mean as long as they can cook a good lamb 'n' mash down there.” Morgan licked his lips before picking up the girl to carry across his shoulder.

“Not a moment to waste I suppose,” the azure-eyed man chuckled. The two men walked away back north. But then, Morgan stopped for a quick moment to check on the marching mass, which had now made it's way to the other end of the valley.

“Karr, Varon.” He muttered under his breath before following behind the azure-eyed man to Kelfbrow, through the still thickening snow. As they disappeared, so did the snowfall.

~

“All men to their posts!” the guardsman yelled. The soldiers struggled to subdue the chaos set ablaze by news of a marching army approaching.

“Archers to the bastions!” The soldiers ran all around: they collected weapons, stringed bows, donned helmets, and squabbled among themselves.

“The forces of Garollen will arrive within the hour!” But despite the heat of stress, the frost of snow and the fear of death the men knew their place and after the chaos settled, they were ready for the coming battle.

In the main corridor of the castle, all the men rushed franticly outside to the courtyard; all but one. He was tall and appeared to be healthy, in his mid twenties. His eyes were grey-blue with a stern stare, his hair was rough and short in a dark cooper. He was dressed in dark top and cream trousers, lightly covered by silvery grey plated armour around his shoulders, chest and waist with leather brown boots and gloves. His expression was different from that of them men around him; he was serious and stiff, he looked only ahead as if those around him where air and dust.

He marched toward the large, decorated wooden doors of the royal throne room ahead. Inside, an ageing King in thick golden armour was finishing giving out his orders to his three loyal generals.

“And finally, Sir Dyarl, you must command the front men in the front and call for the reserves when it is necessary,” he commanded to the tall, curly black haired man in a light blueish coat of armour who was stood somewhat casually but obediently listened.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” he responded, without hesitation. And with that the three generals begun to exit, the other two being a shorter, brown moustached man clad in full covering red armour; and a tall blond woman in lighter white suit and a long black cape, all three stopped and bowed their heads to the man as he was entering before leaving to their posts for battle. The man walked further towards the throne, until he was in the middle of the majestic room flanked by large round stone pillars. The King marched towards him with his left hand stroking his beard, and firmly slapped his other hand upon the man shoulder.

“It is good to see that you are ready,” he spoke with a loud, gritty voice. He took his hand out of his beard and clenching it hard.

“Of course, I'd hate to waste all my talent after all,” he laughed, with a nervous tone. Though he soon remembered that he wanted to ask an important question. “Has mother gone to safety yet?”

“Hours ago, she left for Bremoe with a group of civilians and guards. They took the passage out. I'm so sorry that she was unable to see you before she left, but it was imperative that we got them out before Garollen arrived.”

“Thank goodness,” he breathed; yet with a flicker of worry in his eye, “we should get going I guess they need you after all.” The King noticed his anxiousness with sympathy.

“Markus, there's no shame in being afraid, we all are deep down. But we should always be able to rely on each other, it should get you through it. But I have one favour to ask of you,” Markus raised his eyebrow, “if, by some chance things take a turn for the worst, I-I want you to escape through the passage.” Markus suddenly glared, infuriated. “It's just that, your mother was so sad to leave without being able to say a farewell to you, and it would break her dear heart if she were to never see you again.” He attempted to reason with this son. Markus looked to the floor for a while, thinking this favour through hard.

“Very well, I promise,” he swore oath; realising that he'd never forgive himself if he harmed his own mother in such a way. There was a dead silence for a short moment before they both headed to the exit for the battle to come.

~

On the thick snow a good distance from the castle walls the Garollen forces. Though worn out by the long trek, they were organised into new rows and attack positions; they held their pikes upwards in a field of jagged metal. The valley they marched through almost invisible in white snow and fog.

In command of this vast force, was the famed strategist and general: Lord Karr Farner, riding upon a battle stallion who's body made the snow around look like sand. He was an ageing man with short faded golden hair and a small beard on his strong chin, numerous shallow wrinkles below his eyes and round his mouth. His eyes were dark with a piercing gaze that was not ravaged by time. He wore a dark red suit of armour covered by and large indigo cloak and two large round silver pauldrons. He had a powerful presence that could be felt by anyone who even turned their eyes to him, and had a straight gentleman posture. His face was calm and focused on only the task ahead. He rode up and down inspecting the rows of battle ready men, stopping when he saw someone calling to him.

“Lord Farner! Lord Farner!” the soldier yelled. Karr looked at him, and gave a soft smile in recognition. “All footmen are ready to attack on your order Sir. We await your command.” the soldier bowed.

“Excellent, good work.” Karr then turned his attention upwards. He placed his arm up in the air and held up three fingers in signal. One of he winged lizards which hovered above descended and unsteadily landed next to Karr's horse.

“Yeah Sir?” the rider asked; his voice was relaxed. He was a young, and strong built man with long straight red hair, slim chestnut eyes and smugly curved lips; his eyebrows and forehead were covered by a large white headband. He wore light, streamlined green armour, and he held a large lance in his left hand.

“Captain Ryvor, are you and your riders prepared?”

“Naturally Sir, the 26th Squad was born ready.” he responded, earning him a raised eyebrow from his superior.

“Er...we... very good then, get your squadron into position and move when I give the signal, understand?” Karr continued to order while itching the back of his head. Ryvor gave a nod and a sly grin before flying back up to relay the commands. The six riders then flew high up into the sky till they had become invisible in the thick clouds. Karr turned his attention back towards the target and his footmen. He proceeded to give a single command.

“All front line soldiers, stand still and look ready.” Although many were baffled by this order, they strictly followed and stood still in wait. The proud general rode off to another group of troops stood in a triangle formation at the rear, these men were different from the rest, their armour and spears were ornate; with gold leaf patterns on their chests and silver horned helmets. Two men in large hooded blood red robes greeted him with a bow and blessing.

“You have both practised your task, and are both aware of your duty?” Farner asked, getting down from his white stallion. The left robed man clasped his hands together and bowed again.

“Yes Lord Farner, we would never fail you Sir.” He assured, his voice had a pang of nervousness.

“Erm... we can begin whenever you wish Lord Farner.” The right man added, in an attempt to please their master.

“We shall perform it now.” Karr ordered, wasting no time in getting into his position; the two robed men glanced at each other in encouragement before getting to their own place. The three of them stood around the group of about twenty eight men, one stood at each side of the triangle; standing about ten meters away from each side. Farner performed a final check, and signaled to both of them. They proceeded to span their arms out as wide as possible, the air became filled with the soft sound of the incantation being spoken in perfect timing by the three of them.

Break apart the flesh, and become as the spirits,

Be boundless and everywhere.

See the land of you desire and go find it,

None shall bar your path there.

Ride the lightning and winds through the sky,

Be anywhere your eye could stare.

Seventy Five, Pormatou's Wings.

An amber light shone from the hands of the casters. These lights shot out in beams and connected with each other. It shone brighter and grew into a dome around the men, rippling and pulsing. The light climaxed and engulfed the men in it's brightness that lasted for a short while; it then disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing but the three casters and fifty six foot prints in the snow. Farner took a moment to catch breath as he approached the the two red robed men who were knelt on the ground panting. Farner stared at them for a while, and soon burst out into clapping.

“Excellent performance gentlemen. Just perfect. Would you two like to have a quick drink while we wait?”

~

The phenomenon of this spell did not go unseen by those in defence of the castle. The King himself in witness to the spell, stroked his beard in curiosity. The army of Garollen stood only a short distance away from the gates in silence, with shields in defence against archer fire. Nobody, not in the castle, or on the field made sound; both sides could hear the breathing of the other, and the wind whistling through the distant trees. The silence went on for what seemed like hours before a conversation somewhere, anyway broke out.

“Did we come 'ere to battle, or just watch Farners silly hat tricks?” boasted the shorter general with the moustache. Everyone broke out in astonishment, the soldiers in the courtyard, the King, Dyarl, the blonde lady, Markus, the Garollen forces. Even Lord Farner spat his tea out; muttering.

“My party trick are not silly, His Majesty would never lie to me like that.”

“Lingbury!” Sir Dyarl cried out in fury, shaking his fist in resistance of the urge to clobber him. But before his is able to continue, a revelation struck him and shock surged through his body.

“We're under attack! they're inside!” Within an instant horror and chaos ensnared the men. “We must assist the reserves!” Dyarl ordered in panic; but to no avail as the men were scared and confused. A small group of soldiers managed to organise themselves amongst the terror with Markus, and rushed themselves into the castle. The King, the only one not taken in by the shock, observed the frightened men racing up and down stone stairs, falling in the snow, shoving and pushing, crying in terror, dropping their weapons.

“Enough!” he called, almost tearing his throat. The men froze. The King took a deep breath to recover. “All men back to their posts, will you die like men, or die as cowards?” The men looked down in shame; mustering the courage to stand firm in spite of the danger that loomed. Lingbury unwantedly opened his mouth once more.

“I can't believe these men get some bloody worked up over that; not me though” he claimed; but the only reaction he got was Dyarl, who gave him a suspicious look.

“That because you don't work at all.” he joked, calming himself down. “Someone needs to go with His Highness. Who knows what their up against.”

“Perhaps you should go with some of yer men, j-just in case ye know. I'll let His Majesty know what's happening.” Lingbury said. Dyarl thanked him and went off to gather his men. Lingbury yawned before aimlessly wandering off.

Markus and the randomised assortment of soldiers raced through the large stonewall corridors, taking numerous turns to the right and one to the left. When they finally reached the hall where the reserve men were preparing, they found nothing. Nothing but flesh and metal shredded like paper and drowned in a darkened red blood; a horrific sight of merciless gore, and what was responsible for this brutal act was no where to be seen or heard. The living minority stared in paralysis; Markus forced his eyes shut and turned away, desperately trying to focus.

“We don't stand a chance against whoever did this, we need to get back out.” The command took a while to settle into the shocked soldiers, who eventually noticed and readied themselves for moving again. “We'll need to cover our backs, they could be anywhere.” He warned. So slowly, with eyes searching all around, the group backtracked on themselves. They gripped their spears tightly, including Markus who lead them at the front.

Soon however, they could hear a quiet rumbling of many feet; but no one could tell from where it came from and continued on with more haste than before. The rumbling became louder and began to echo off the walls; the men were squirming with fear, and despite his efforts to calm them down, even Markus was more on his toes. The men had blessedly managed to reach a place where the corridor then forked, the passage to their right lead back outside, but the rumbling footsteps were surging out of the way straight ahead. Out of the candle lit shadows came the twenty eight Garollen soldiers, completely unscathed from their last battle, and with the blood of men still dripping from their spears and boots. Markus glared at them in anger and worry; and with the realisation of no escape, he bent his knees in stance.

The elite Garollen forces wasted no further time on charging into battle; and were greeted by sturdy defences in equal numbers. Markus and his men moved back, overwhelmed by the relentless strength; but only to fight back with thrusting strikes that clash against the thick armour. There was a splatter of blood and the crashing of a helmet but no time for Markus to see whom it was that fell. He was slowly being pushed to his knees, blocking the attack with his spear in both hands. Markus gathered the strength to struggle the towering attacker off himself, using the small moment of the off guarding position of his foe to almost leap in a desperate attack. He struck at a gap in the side of his cuirass. The spear head smashed it's way through other side, impaling it's target destructively with squirts of blood projecting from both side of the wound and a sheik of pain that suddenly cut silent. Markus sighed in relief, dragging his spear from the chest of the falling corpse; reflecting on the strength of his thrusting. But, his victory was short lived when he discovered that many had fallen, and his comrades were less than half of the opposition who were still twenty strong. Markus and his men found the blood of their unfortunate at their heels but did not have time to fear as the Garollens charged again. Yet this time there was no push back; for what was left of the battered men countered in vengeance, as if the will of the fallen was still alive. And this time Markus was in no struggle, competently dodging what to him now was a sluggish attempt to strike; and with expert precision, lunged his spear head in through his side. But still their effort was not enough and they were down to their last four including the weary prince. They looked down to the pond of blood theirs would be joining and raised their spears for a final kill.

The Garollens stepped forward slowly, savouring sweet victory to come. Suddenly, down the large stone corridor, Sir Dyarl and his knights rampaged and smashed the fifteenth men of Garollen upon the hard wall with honed strength at the edge of their swords. Those that survived the instant onslaught felt the swift yet brutal swipes of Dyarl's longsword; with only a single right hand on the hilt. Dyarl sighed as he stared at the blood on the edge of his blade.

“It took forever to get that kind of shine,” he mumbled to himself, turning to Markus. “Sorry for my lateness Your Highness,” he apologised. Markus wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“P-please Jason... it was my f-fault...I...” but his tongue was in knots. He sighed and loosened his muscles, rubbing his eyes with finger and thumb, “j-just take the last of my men to medical.” Trying to change the shameful subject.

“And you Your Highness?” Dyarl inquired, backing away slightly.

“There's no need for anything like that. What's going on outside?” changing subjects again; though Dyarl saw through Markus's attempts, he informed him anyway.

“Nothings going on out there, but they'll make their move soon knowing that we're without backup, the reserve men are dead are they not?”

“Yeah, we were too late to help them.” Markus answered, rubbing his eyes again. “W-we really should go back and help father.”

“But Sir I really think you should rest,” Dyarl requested.

“Goodness sake Jason!” Markus bursted out. “just... enough!” he rested his face into his palm. Dyarl stared at him; but was unsurprised by the outburst.“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you like that.” he finally calmed down. Dyarl stopped staring and reassured him.

“It's okay Sir, perhaps you should rejoin the outside. But please, don't be too headstrong; it really is a worry sometimes you know.” He offered to let Markus walk ahead. Markus laughed, cheering up, and remembered the promise he made to his father and King. He scratched the back of his head to contemplate his answer to Dyarl.

“Yeah, maybe your right there.” Dyarl was dumbfounded by his light conclusion; but accepted his answer nonetheless. He then began pointing his finger to signal to his knights to return outside with him and Markus. Both were uncomfortably becalmed.

~

Meanwhile, finishing his newly poured tea, Lord Farner was well rested and ready to proceed further. He closed his eyes and with his left hand he wrote a golden inscription in the air; opening his eyes again to see that nothing has happened. His two red robed assistants, sat side by side, pondered for a moment.

“Perhaps they are dead: return spells fail to activate if the targets are dead Sir.” Farner turned to him, grumbling.

“Don't tell me how these things work! After all, who is the Garollen Warlock?” he boasted, in proud vengeance.

“My greatest apologies Sir, I should not of doubted your knowledge.” the right one pleaded, clasping his hands in respect. Farner tilted his head up in thought.

“If their dead, they must have attracted too much attention to themselves... Elite Forces their called, tsk.” he groaned. “Well, along as they did their mission. We should continue with the siege of this shack these Searans call a castle.”

He rose from his stool to exit the tent, he smiled at his men who were still following his order standing still. He looked up into the clouds above the stirring castle. He stretched out his right arm forward and with his index finger he wrote in the air again, this time however there was a fiery glow wherever his finger passed, quickly forming a symbol of flame inside a square. He then spoke a spell.

Take this power and burn brightly,

and burst into the air frightfully.

Twenty five, Incendia cannon.

These actions took mere seconds for the talented general. He raised his hand into the air with palm facing upwards. Energy danced on the palm for a split second, before instantly bursting and rocketing up as a furious and ferocious ball of fire. It travelled with haste to it's destination in the sky above before exploding into light who's shine was viable to all.

Captain Ryvor and his squadron saw the explosion through the thick cloud and understood the signal without any doubt. They knew it was the time to make their move: so without wait they flew down out of the grey and into action; but not unnoticed as the blond general spotted their manoeuvre and called the archers into action.

“All archers on the riders!” she commanded. They obeyed, with arrows aiming upwards.

“Ready to dodge!” Ryvor warned his men on sight of the raised defences. The winged beasts bent their wings ready for sudden side move.

Arrows were unleashed upon the foe. The riders jolted to the left; one fell with multiple blows to the wings and head, crashing hard into the snow and rolling over in his final breath. But the rest flew on in determination. They reached the wall, still in good numbers. The archers prepared more arrows for them. With the tug of a rope, Ryvor and his men released bungs from small barrels on their sides. They tilted upward above the castle wall, pouring a black sludge in their trail, blighting the wall and the archers on it. They finished by returning to the clouds before the archers recovered from the slimly assault. Confused, the men all look to each other, trying to wipe off the ooze that covered them with it's smothering reach. The King was not baffled; but completely aware of the odd strategy.

“All men off the walls, now!” he cried. It was a vein effort; another spark of flames shot from the distance fired by the cunning general. The fires but kissed the tip of the wall, and all was set ablaze. The slime across the wall roared wildly into action, destroying everything it sat on. The archers, in the agony of flames, threw themselves off the wall into the snow; but the cold was not enough to save them from their bodies surrendering to the tormenting fires. The men in the courtyard stared on in shock and disgust.

But their suffering was not over: the beasts from above descended once again. Without the threat of arrow fire, they landed at the castle gate which was now flailing flames all directions. They reach for the chains of the portcullis. Two of the beasts took a chain in their mouths and flew up, the metal grille rose up with them. The many men from the keep charged up to prevent their actions, rushing across the courtyard to reach them. They were not greeted by beasts, but by men. During the burning of the archers, the soldiers of Garollen were released from their stillness and had marched up to the entrance. Carefully, under the blazing arch, the soldiers entered the castle; treading on the remains of the burnt dead. They came to a halt, meeting face to face with Searans.

There was yet more silence between the two forces standing off. The fires danced in wild celebration of the coming destruction; and smoke began to darken the skies, invoking hidden fear on both sides. This silence was broken by Karr, riding on his white stallion and calling his men to attack without hesitation.

At that moment, Markus and Dyarl returned to see that carnage that had unfolded in their absence. Without second thought, they rushed to join their fellow men in the clash, drawing their weapons.

After two successful tasks completed, Captain Ryvor indulged in combat on his mighty beast. Twirling his lance, he knocked down many with a single swing. He swung again, but this time, no one is connected this blow. Instead, the blond lady blocked it with her sword, looking at him in contempt of his crooked grin.

“Searan dog!” he taunted, thrusting his lance with the full force of both man and beast.

“Dead man.” she called, dodging both tooth and metal. With both hands, she stabbed her blade deep into the left shoulder of the An-wyrm; blood squirted down the blade edge. Ryvor cried hysterically at the sight of his partner injured.

“Helen! Fly up!” With renewed strength, the An-wyrm freed herself from the woman's blade, and begun to hover.

“So... your General Kray... hmph! You better hope you die 'ere, 'cause if I see you again.” He ran his finger across his throat, grinding his teeth with bitter rage. They retreated in humiliation of their easy defeat, the injured An-wyrm wobbling to one side with her wound. Both continued their cursing of her.

~

Without the reinforcement of the now dead reserves, things looked grim for the armies of Searan Without anywhere to run, they carried on with all effort. Markus was no exception, despite the promise he made to both father and kinsman he was determined to battle all he could; knocking down his foe and thrusting them dead with his spear, with the same gasp of pain from each one of them. Soon his boots were soon covered with both blood and ice.

He looked around in search for his father, finding him in action, the old man was almost struggling to swing his large sword from fatigue. Markus, seeming distant from all else stared at his father. He look into his eyes, full of sorrow; yet wilful to hit the dead end with all his force. Eyes that presented one harsh, unbearable truth that passed his cold lips.

“We...n-never stood a chance... did we father?” he gazed at him. “Was this really too much for us?” His panting father returned the stare with no denial on his pale face. Another Message was printed on his face, and the words echoed in Markus' mind.

“Very well, I promise.” It made him ill deep down, even at the inevitable doom he couldn't shame himself. And yet, he was bound by his word, and had to accept his path. With much conflict, and a few more enemies dead, Markus headed inside for his escape.

His father smiled at the sight of his son, and turned to the weary Sir Dyarl fighting by his side.

“Sir Jason Dyarl, might I speak with you?” Dyarl did not speak, but made no objections either. “I wish to relieve of your service to me,” Dyarl's eyes widened in curiosity and shock “you are no longer my general,” he took a short pause keeping Dyarl is suspense, “you are now my son's advisor and partner.”

“You Majesty... I... what do you mean?” The out of place conversation confused Dyarl, but his King ignored his question.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Markus is leaving for Bremoe using the escape passage, and he won't get far without the help of this wise advisor.” he said, casually. Dyarl was confused beyond belief, but he could deny his King's orders. “I mean it, deep down he's a bit of a dimwit, he'd be lost with the help of his fellow men. Now go.” Dyarl obeyed the order without question, and hurried to follow his new employer. The King smiled again, ignoring the battle around him. He though to himself and laughed. “Markus... you're a stubborn fool, just like your father. May Etustir watch over you son.” He ended his fond pondering, and returned to the fateful bloodbath.

The wooden door of the royal bed chambers smashed open. Markus barged in and began desperately searching for the hidden exit to escape. The stress and fatigue fogging his memory, he checked under the canopied bed; but found nothing apart from what would normally be embarrassing sights. He returned to his feet and swung his head around violently in his lost state. Wardrobes and bookshelves and paintings and anything could be concealing his freedom.

“It's behind the right bookshelf ...Sir.” The familiar voice assisting him from behind. Markus turned to none other than Dyarl and became confused at his comrade being with him. “Erm... we should get a move on Sir, we need the biggest head start we can get.”

“Jason? What are you doing? Shouldn't you be with My father?”

“Not any more Sir. From now on, I guess I'm your... advisor.” he explained, still confused himself. “Erm, we really really should be on our way now Sir.”

Although still without a clue to the odd situation, he did not question that advise. They each grabbed one end of the large bookshelf and shifted further to the right, then they ripped away the cream wallpaper to reveal a round brass door with five holes for fingers and thumb in the centre. Dyarl placed his own fingers in the correct holes, and began to turn the centre to unlock the code. Four clicks clockwise, then three counter clockwise, one the other way, and then six clicks counter clockwise again, he pulled the circular centre out a bit, then pressed it in again. There came a rumbling noise, and with a sudden jerk, the door rolled open, shaking the whole room. A sharp, frozen air filled their senses and possessed them both to shiver, for it was far colder in that room than it was outside.

The darkened clouds surrounded the room where they looked into the dark corridor, the young prince directed his grey blue eyes deep into the tunnel; desperately trying to block out all fear and concern. His silver armour clanked as he slowly moved forward, still shivering from the sudden cold. The windows began to be attacked by the snow that once more fell. The room was filled with the sound of pattering snow and whistling winds. Closing his eyes tight, Markus ran into the tunnel with his companion Dyarl right behind. Then, Dyarl suddenly turned back; he dragged the bookshelf back to conceal the way and rolled the door back with the handle on the tunnels side, making a loud click as it locked, sealing their turn back. It was both cold and quiet in the pitch black tunnel, nothing but the echoes of footprints could be noticed. Guided by the hands across the rough wall, the two walked on into the nothingness.

Edited August 30, 2009 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Two: Wet Horse.

A small eruption came from the small hill of snow which covered a round stone well. Like the dead raising, a gloved hand burst through the white, it waved around in a mad attempt to discover the ground. Markus and Dyarl both emerged from the well at the end of the escape tunnel, they groaned and stirred. Their faces were frozen pale, and their breath was heavy with thick white clouds forming with each exhale. Standing knee high in the snow, they found themselves lost, surrounded by many shadowed trees and eerie fog, without any familiar sight. It had been hours since the attack at the castle, but the two could not remember how long the tunnel went on for, and the fog blocked out the sky, distorting all knowledge of time. Not a single sound beyond Markus' chilled impatience.

“J-J-Jason,” Markus wrapped his arms around himself for what little warmth there was, “w-w-where are we?”

“We must be somewhere in Liturusiva Lavis.” Dyarl was equally cold, but managed to keep himself together. They both looked around, unable to determine directions.

“A-and which way is a-anywhere?” Kicking the snow around him, Markus became irritated.

“Please Sir, let us remain calm. I need but a few moments to figure our path out. At any rate, please be patient.” Dyarl began to walk off with his head tilted upwards to the high tree tops.

“Be patient? Great idea Jason! I'll be patient while I freeze to death.” Markus was at this nerve ends, and the cold almost penetrated his sanity. “You know, I could have done one of two things today. I could have lost my life by dying in battle, or I could have lost my pride by being captured. But noooooooo, I'm going lose both by freezing in some vile little forest,” he whined. Dyarl ignored his rambling, still trying to discover their path.

“So... the tunnel took us to the west, so,” looking back at the well they emerged from, the answer came to him. “We should head this way Sir.” He pointed into what seemed like the same as any other direction. Calming down, Markus made no objection, as anywhere was better than their current position to him. And so they walked down south, hopefully out of the foggy cold forest. To take their minds off the situation, Dyarl indulged into trivial conversation.

“You ever walked down the Golden Road here Sir?”

“Yeah once, just seemed like a few mossy old stones to me.” Lacking any real interest as his mind was still fixed on the recent past but Dyarl seemed somewhat hurt by the blunt answer. Their path began to steepen down hill with may snapping branches where they trekked.

“How can you be so heartless Sir, sure it's no Big Bridge, but Liturusiva has always had an enchanted feel,” he smiled in reminiscence. He turned to Markus, who seemed to be miles away, so much so that not even the cold bothered him anymore. He was staring off into the trees with too much passing through his mind, Dyarl could see these thoughts which were written on his face. His cheery banter had disappeared, and he found himself struggling to find words in which he could reassure his friend with.

“You know Sir, I doubt they would hav-” he stopped, to mentally punch himself; realising it would not have been the best thing to say. Markus' mind is dragged back to the forest, and the words and the cold enraged him once more.

“Would have what huh?”

“I was just thinking, Sir, they... well, I doubt they wouldn't have killed him, your father and such,” he paused to decide how to continue his baiting speech. Markus made no reply in speech, but gave Dyarl a glare.

“Please Sir, I didn't mean to sound so... I really am concerned as well you know.”

“I know, and sorry, but I'm not in the mood for talking,” calming down, he sighed and stroked his hair. So without any sound, they continued going ever faster to exit the miserably cold forest. The forest never seemed to change, each tree appeared the same, tall, dead, jagged and black. Despite their movements, their minds doubted whether they were making any progress at all, the only thing that seemed to change was the fog that waved in eerie torment and crept up their backs with chilled hugs, filling them with sorrow and paranoia. The maddening silence lasted a short while, until, two planks of wood emerged out of the fog to smack Markus in the legs and chest, which caused him to fall back.

“Sir, are you alright?” Dyarl asked, trying to hold in his chuckles. Markus sat up in the snow and shook his head.

“Uuh... damn, what the heck was that?”

“It's a fence Sir, looks like we've reached a field.” Indeed they had, the fog cleared up ever so slightly, enough for them to see the wide sheet of snow between the wooden fencing. Markus stood up and then leaned on the fence, focusing his gaze into the fog.

“I think... there's some lights over there.” Markus managed to make out three orange blurs across the field.

“Oh? T-t-thank g-goodness.” The image of warmth merely reminded Dyarl that it was the thing he lacked at that moment, and sent shivers down his spine. “lets go go g-go already Sir!”

“Y-yeah yeah, lets just hurry,” Markus responded, as he got both his stiff legs over the wood fence; leaving the miserably cold forest behind him.

They both dragged themselves across the thick sheet with all their effort, with the orange salvation slowly getting closer with each step. Dyarl's foot hit a small rock which tripped him over face flat.

“Will you just stop being a clown Jason!” Markus stared at him, scowling. Dyarl made no reply as he forced himself to his feet, and continued to move on. And after what seemed to be forever, they had managed to drag their weary bodies to the other side, and the orange lights were surrounded by the silhouettes of buildings. They opened the gate that spilled snow on their hands, and moved on to what they could feel to be a dirt track under the endless sheet.

They treaded into the centre of the small town, with fog hidden buildings all around them. They looked around for the lights that gave then hope, but all searches were unsuccessful, for the town was emptier than the frozen forest, truly an eerie ghost town they both thought. Markus knelt over and rested his head in the palm of his hand, panting and sighing, losing what little hope he had left. But, out of the nothingness came a laughter, snide and untamed. They both cringed at the noise, but proceeded to follow it, finding the lights that gave them the hope they so sorely needed.

They closed in on the light source, discovering it to be lanterns burning brightly with thick waxy candles. And above the arched door swung a large sign, starring a black horse's head with a white stripe down it's face.

“The Wet Horse,” the sign read. Markus and Dyarl stared in disbelief, finding the name to be foolish. But when they hear the clashing of glass and the faint voices from within, they could not restrain their desire for food and warmth.

“I-I'm sure they'll be kind enough to let us in.” Dyarl tried to reassure both himself and Markus. And so, Markus stood up to the large arched door, knocking then waiting, then he knocked again. But there was no reply, other than the teasing sound of enjoyment within, pushing Markus to bash the door heavily. A small slot on the upper half of the book swiped open and the sounds of pleasure rushed out louder, with laughter and chit chat that stabbed them both with envy.

“'nough of that, what do you want?” called the brown eyes, that glared at them. Markus snapped back from his listening in and tried his best to reply with politeness.

“P-P-Please good Sir, would... would we be able to enter your... pub... inn?” It was hard for Markus to speak, with the frost on his tongue.

“And you two lil' whelps would be?” the eyes asked, without any concern for their condition.

“I'm Freezing, and he's Frostbitten,” Markus rebuked.

“Oh... feeling witty are ye now?” the voice paused, considering the possibilities of their identity. “ You certainly don't look the regulars... oh yeah, them lilly livered wimps done packed up and ran for the hills.” The comment astonished Dyarl.

“In this weather? Were they-” but the comment was cut short by Markus, who put aside his sarcasm.

“P-Please good Sir, we're merely freelancers. Surely you've got room in their for us to stay the night.” The doorman thought for a while, watching the two helplessly freeze.

“Well.” The slot slammed shut, with Markus and Dyarl still lurching in snow and darkness,.They dropped to their knees in surrender to the cold. But, to their great fortunes, the door nob turned, and the light of the room burst out to them in a single wide swing.

“I suppose there'd be no harm in it.” The two slowly entered, almost in disbelief of the kind turn around. “But don't ye be causing any trouble, not like I got enough of that already,” added the man. He was tall, somewhat fat and balding, with on a brown patch of hair on the back of his skull and sides. Wearing a muddy white shirt and brown jacket. He looked over his left shoulder to the doorway from their the noises came, and stretches his hand towards another door to his right. “Well young whelps, perhaps the bar this way would suit ye better.”

Markus and Dyarl stepped through the doorway, bowing in respect and shivering the melted ice onto the floorboards.

“Thank you good Barkeeper,” they both said, as they walked past the large man. They stepped into a spacious bar.

“Shall I be lighting the fire for you cold dogs?” The invitation was replied instantly with gracious blessing.

So, ten minutes later, the two weary men found themselves sat in front of the roaring fireplace, with weapons and armour drying next to them, Markus still wore his dark top and cream trousers and Dyarl in a grey shirt and a short brown trousers. They both held large cooper tankards full of ale. Markus took a large gulp of his drink, putting his hand across his forehead. Now out of the harsh, consuming snow, Markus reflected on the events he and his kinsmen suffered that day, the image of fire and blood was still strong in his mind, still seeing the men who burnt into nothing. But most of all, those eyes of expected defeat from his father, and the questions ran through his mind, jabbing him.

“Jason, how could it of happened?”

“How could of what happened?” he respond, as he put his drink on the floor next to him.

“Well, you know... why didn't we see it coming?”

“Ah, well, it wouldn't of mattered any other way. We're just a pebble to the wave,” He sighed and looked up.

“And yet, why didn't we see them earlier.”

“Farner knows the lands better than most people. And with our lack of men, it was no trouble for him to march in like that.” Markus looked down in shame, but Dyarl did not seem to notice the depression. “Well, we shouldn't dwell on it, we got no real choice but to head for Bremoe and Jis-”

“Pffft!” Markus interrupted , grabbing his companion's attention. “In other words, we're running... running so we can hide behind a bunch of Etustir suck ups and traitors.” The feeling of rising bile rammed up his throat at the idea. The irritating, snide laughter came bursting into the room, which added to their pleasure. Markus grinded his booze soaked teeth, trying to block out the laughing with his might, but to no avail as nothing prevented the ear splitting pain.

“Will you bastards just shut it!”

“Sir! There's no need for that, I'm sure if we talk to the Barkeeper, we could get this sorted out.”

“No Jason, their gonna have to-” Dyarl had gotten up before he finished him complaint, and had gone to the entrance to find the barkeeper. He then looked up the flight of wooden stairs where he found him descending from.

“Please don't tell me you guy are gonna start causing trouble 'ere as well,” he asked, while he rubbed his eyes.

“About that, who are those people? They seem awfully loud.”

“Aye a bunch of thugs,” he turned his head to the other bar, where the racket still raced out of. “I'd ask them to leave, but you know what some people can be like. Always with the breaking and smashing.”

“Well, perhaps me and my friend could have a word with them, surely a bunch of thugs should be no trouble for experienced fighters like us.” Markus strode in, with curiosity in his expression.

“We? Who's that?” Dyarl was astonished by Markus' selfishness.

“C'mon Sir, I could handle them myself, but having you for backup might... convince them to leave in peace. Afterall, fine fighters like ourselves-” the rambles seemed to progress for ever. Markus scratched the back of his head to occupy himself for a while.

“Jason!” But Dyarl still rambled on trying to convince the already convinced “JASON!” And he snapped back to reality with a stumble.

“I get it already, I'll come help you talk to these guys.”

“No no, you won't have to talk... p-please don't. I'd like to not start anything.” Markus stared at him blankly, offended by Dyarl's blatant bashing. He opened his mouth to fire back, but not before the laughter rattled his brain once again; it shoved Dyarl's words out of his memory.

“Okay, fine! Lets just hurry up with this.” He tried to raise his own voice above the rackety laugh, but Dyarl could not make out his message. With his irritation raised once more, Markus clenched his right fist, and with his left, he dragged Dyarl into the darker room, the origin of the noises that tormented them so. He and Dyarl stood in the doorway, staring across tables to the lair of laughing beast, who were in fact, three people, and from the second he laid eyes on them, Dyarl recognized them in an instant.

“Them clothes Sir, Northerners.” All three of them wore distinct sandy garbs lined with black triangle patterns, with short sleeves and drenched in sweat and booze.

“Oh joy, a group of filthy cannibals, watch they don't go for your arm or something,” Markus warned, as they crept up on the drunken threesome.

Upon a closer inspection of them, they found them to a two men and a woman. One man, around the age of nineteen, was slouched over the table as drunk as a sailor. His grass green eye were barely open, and clouded by the flow of alcohol. His hair was nor neat or spiked, but had the appearance of horse's dung, badly gift wrapped in a dark blue bandanna. He rolled his crooked smile up and down the woodwork of the round table, with brown patched of dirt all over his face and clothes and a minimum amount of rough fuzz on his chin.

Opposite of him was a more neat, but equally drunk man of the same age, with shorter sky blue hair, paler and far superior in cleanliness, and with soft sapphire eyes that struggled ever so hard against the toxins that rushed through his mind, reddening his small cheeks. His body was much more lanky, without a single muscle in sight. His crimson face stared at the celling, violently shaking like an earthquake. His hands gripped the edge of the table, fighting with all their mediocre might, but nothing could prevent the collapse of his foundations. He fell on the table with a faint crash, knocking many tankards to their dented grave.

But, in between stand a more stoic figure. It took the form of a tall, strongly built woman. She sat with a straight spine, as she slowly drank down her ale without hazard. She Possessed long, swampy green hair with two large round locks coming down in front of her ears. She placed her tankard on the table, revealing her face, the right eye whole top right side was mummified in ragged bandages. She had noticed them enter long ago, but now stared at them with her remaining apathetic green eye, she didn't speak, or reached for the attention the of drunken disasters. Instead, that one eye gazed deep into Markus, and froze him faster than even the harsh night possibly could. He couldn't turn away or close his eyes, his tongue was torn as if it had been shredded by razor talon. The silent assault of the bird of prey was cut short by a loud and clumsy voice that Markus had no time to recognise.

“Might I have a work with you three?” Dyarl asked. The woman turned, leaving the shrew in a wreck. She placing her hawk gaze on a her new target, Dyarl, though he resisted. “...erm... people.”

“Of course, take a seat.” Her voice was a calm and soft lullaby that turned Markus into a tried, battered mess. “Your friend looks as if...”

“It's... it's been a hard day,” Dyarl said, as he accepted the invitation of the chair. Though Markus preferred to stand when dealing with others, though the only deals he felt he could make right there, was with vomit.

“And so, how might I help you young gentlemen?” Her question however, caused Dyarl's demeanour to change, as the Northerner's sarcasm dented him.

“No need to patronise us now dear.” Though the woman merely smiled in defiance.

“What's wrong eh? But really, what would people like you want with us simple folk?”

“Well, we're a bit concerned about the noise that you and your friends appear to be making and-”

“Would it be okay of me to correct you a few points there, Searan?” Dyarl stopped to let he speak though peeved by the rude interruptions. “Firstly, they're not my friends, they are my travelling companions, if they can be called even that. And secondly, we were making no noise, he was.” She pointed to the scruffy man laying across the table merely inches from herself.

“Well, you were clearly suffering from clouded judgement when you chose to bring them weren't you.”

“PAH! And you weren't?” She pointed and stared again at Markus who was resting his weary face in his palm “I would have thought you'd pick someone who can stand still while sober.”

“Now hold on there... lady. He's had few, and with the day we've had... well-” Cut suddenly short by an unwanted yet familiar noise. The brown haired Northerner leaped up into the back of his chair, laughing once more. His crocked mouth was wide open, revealing his shape snake like tongue that spat it's alcoholic venom. He franticly waved his bent finger towards Markus; though too wasted to hold steady, and began yelling garbled words around the room.

“Uhg... that guys loosh as if 'es got a righ' shtick up 'is arsh.” Markus' composure returned, enough for him to glare at the poisonous snake.

“F-filth like you shouldn't speak so boldly.” He walked up to him, as if to beat him; though the woman intervened to prevent it.

“Don't be hard on him, he's drunk after all.”

“Uuuh... I suppose you got a point.”

“No no, he'd would have said that even if he wasn't, but he's too drunk to die right now.”

“I say Sir, these drunkards are clearly not going to be a match, you should get some rest.” Markus indignantly glanced at him. “Our room is left at the end of the stairs, then first on the right.” Dyarl smiled to reassure the weary Markus.

“Fine! It's not like there's any point in trying to reason with Northerners, let alone drunken ones.” And he stormed off too his room like a naughty boy, but not before meeting with the barkeeper once more.

“You heading off to sleep or what?” He said from half way down the stairs.

“Yeah, never going get anywhere with them people, but as long as he keeps them talking, it should keep them out of the way.”

“Good to hear that,” he chuckled. “Aye, me and the wife been worrying about them all night, you never know what them folk can act.”

“I guess,” he said, while he walked up the stairs; still feeling rather faint. Soon he had reached the room, turning the bronze nob the door creaked open as he entered the rugged wooden room. Lit by many white candles, but the dance of the flames failed to lighten Markus up. He laid down on one of the two small white bed with his feet going off the edge, and his eyes dead set on the ceiling, weary, beaten and shamed.

He lied for what seemed for an eternity, the cold cruel wind laughed at him from behind the window, which reminded him of the frozen night he had to endure, and the feeling of frostbite returned to him, the cold that ate away at his organs and left his body in a lifeless state. And on ceiling from which he was paralysed to turn away from, ran the thick blood of familiar soldiers. The blood moved and mixed until the faces of the fallen were made present before him, they moaned and stirred until his twitching eyes could take no more, and like mouse traps they snapped shut. But even in the dark confines of his lids, he was still chased by torment, now by the hawk that stared at him, and by the screams of words he could not possibly make out, they scratched with sheiks of claws.

But when all seemed too much, the screams and beasts washed away by light rain. Shadows of humans now flowed and sweet voices filled a warm serous breeze, and yet they were distorted like a rippling river. Though it mattered not, Markus forgot his pain, and he found himself happily lost in this little world. Yet suddenly a sentence burst through to him.

“He's alright, but...” and he fell, down down into the fires that scorched him, biting his flesh until.

“But nothing you!” He found himself in the bed again, the lights were all out and everything was unseen in the night. He could feel the dampness of his clothes which held his sweat, as did his plastered hair. He panted for a lasting while as he regained his mind from the dark grasp, and as he looked around, he could make out lumps in the other bed, and realised that time must have past. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he rested his head back into the pillow, and he forced himself into rest.

~

The next morning, he awoke much gentler, the weak sun shone on his face from the window. The feeling of weakness had fled from him and he felt the lowly vigour of a new day. The door creaked open for an unwelcome voice.

“Sir, are you up now?” Dyarl poked his head into the room. “We really need to getting a move on and such Sir.”

“uh.... fine fine, breakfast and my things?”

“Both are downstairs Sir,” he left in a flash. With his awakening ruined, Markus lunged himself out of bed. His bliss truly ended when he remembered the day before, and he sighed. With no time to wash or change his sweat and snow drenched clothes, he pulled himself out of the room and down the wood stairs. He searched fruitlessly for his possessions he'd left down the night before. Though he searched all around, there was nothing to be found. Just when he lowered his head in defeat, a large shadow emerged from the kitchen.

“Aye up their kid, you'll be wanting something to eat now?” Still at loss, Markus did not turn to him.

“Oh? Ah yes please.”

“Well, we ain't got much. We'll be leavin' in an hour or two, or so your friend says.”

“Oh, that'll... what?” Markus now turned to him, seeing the barkeeper beginning to munch on a green apple.

“Yeah, that fruitcake said we could come with you.” Without any further interest, Markus stormed out the front door and searched once more, this time for Dyarl.

“Jason! Jason! You bastard!” he yelled. And, with enough noise, he flushed out the cheery companion.

“I can't hear you Sir, you're going have to speak louder.” Markus ran straight up to with a stomp like a bull, and came so close that Dyarl moved back to avoid the headbutt.

“Why did you tell the Barkeeper and his wife could come with us!” Markus tried to ring his hands around Dyarl's neck.

“Well because Sir, as a Knight, protection of the citizenship is a duty, and since they were planning on fleeing, we should help them. And don't worry, they know nothing about us rememb-”

“Oh yes! To protect them from all them Garollens who'll be swarming the countryside the second the snow melts. Yeah, them Garollens who'd be looking for them people, and would show no mercy to anyone with them. Now who were those people again? Oh yeah, Jason Dyarl and Markus Horuston, we'll protect them from that mess indeed.” Markus made the most ludicrous hand movements to make sure the message was sent loud and clear.

“I'm aware of that Sir, but no need to worry, they'll helps us out with that.”

“Please stop calling me tha-” Markus blanked out, as if the sentence could not be comprehended.

“Jason, please tell me that you did ask that group of Northerners to come.”

“Don't be foolish Sir, I'd never ask Northerners to help us. Me and that woman merely agreed that since we're all heading south, that travelling together would help... and I also agreed that we'd speak with the Bremoean so that they wouldn't get arrested by them.” Markus curled down on to the ground, and repeatedly banged his head on the thinning snow.

“I never thought I'd die like this.”

“No time for this dilly dally Sir, we leave within the hour. Your equipment in on the table next to the stairs.” Markus dragged his corpse off the ground, and threw it back into the inn. Then, two large bag flew out, landing at the toes of an unfazed Dyarl. The barkeeper followed the example of his bags, and rushed towards Dyarl.

“Aye there, I got my thing all pack.”

“Essentials I said, essentials.”

“And nothing but. Lets see now: food, water, tent, blankets, bandages, spare clothes, hiking boots, knives, forks, spoons, a few plates, hunting trophies, razors, cloth, a map, and so on.”

“I doubt we'll be needing 'so on'. Well I suppose, but only if you carry both of them.”

“Not a problem there Mister Dyarl,” he looked back to the doorway. “You got yourself ready yet dear?” His wife then followed out. She was shorter, with two long brunette braids, large blue eyes and a small smile. Wearing a long, furry white coat. She walked up to the pair softly, carrying single small bag. Dyarl was stunned, holding his jaw from dropping.

“G-good to meet you young lady.” Though he thought only of how a fat, balding man like him could have wooed such a beautiful woman.

“I see Mister Dyarl, that you're pretty impressed by her. Well, I've got my ways.” Dyarl didn't ask, he didn't want to know.

Markus returned outside, this time with his armour worn and weapon in hand.

“Okay, we're all ready to set off?” He inspected the Barkeeper's wife, and then dragged Dyarl away for a private conversation. “Is that his wife?” he whispered.

“It would seem so Sir.” They both stared back at the couple for a moment. “I suppose... he must be a wealthy landlord or something.”

“He doesn't look it, but he must be.”

“Let's not waste any time to find out.”

“Fine with me.” At that point, there were three in the group. The scruffy Northerner had hooked his crooked smile into the talk, with the other two right behind him.

“Oi, we're ready to move!” he blasted them back with his point blank shout. Markus wandered towards the buildings to ignore them, and Dyarl moved back to the barkeeper and his wife. The woman followed behind him, leaving the last Northerner to wobble in his hangover. Dyarl turned his attention back to the woman.

“Are you and your friends ready?”

“Yeah, but they ain't my friends, I doubt I could even call them companions.” Dyarl glanced at the two young men who fooled around in the distance.

“I understand,” he said. He went over to Markus. “And are ready Sir?”

“Yeah!” Markus casually strode back towards them, stretching is arms outwards. He now stood in front of Dyarl, who awaited the next words. “We should, we have to reach Antabis by tomorrow.”

“No worries Sir, I've planned the route, we head south west through the Fayiron district

moors, resting at Heilis. Then, following the dirt paths, we will reach Antabis. The snow has given us the head start on Garollen, and Heilis is rather small and out of the way. I doubt they'll be looking there first. But we may have to disguise ourselves near Antabis, but the Northerners have spare clothes we can use.”

“I see, nice job there Jason.” He turned to the rest of the group, who had gathered up. “Okay everyone, we'll be moving on any-”

“Oh honey, you never told me we'd be going with Northerners.” the barkeeper's wife had interrupted in despair. Her husband put his arm on her shoulder.

“Don't worry, if they do anything bad, or even look at you funny, I'll make them regret it.” he reassured her. His face drooped when he realised what important thing he had forgotten.

“Ah, Mister Dyarl, we've been such fools, forgetting to introduce ourselves.” But, before they continued, Markus, annoyed by the interruption, hurried them.

“We ain't got time for this, we need to be going, now!” A hand flew out and whacked him over the head.

“Come now Sir, we have time for a quick naming.” He smiled to the dumbfounded couple and bowed, “Please good citizens, do go on.”

“Thank you Mister Dyarl. Well, I'm Gerald, Gerald Humenve.”

“Oh, and I am Henrietta Humenve. Pleasure to meet you good Sirs.”

“And it is a great pleasure to meet the both of you, Mister and Mrs Humenve,” Dyarl Smiled back warmly. Markus rolled his eyes, rubbing the bruise on his head.

“Yes, it's nice to meet you, but we really need to be moving.”

“Well Sir, despite your rudeness, we shall be on our way now.” And so, the four of them began to head for the town gates, leaving a bunch of nearly non existent Northerners behind. The scruffy one clenched his fists and scraped his teeth until he exploded.

“Hey! Ain't you gonna ask our names or somethin'!” But only Markus turned back to them, and with a forced smile he dealt a blow to the three of them.

“That's not needed, I'd recognise dirt anytime. So hurry up, we're leaving,” he taunted. The young scruff reached for the sword on his waist in a fit of rage, but a slender hand ensnared his own to prevent the assault.

“Don't bother, they'd slaughter you.” The woman didn't even look at him, but let go of his hand.

“Yeah... but, you kno... fine.” He loosened his grip and surrendered to her. Without another word, the three Northerners followed the lead of Markus and Dyarl. The odd ball group soon reached the small gates of the town, two stone pillars that went no higher than Gerald. The hills ahead were still covered in waning snow that glistened in the clear sun and blue sky.

Markus stared at the pebbles on the ground, his mind still weary with guilt, uncertainty and anger. He looked at the hills and the sky, and saw a shameful hope, still feeling as if he was in the tunnel, dark, cold and confined to follow the wall. But, conforming to his promise, he stepped forward, and soon he walked down the pebble path.

“Wait up Sir!” Dyarl ran clumsily to catch up; with Gerald and Henrietta pleasantly strolling behind. The three disgruntled Northerners casually wandered further behind, with the scruff giving cursed looks to Markus and Dyarl. Markus concentrated his efforts on ignoring the raising cloud of smoke he knew was somewhere in the far distance. Feeling though it was trying to follow him, fearing that it's ghastly hand of shame would grasp him.

Edited February 17, 2009 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Three: The Green Rose.

Morgan yawned and scratched his forehead, he was sat in the room of a cosy inn on tiny wooden stool, keeping his eyes on the white floral patterned bed which housed the still sleeping girl. It was silent outside, the town had been abandoned, leaving nothing but wrecked market stands and broken glass. The sound of footsteps could be heard on the stairs outside of the room, but he failed to react on them. The door soon opened and the azure eyed man entered with the smile on his face.

“Anything yet?” he asked. Morgan rose out of his boredom.

“Not yet.”

“How long must we wait before we can leave? Do I need to remind you we have important matters to attend to?” The girl started to move around under the blanket, and awakened. She opened her eyes, which appeared like flies trapped in amber, and placed them on the pair with no expression. She stared at them for a whole minuted before Morgan broke the awkward silence.

“H-hello there dear, how do you feel?” But there was no response, the girl just stared back with a blank face.

“What's your name dear?” Still no response from her. The azure eyed man could not bare to watch it any further.

“Can she even talk? Or does the poor thing have amnesia?”

“Perhaps she's just completely ignorant. At any rate, I'm rather interested, she's clearly not an average person, and I've already had several hunches about her identity.” Morgan grinned and tapped his nose, though the azure eyed man could not of cared less, seeking to change the subject.

“You can waste your time with her if you want. In the meantime, I'll be investigating a few Garollen nobles and such.”

“Well, maybe I should be the one to speak with them, afterall, some of the House Lords do still trust me.”

“True, but unfortunately, you trust them. I on the other hand will have no trouble of any kind dealing with them. You're more than welcome to go follow up those hunches while I investigate.” Morgan rose slowly and stretched his arms out.

“That would be the best I suppose.”

“Brilliant, I'll should get going right now. No time like the present!” The azure eyed man left, running down the stairs out of the empty inn. Morgan sighed and turned to the girl.

“Somedays I wonder if Master Forryver enjoys this sort of thing all too much. But you don't need to be wor-” he noticed that the girl had not moved a single inch, nor had she changed her dumb expression. “Oh yes, I forgot. Now how is she suppose to come along if she doesn't understand anything?” he sighed again. and sat back down. He seemed to have given up on moving her in a polite manner. The girl rolled back into the bed.

~

Markus and his unwanted company trekked over the heather moorlands of Fayiron. The ground was muddy and wet with melted snow, and a cold southerly wind blew into their faces. Atop the largest hill, they could see a town in the distance. The whole group had a breath of relief, Gerald in particular had been of good spirit.

“Ha ha! We actually made this far without meeting any of them guys.” Markus however seemed unamused.

“It's a wonder when I've been travelling with a group of loud mouths.” He turned to the town ahead, focusing on the flag being flown from a tower.

“Can any of you make that flag out?” The entire group, even the Northerners came out to stare at the flag. But none of them could identified it. The two male Northerners ran down the hill to get a better view, though Markus and Dyarl chased after the pair. They caught them at the foot of the hill, and after they regained their breath.

“How can dirt be so stupid!?” Markus shouted.

“If the enemy have reached here, they might catch us; so please more careful.” The scruffy guy of the pair seemed uncaring, even mocking them.

“Well, you're the ones yelling you know.” Markus grabbed him by the collar of his garbs and dragged him closer.

“Listen here you piece o' shit you're go-” Dyarl thrust his hand between the two faces, and separated them.

“Now come on Sir, lets not not be rash.” But Markus ignored him, and shoved his victim out of the way before he walked away. “Well, I suppose I should be the one to apologise for his crude behaviour... erm-”

“It's Shinzou, and he's Mahlo,” the blue haired of the two turned to them, and smiled.

“Oh, yes, that's me Mister Dyarl.”

“Mahlo you say? That's an unusual name for a Northerner.” Mahlo's expression became less cheerful.

“Erm... well, it's kind of complicated,” a call from Markus interrupted the conversation. He seemed to be rather distressed.

“Hey Jason, we've got a huge problem here,” he dragged Dyarl away, and pointed him to the flag. It was white with a gold trim, and the symbol of a dark green rose flower sat in the very middle. It waved from the clocktower in the town, which stood taller than any other building in the centre.

“I though Garollen may have reached here by now, but House Elbenor? Not to even mention it being gold trimmed,” said Jason.

“Yeah, the House Lord so close to the border,” Markus pondered. Dyarl grew a wide grin, and could not help but tease Markus.

“Now now old buddy, no need to be so cold. Everyone kno-”

“Enough! You'll keep your mouth closed!” he flailed his arms to push him away. “Can we just hurry up, get in there, get stuff and move on?!”

“Well, that was the plan to gain supplies in disguise, but I'm not to sure of it anymore.”

“Well listen, as much as I'd love to donate my arms to hungry Northerners, I need them for a few more important things. So that means we're getting some supplies. Oh... and I've got a plan, so you don't need to hurt that brain of yours.” A hand came above Markus' right shoulder and slammed down on him, he jumped and turned around to see the green haired women smirking at him,

“No! I mean it, I've got a good idea.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Well you're... I, forget it! Just come on.” He looked back up the hill at the last two. Gerald and Henrietta were conversing. “And that meaning you two as well, come on!” The pair snapped out of their chattering and crept down the hillside.

And soon the group moved their way down further, into the thick bushes beside the dirt road that lead to the town gates. At the gates stood two Garollens in the standard iron armour and spears held vertically. Markus began to execute his plan.

“Alright, start rustling.” He grabbed the bush in front of him and shook it with both hand. “Well come on. That's an order Dyarl!” The rest of them copied him to avoid irritating him, apart from one certain scruff who could not resist laughing at them. But to their amazement, the men at the gates actually moved towards the bushes, and Markus, followed by the rest, stopped shaking as the sound of feet approached. The pair gripped their right before the bush, but they could not see the awaiting death through the greenery. One of the pair leaned closer, a spear burst through the bush, impaling his collar at a gap in the armour. The other soldier rushed to attack the unseen foe, but only to be halted the Dyarl, who rose from the behind the bush and delivered a fatal cut to the neck with his longsword. The still bleeding man was dragged in and suffocated to death with a piece of cloth wrapped around his face and Markus' hand over his mouth. Both corpses were moved behind the bushes and stripped of their uniform. Markus began to undo the straps of his own armour.

“Well Jason, what are you waiting for, put one on.”

“We're going to disguise ourselves? B-but what about them?” he pointed to the rest of the group, who were sitting around without taking any particular interest.

“No need to worry, I've thought this through.”

“No far enough I'm wondering.”

“Will you just... why do you always have to question me like that? You always do that! You'd never act this way with my father. Am I some kind of joke to you?” Dyarl was unfazed by his words.

“It's just you're a friend, and not the kind of person I'd take seriously.” Markus rolled his eyes, and started to put the uniform on. Dyarl opened his mouth to speak, but silenced himself and began to remove his own armour in exchange for the other stolen uniform. Soon they were ready, dressed in a full set of Garollen infantry armour with closed helmets to hide their faces. Markus started to look around through their equipment.

“Anyone got some rope or anything?” The Northerners shook their heads, Gerald searched through a large sack he was carrying.

“Naw Mister Markus, I've got nothing.” Markus sighed and kicked the ground, looking around for an idea.

“Alright alright. You three!” he pointed to the Northerners. “Can you put your hand behind you're backs and look captured?” The three of them stood up and placed their hands behind them as if they had been bound.

“It will have to do, but you'll have to leave your stuff here.” He turned back to Dyarl. “We should be able to move around the town easily, as long as not too many see us.” He rose and lead the three on to the road, he jabbed his spear lightly into Shinzou's side.

“Get a move on, scum.”

“Are you acting that or what?” Markus jabbed him slightly harder. “Alight alight,” Shinzou hopped away from the spear. Dyarl moved to the front of the group and prepared to go, but there was a sudden outcry from Henrietta.

“Hey! What about us two, you can't just leave us like this!” She waved her arms for attention, Dyarl and Gerald rushed to calm her down.

“Please Miss Henrietta, we have to be quieter.”

“But she's got a point Mister Dyarl, you're honestly going to leave us here?”

“Oh well... hmm,” he pondered for a brief moment. “Hey Markus! How long are we going to be?”

“I don't know, one or two hours I guess.”

“I see, well keep yourselves hidden here, and if we're not back in two... three hours, head for the border by yourselves, you get that?” They did not speak, but nodded and looked at each other nervously.

~

The other began to make their way into the town. They passed the gates onto a cobble stone path down the centre. They were surrounded by building of many sizes and materials, wood, stone and bricks. The Northerners were in awe, though Markus and Dyarl cared more for dodging nasty things on the ground.

The soldiers marching down the streets took no notice of them, and the group made their way to the edges of the town plaza unhindered. There was a large fountain with a grand bird as the centrepiece, spanning it's wings wide, with water flowing from it's open beak. Markus scratched his helmet, and watched the many vigilant soldiers marching in and out of the plaza in two rows of twelve. Markus was stumped.

“Well I figured the markets wouldn't be bustling today, but this is bad.”

“Perhaps we should look for stores that are less crawling with them lot.”

“That would be a good... actually, could we split up?” Dyarl stared at him for a while. “Well... it's just that we can... you know, cover more ground.”

“Don't worry ol' friend, I get it.” He patted him on the back, knocking Markus forwards. “While I do the work, you'll be looking for your friend, such a shame that now is not the time.”

“Shut up! For the last time, there's nothing between me and that... monster of woman.” His rage grew listening to the echoing chuckles in Dyarl's Helmet. “Stop it will ye! You check the north side, I'll take south, we'll meet bad here in an hour... or so.” Dyarl felt the light tapping on the bottom of his legs, trying round to see Mahlo.

“And us?”

“Oh, well... you'll be with me. Just try to be quiet.” He turned back to see that Markus was walking off without any other word. “Wait... ugh...” He gave up and prompted the Northerners to walk up the street in the opposite direction, keeping them in single file.

Markus looked around at the few Garollens straight posture and vertically held spears, and attempted to adopt the same movements; though the soldiers were too busy at work to notice the lone man. Markus saw that the buildings were only residential, and with a glance through the windows, he realised the wouldn't find anything useful nearby. He continued onwards.

Soon he found himself standing in the shadow of a flag. It hug from a horizontal poll off a building, bearing the green rose of House Elbenor. It was an unusual building compared to the rest: the stone was smooth and dark, surrounded by shoddy housing. Markus moved backwards into the middle of the street for a better view, only to bump into a figure he recognised. He had a hooked nose, receding dark grey hair, tired grey eyes and many wrinkles. He wore a purple robe around his white coat. The name escaped him, but he remembered the face from a banquet at Gareguess two years before. The man looked at with with a light smile seeming unbothered, though Markus was uneasy.

“My apologises Sir Lee... Lam-”

“Laramiah.” The man moved on towards the building with a slow pace.

“Oh, how foolish of me, were you coming here as well?”

“Erm... I guess so.” Markus tried his best not to act suspicious, so he followed Laramiah into the building on his invitation. It was a grand interior, with silverware plates on the shelves, and polished wood banister up the stairs; which Laramiah ascended. There seemed to be no other people in the building, beyond the guards at the door, and an unseen figure whom he heard Laramiah greeting on the second floor. Markus was able to ease his worry of being caught. He walked up the stairs, following the voices from the first room on the left on the landing, the stood next to the open doorway and listened in.

“So, Mister Nolman, I believe you have a certain package for me, do you not?” The other man spoke in a deep, grandiose tone.

“I do not, for you see, I sent it to Lord Valenhearth by horse.”

“I see, I see, I see I see. Why? After all, were you not under orders, that when you were given the package here in Antabis, that you were to hand it to Sir Isaiah Laramiah, who would hand to Lord Valenhearth in person?”

“Well of course Valen-looney would want his old man assistant to sloooowwwly do the task. I'm doing the lunatic a favour.”

“Well, if you insist, but he won't be happy, and I'm certainly am not. All that way-”

“Yes yes, all tragic and such-”

“But that's not your only blunder, hmm...”

“What are you blabbing about now old man?”

“Well, it's just that I've notice that the town is void of any Searan civilians, peasants, commoners, whatever you like to call them.”

“And?”

“Well, I'm no soldier, but didn't His Majesty decree that the Searans should be kept within their settlements and their escape prevented? So you, Lieutenant Nolman, have either failed to detain the civilians in the town of Antabis which your men occupy, or you've moved them to somewhere else. Which I'm guessing has not been allowed by the House Lord or the King.”

“Well, that's not what you came here to discuss so will yo-”

“Oh my, oh my, what would your superiors say about this, hmm?”

“G-G-Get out! You scheming old man! You got what you came for, so please just leave!”

“Well, fortunately for you, I must be leaving now thanks for you incompetence. So I'll have no time to report this to the House Lord, a shame really, it would be amusing to watch the Ice queen's blood boil.” Markus received a shock from Nolman storming out of the room, he was a tall, middle aged man, with neck length fiery hair, and a small, pointed beard. He wore the same dull bronze coloured armour as the other soldiers, but be wore a crimson cape. He glared at Markus with is sharp hazel eyes, but didn't speak or question why he was eavesdropping, he just stomped down the stairs, leaving the building in rage.

“My apologises again, did the primate scare you?” Laramiah gave a faint chuckle, seeming unbothered by Markus' spying.

“N-no Sir.” Laramiah's laughing became louder.

“A shame, I wish it could have been more private, but apes are so terribly loud.” He also headed for the exit, leaving a confused, but relieved Markus without any trouble. After nearly being caught out, he regained his composure; but only to be cut short by the sound of Laramiah, who was speaking to someone right outside the door.

“Aha! Wonderful greetings Milady, you're as stunning as ever. Why, if I were thirty years younger, I'd stay longer, but alas,” his voice faded away as he walked off. “Farewell!” The hard sound of boots could be heard downstairs. The meeting room which Markus had soon entered consisted of a round table, four cushioned chairs, a wardrobe, and a bed with a canopy. He had nowhere to run, and the sounds of many feet marched up the stairs. He flung himself into the empty wardrobe for hiding, just managing to fit him and the thick armour inside enough to close the doors.

The people entered, and the shuffling of all four chairs could be heard. A whole new conversation had begun. First to speak was a man, with bland, and sleep inducing voice.

“What is the meaning of this? We desired to speak with the King of Garollen.” The voice that replied was as sharply cold as a Frostmor morning.

“Hmm, these are Bremoe's so called 'Negotiators'? Nothing but a group of whining children. When you speak to me, you should remember this; if we choose it, we could topple you in a day. His Majesty has granted your land great mercy to listen to your excuses.” The silence was awkward as the men prepared a response.

“Well, there is no reason for an invasion of Bremoe. Any plot that posed a threat to the throne of Garollen was Searan's undoing,” a second man defended his partner.

“This, our Lord will vouch for. We wish for any uneeded conflict to be prevented, even if it means that Searan must be absorbed into the Garollean Empire,” said a third man. Markus could only just contain his anger over what he was listening to.

“His Holy Majesty of Bremoe has demanded further investigation into the extent of this conspiracies, and justice is assured.”

“That's all? Such a waste of breath.”

“His Holy Majesty does also wish for the assurance that there will be fair treatment for the peasantry of Searan. He is well aware of Garollen's policies during war, but if Garollen is to hold lasting control of Searan-”

“I understand this. However, only His Majesty can speak on such things.”

“When we demand to speak-”

“Impudence! He will speak only to the King of Bremoe on such matters, never to worms. His Majesty has no time for worms, nor do I.”

“This is outrageous! How dear you speak that way to His Holiness' serv-”

“Leave now! Sliver away, and do not return until you've chosen to abide by His Majesty's wishes.” There was a stillness, until the men confirmed their loss for words. Markus could hear the noises of chairs shuffling and the grumbling of the three men, defeated in such short time. The room fell into silence once more, and after several minutes, it went unbroken. The wardrobe door opened slowly as Markus peeked his head out to find the room empty. Not a moment too soon he thought; his eyes were red with fury, tapping his fingers on the spear on his back. But there was also fear, and he knew he was no long safe in the building, or the town, or country. He hurried for the door, hoping to go unseen, but a towering figure that came into the door-frame froze him dead.

She was a tall, strongly built in shape, dressed in a suit of emerald armour, rimmed with gold. Her waving blond locks reached right down to her thighs, and shone against the green of her armour. Her face consisted of little more than a thin pair of lips, small nose, and a pair of razor blue eyes. Their stand off was long, with neither sword or words drawn. Sweat ran down Markus' face, the pressure bared down on him like lead, his lips struggling to open.

“W-Well?” he trembled. She said nothing, tilting her head up and looking at him with contempt.

“Well!” he cried. She walked up to him, each step causing Markus to quiver. She drew a longsword from her back and raised it above her head vertically. She chopped it down towards his forehead with both hands. The blade met with the resistance of the spear pole. But the her force overwhelmed Markus, bringing him down on one knee. Her sword was raised again, and slammed down against the metal of he spear several times, breaking it down the middle. It missed Markus by a hair. The assault had stopped temporally, allowing him to move back.

“Listen! I give!” he placed his hands in front of him.

“Markus, if only you'd kept your pathetic mouth closed.” She charged at him, lunging her sword for his chest. His body jerked to the right, dodging her attack. In that small moment he attempted the decisive strike to the neck with what was left of his weapon. His thrust was halted when she grabbed the snapped pole with her left hand, and redirected the attack away positioning herself for the response. Markus tried to release his weapon from her grip, falling back after failing with all his force. When he darted his eyes back, her sword was thrust through the side of his stomach, and the pain raced up his spine. She withdrew the sword slowly, making sure he got the best view of the blood run down the edge. He slammed onto the floor with his body, and though he had covered the wound with his hand. The blood flowed between his fingers like a river. He glared by at her from the floor, clenching his teeth at her back which faced him.

“F-face me... you b-bitch.” She responded by walking away. “Damn my luck.” Those words made her turn back and approach him, looking down upon him though he were a mangled rat.

“Your luck you say?” She kicked him onto his back and place her right foot on the wound, pressing into it. Markus begun to breathe heavily; and his vision was blurred. He tried to speak, but only blood rose from his throat. “Don't use such words to describe our difference. I'm strong, and you're weak, that's all it is.” She drew her sword and pointed it to his throat. “You're still the same worm as before, that's why she's-” she halted, taking small pity upon him. “So, would you rather bleed to death, or have me kill you now?” He looked up the blade and into her hollow eyes, words finally screeched from his mouth.

“Sebannah... sto...” his eyes forced themselves shut, and the world completely disappeared around him. His breathing had ended, and his body turned limp and died.

~

Markus opened his eye's, but it was no different, surrounded by the perfect darkness. He opened his mouth, but there was only silence. It seemed to last forever, enough for his unease to vanish along with the rest of his emotions, he floated within the cold vacuum.

A tiny light shone from ahead, but he could possible tell how far it was. Its size or shape didn't change as he moved in whatever direction he seemed to be going, and he took no notice of it or the voices that echoed from it. The first was deep, masculine voice.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he sounded unsure. The second voice was of a young girl, full of confidence and reassurance.

“Of course, why would you think any different?”

“Forgive me, I was foolish to question our Valdine-Re-”

“Hush! It's working.” The first voice stopped speaking. “Hello? Hello!? Aha... you there! Can you hear me!?” Markus' eyes drifted towards the light source.

“Uh-”

“Well, what's your name?”

“My name? It's Markus Horuston.” His voice had become monotone and cold.

“Hmm... Markus Horuston...Aha! That's no good at all, you're dead!”

“This is being dead?”

“Well, nearly. Your body is dying, and you mind is trapped here in limbo. But this isn't right at all, you should not... cannot be dead.”

“Limbo?”

“That's right. The domain of the Night Lady: the land of uncertain ghosts. You have regret? Or seek vengeance or such. Soon you'll find your way back to the world as a formless spirit, or lose all feeling and memories.”

“...oh.”

“But you certainly don't have to time for that, you've got important things to be doing alive, no? That is to say, news of what has happened has reached me just this afternoon.”

“And?”

“And, it would be unfortunate that you, the heir of Searan should die at this time. After all, your people need their leader, right? And considering that I happened to encounter you in this realm, it may be a sign that you are a gear in my clock. Erm... in short; I couldn't possibly allow you to die.”

“Are you saying, you could let me live?”

“I do have a way... and yet, I shouldn't do such a thing.”

“But... you said I shouldn't die.”

“Well,” she paused for a moment, “would you like to live?”

“If I'm here in this place, isn't that a stupid question?”

“Aha... very well, I shall perform the ritual here, it should work.” The light dimmed into a spark, and three pairs of ghostly arms grew outwards. They danced with fluid movements, clasping many fingers together and drawing complex runic patterns. The spark had then grew into large circle, filled with strange ancient letters which was held in place by all six arms.

Is rodo divum stolu,

Oqud custulf lacgoi.

Liasdus som roves,

Oqud naplles som doca.

Adoc tu tesriv engua,

Oqud arepo suus esjasati.

Flectino tu rex.

The circle's glow grew brighter until Markus was blinded by it's radiance, the voice spoke once more to him, but a sound like blustering gales deafened him. The blackness had become an endless tunnel of light which Markus felt himself speed though, constantly gaining momentum. At the end, he crashed into the spiritual barrier, jumping back to life.

~

He awoke in the blanket of an unfamiliar bedding. He was outside, lying in a bedroll next to a large, round rock, the grass appeared short and damp. Markus looked up at the clear night sky with is pale face, and stared at the glimmering stars. His thoughts were tangled and blurred, and much distracted by the pain in his stomach which was wrapped with bandages. His silent pondering was broken by the rejoice of his friend Dyarl, who rushed towards him.

“Ha! You're... you're alive! Alive! He's okay!” Dyarl could not contain his relief for Markus' recovery. Markus head pounded at the sound of his voice.

“Uh, please don't yell, please,” he rested his face within his palm.

“Oh, sorry old friend, you just, you looked dead.” Dyarl was gleeful at his return.

“I... I was dead? Ugh... how'd I get here? I... was in some place... and... there was b...blood... and-”

“Ah yes, Elissa,” Dyarl pointed to the Northerner woman, “she found you, and got you out.”

“Uhh... what? How? They were with you.”

“Well, I left the three of them outside while I check out a a butcher I found, and when I came back out, they'd vanished, and well... when I found them again, you were with them, dying.” Markus and even Dyarl were still puzzled by how it happened.

“Well we were booored!” Shinzou belted at the pair from the campfire. He turned back and muttered to himself. “Besides, ye can't find any good myrtle or agaric around these parts, especially for sale.” Henrietta put her book down and glanced at him.

“That's right isn't it, that's why you folk are going south, to collect fungi.” Markus came up to the campfire, joining the conversation; hoping to take his mind of his injury.

“So, let me get this straight. You three are travelling all this way to get high off mushrooms.” Mahlo interjected into the conversation.

“Well... it's great stuff, and can't be found back home. We're going to store it for next Frostmor. You see Markus, following the traditions of our Ceran ancestors, we use certain plants and materials for-” Markus had walked off, bored with Mahlo's explanations. “Oh... well do please forgive me.”

Markus approached the Northerner woman, who was leaned against the large rock, staring at the horizon. Markus was interested only in answers.

“Well?” She made no response. “What did you do?” She turned away. “Okay, I'm sorry Miss... Elissa, wasn't it?”

“Uh hm.” She nodded, though still not facing him.

“I thank you for... saving my life. I was wonder if it would be wrong of me to ask how you were able to do so.” She move away from the rock and faced him.

“Those lights over there, could it be,” Markus moved around her and looked in the shame direction in which she pointed. In the distant night sky, flew five glowing lights, they moved off to the left, but seemed to be slowly coming in. Markus could also make out odd shadowed figures carrying the lights, he ran back to the campfire where the rest of the group were sitting. “We've gotta go, right now!” He shouted. Dyarl swallowed the last of his bread.

“Eh? But we only just got down for supper...”

“An-wyrm riders, over the hills, heading over here. We should get going.”

“You sure? You're still injured.”

“Well if they see us, the whole area will be swarming by-” Markus looked around at the lazy group: with Shinzou and Mahlo not even taking paying attention, and the Humenves were reading books. “Could you at least put the fire out!” The five snapped back to reality and glared at Markus. Shinzou took the chance to jab at him.

“Maybe they won't find us if... ye know, shut up.” Markus clenched his fist hard, but admitted to another defeat and sat down. The An-wyrm circled the skies above them several times before returning from where they came. Dyarl realised he would have to bring his friend up to speed.

“There's no need to worry Sir, we're close to the border and we'll be setting off soon. We'll be safe by the time they get here. You should calm down and rest.” Markus sat down and decided to not question the odd authority of a half baked plan.

“I still want to know how that woman saved me,” he said. Elissa approached him from behind and leaned onto his left shoulder.

“I'll tell... on one condition.”

“And that is?” Markus inquired. She pondered her request for a short while.

“Well, I can't give secrets to people I don't even know. So hows about telling my a bit about yourself, starting with explaining to us who your girlfriend is.”

“Lady Elbenor, if she can be called a lady, is the ruler of one of Garollen's original noble houses. Someone my and my sister had the displeasure of meeting,” he answered. Though Dyarl was confused by his explanation.

“Really? Rythia and Seby always seemed to be good friends. Speaking of which, I suppose she still blames you.” He didn't realise that Markus was stood in front of him. “Is something wron-” a fist smashed into his face before he could finish. He was knocked to the ground. Everyone stared in silence.

“You dare forget your place,” Markus snarled. Dyarl sat back up, making no comment as he rubbed the bruise on his left cheek. “You have no place to speak about me or Rythia like that.” He stormed away to rest behind the large rock. No one wanted to hear anymore, apart from Elissa.

“What was that all about?” She stood up. Shinzou grabbed her arm.

“Nobody wants you to get involved with anything that don't got anything to do with you.” She stared back at him with her single eye.

Dyarl was still silent, and the rest were trying to relax in peace. The lights in the far distance danced in an arrow formation, pointing to the sky. Markus slept by the rock, with a strange message ringing in this ear.

Edited February 17, 2009 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Four: The Saint's Shadow.

It was a frosty morning, and the sky was empty of all but a red sun. Five black An-wyrms circled Markus and his troop, who were fleeing south in desperation. Markus stared up at them, clutching the wound he received the other day.

“I though you had a plan!”

“This is the plan, trust me Sir. We can fight a few riders off can't we?” Markus rolled his eyes, and continued running at full pace. The An-wyrms flapped their wings and raced ahead of the prey, landing only a few metres in front. Shinzou had already drawn his sword: a long rectangular piece of metal on a stick. The middle rider approached to address them.

“Drop your weapons and surrender, you runaways can still live.” Though it was pointless, Shinzou's mouth already ran too far.

“Bluff all ye want ridin' on that beast. Come down and lets see ye fight,” his tongue pierced the rider, and shattered hope for a peaceful resolution.

“Advance on them, leave none alive.” Weapons were drawn all around, and the bulky beasts snapped their jaws and stepped forwards. A riders from each end leaped forwards, landing just short of a foot away from Shinzou, intimidating him with their sharp fangs, though he was still steadfast and ready to battle. The pair drew their lances, and their steeds backed onto their hind legs. Shinzou tightened his focus, seemingly unbothered by the lack of help he was receiving from the other fighters of the group, who chose to standby and judge him. The riders were moments away from striking, when a raised voice caught their attention.

Fly away with the winds.

Eighteen: Gale.

Mahlo withdrew his right hand towards his chest, and thrust it straight out at the pair of riders. A strong gust of wind picked up upon their location, forcing them back. They finally collapsed, knocking into one another, crashing on the ground, nearly crushing both men. Shinzou, stepping carefully over the An-wyrm tails, approached the fallen men, grabbing them by the collar. With his rusty blade, he slit their throats, making sure a good amount of blood poured from their veins. The lead rider watched the battle, unamused.

“Bah, so one of them buggers knows a trick or two. Alright, don't waste time men, kill them skinny brats.” The remaining three flew up and made another circle around them, before landing in positions as to surround the group. Markus and Dyarl now drew their weapons for the next assault, and Gerald balled his fists and taunted the foe with mock punches. Though only the two women had noticed another group approaching from behind the lead rider.

A ball of fire flew from behind, missing the center rider and scorching the ground before him. The shocked rider turned and faced his new foe. A tall man, with strong sapphire eyes, faded blue hair with a long lock covering the right side of his face, and a frilly downwards ponytail. Wearing a long white robe around his crimson shirt. He walked towards the riders with confidence, followed by a team of eleven archers.

“My my, killing nobility on foreign land... such crimes are rather punishable in these times. Fortunately however, I am here to make sure no such act is committed,” he said. The riders turned their attention to the strangely joyful man, the captain pulled a disgusted face.

“Pfft, and you are?” asked the lead rider. The man placed his right hand upon his chest, and bowed.

“Oh course, allow me to introduce myself. I am Varon L. Vincent, Duke of Kontershore.” The captain clenched his jaw, withdrawing his weapon.

“Curses... blast, why did you have to show up?”

“These lands are within our borders, and His Holy Majesty had stationed men to assist those fleeing from Searan, which is being overseen by myself. And for these reasons, I must ask you to leave, or else my men will open fire.” The remaining three riders were angered, but did not argue further, leaving the land in humiliation.

Varon came up to Markus, and bowed in front of him, though Markus was unimpressed.

“It is good to see you alive and well, Lord Horuston. And of course, same to you, Sir Dyarl.”

“More like an unexpected problem... right?” Markus scowled. Varon looked at him, confused, though he did not have time to respond. “I know what that brother of yours is up to.”

“Lord Horuston, His Holy Majesty is greatly sorry for your loss; but we cannot be hasty on this matter. We bid you to come to Vinceles to speak in his presents.” Markus looked away, ignoring the first part of his speech. “We have transport waiting not far, if you and your group would like to accompany me.” Markus still did not speak.

“I see, and I understand why you don't wish to speak. But I should tell you, that the Lady Lirina arrived in Vinceles a few days ago,” he finally grabbed his attention at the mention of his mother, “and dear Yenallesa has been praying non-stop for you.”

“Fine, I'll come,” answered Markus. Their talk was rudely interrupted by Shinzou, whom took no interesting in their conversation, or Markus' identity.

“Great, I was getting' tired of all that walking!” Varon turned to him, frowning with contempt.

“I'm so sorry, but we do not allow your kind within our home.”

“Eh? What gives?”

“Nothing gives, we simply like to keep our home clean and civilised,” Varon stated. Dyarl had now entered, in defence of the Northerners.

“Forgive me Lord Vincent, but in return for their assistance, no matter how little it was, I told them they would be able to conduct some business here in Bremoe. And as a Knight, I must be true to my word.” Varon was dumbfounded by the idea of a knight dealing with Northerners.

“Sir Dyarl... I wish you hadn't. But, it would be wrong of me to oppose your promise; though I trust you to keep a close eye on them.”

“Of course Lord Vincent.”

“...Oh, on second thought, those three must sit on the roof of the second carriage,” Varon added. Shinzou cheered over this arrangement, giving Varon a sharp glare when his back was turned. They then headed towards their ride, three black carriages each being pulled by a pair of horses. Varon turned to give orders to his men.

“I shall be leaving now. Head back to the camp and continue your work.”

“Yes, My Lord!” they marched off into the distance. Varon invited Markus and Dyarl into the first of the carriages. Markus reluctantly accepted, suspecting that Varon just wanted to keep watch on him. Gerald and Henrietta shared the third carriage to themselves. Though the last carriage was empty, the Northerners were still made to sit on top of it. Varon signalled the drivers, and then they began to ride, taking a long dirt road route to the capital.

~

Henrietta kept herself busy with a large, red covered book entitled The Biography of Piyate Turpustasha: Part Two. It was warm inside the carriage, so she had removed her white fur coat; wearing just a flowery apricot dress. Gerald rested his chin in his hand, staring outside the window at the landscape. It was made up of rolling hills and a large, sparkling lake near the horizon, surrounded by towering pine trees. He turned to his wife, who was too lost in her book to notice.

“Say, where do ye think we'll go once; I mean, they don't need us around.” There was a short pause before she replied.

“Eh... oh, I'm sure they wouldn't just leave us,” she pondered. Gerald caught a glimpse of the book cover.

“You shouldn't read books like that dear.”

“Oh? But it's such a rare book and-”

“And what about that box?” he pointed to a small violet box, which had been hidden in her coat. It had a bronze lock on it's longest side. Gerald looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. Henrietta stammered when she tried to explain.

“Erm... well... I though that... you know, I couldn't leave it.”

“I think you should let me keep a hold of it.”

“Oh... of course, just... please don't get rid of it,” she begged. Gerald smiled and reassured her, taking the box from her coat and placing it under his right arm. The sound of banging could be heard from outside. When they inspected it through their window, they found the three Northerners climbing down from the moving carriage.

“Aye, what a bunch of troublemakers,” Gerald chuckled. Varon and Dyarl had yet to notice their escape; but Markus had spotted them out of the corner of his eye. Though he was more than happy to be rid of them. Despite not wanting to be caught, Shinzou could not help but be loud.

“Hey Elissa should we-” he shouted.

“Quiet. You want them to see us?” Elissa sighed. He covered his mouth, and looked at the carrage which Varon rode in. They ran toward the lake in the distance with Mahlo trailing behind. Dyarl, stilling not realising their disappearance, wanted to cure his boredom during the ride by playing his usual game.

“So Markus, I didn't know you were in acquaintance with little Yeny-”

“Oh shut it; I've not seen her in ten years. I'm surprised she'd remember me.”

“Don't be like that. She must like you if she's putting her little hands together to pray for you.”

“Quit it! She was five when I met her.”

“Now that's big problem; or does old Markus like them young,” Dyarl prodded. Markus' cheeks glowed red, and he readied to place his hand around his neck and throttle him. Varon glared at them. Barely tolerating their conversation he coughed, alerting them to his existence.

“Oh... forgive me Lord Vincent; we were just joking around,” Dyarl grinned. Varon took a deep breath, and was able to clear his thoughts before speaking.

“I'll graciously forgive your felony, pray Etustir forgives you as well.” Dyarl was stunned by the sudden hostilities, though Markus simply rolled his eyes. “That includes you Lord Horuston. Blushing at the name our Royal Princess, disgraceful,” Varon finished. Markus paid no attention, preferring to continue staring outside. The result of their talking had cause the ride to become increasingly uncomfortable.

~

Late afternoon came many hours later, and over the hills, they could make out the silhouette of a city consisting of thousands of buildings, a city that dwarfed anything that could be found in Searan. They came through the white towers that formed the entrance, and rode over the level stone road. The buildings that surrounded them were all coloured in a fresh white and cleaned to perfection. Dyarl looked at each one, unable to find any fault.

“This sure looks like a nice place.”

“Of course, Vinceles has been head of the Etustir church for centuries, and the birthplace of Seres Vinceles. We must constantly be a shining example,” Varon smirked. Dyarl stuck his head out of the window, getting a view of the grand temple which sat on the far end of the main road, towering far above the rest of the sky line, seeming to almost touch the clouds. They took a right turn before the temple, heading towards another large building, a palace consisting of three large buildings with domed roofs, surrounded by a small forest and a tall, white barred fence.

Once they reached the guarded gates, the carriages stopped, greeted by five men in silver armour. Varon opened the door, allowing his guests to exit first. Dyarl soon realised that the Northerners had disappeared, though it did not seem to bother him, though Varon was fuming when he saw that they were missing.

“Where are they!?” he shouted.

“What's so bad, you don't like them, and now their gone. It's a good thing,” said Markus, scratching his head.

“loose rats are never a good thing, who knows what they'll do.”

“With enough luck, they won't be doing anything that bothers me. Don't we have something more important to do?”

“Of course, we shall enter, His Majesty's guard will welcome us.” Varon looked towards the final carriage where Gerald and Henrietta were exiting. “And your other guests are welcome to stay, I shall have men escort them to rooms later.” He continued to lead them into the main building. Henrietta ran up to Dyarl, waving her arms for attention.

“Sir Dyarl, Sir Dyarl!” she cried. He turned and smiled at her.

“I don't wish to bother you, but you and Markus... you're-”

“Former General Jason Dyarl, and Prince Markus Horuston the second.”

“Goodness! It's such an honour, why didn't you say? So sorry for not recognising you, I've not lived in Searan long...”

“Please don't worry.” Dyarl interrupted. Henrietta turned back to Gerald, who was wearing a brown jacket and raggy trousers; still carrying the box under his arm.

“Oh... you can't enter looking like that!” she squealed. Dyarl laughed, causing her to blush.

The group enter the building through a large door with pillars at both sides. The interior was soft and bright, white marble floors and two rows of parallel smooth stone pillars ran down the central corridor. Gerald and Henrietta had their faces fixed on the concave ceiling, admiring the curved line patterns. Markus was not so impressed, feeling that the palace was too big, nor was the brightness and hight homely. Varon stopped, and turned to address the group, as well as four guards who stood behind them.

“May I gladly welcome you all to The Avitasin Palace. Shortly, these men will take you to the guest rooms. Lord Horuston and Sir Dyarl, your meeting with His Majesty will occur tomorrow at noon. All four of you are welcome to eat in the presents of His Majesty tonight, I recommend that you prepare if you wish to attend,” Varon explained. Markus cared not for the welcome, or the schedule.

“You know there's only one reason why I came here. My mother, where is she?” he asked. Before Varon could answer his question he was interrupted by a soft voice that echoed a welcome to him.

“Uncle! Uncle!” She was a young girl with long blue hair with a thick fringe and wide sapphire eyes. She wore a long red dress surrounded thick rose cloak, she was short in stature, and flat chested. Varon smiled and bowed his head to her.

“Your Highness, don't tell me you've missed me that much?” She franticly nodded her head. She then walked up to Markus, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly. Markus' cheeks turned deep crimson.

“P-please Yen... Your Highness, there's no need for this!” But she refused to let go. “I'm happy to see you too, but this isn't-”

“That's... good.” She let go of him and stepped back to greet him properly. Markus could see the tears in the corner of her eyes. Before she was able bow, he knelt before her, both of them blushed. Varon was bothered by their behaviour.

“Your Highness, don't you have business elsewhere for now?” he said. She looked back to him with confusion. “High Priest Jalinr is waiting for you at the temple.” She was very disappointed at being sent away.

“Oh... yes, I can't keep Jalinr waiting. But I can't leave until-”

“Not to worry Your Highness,” another person came down the hall. A handsome young man, possessing short blonde hair with a thin pony tail down the left side of his neck. His armour was polished silver, that shone against the background of his violet cape. And round his waist he carried a longsword, with a phoenix emblem on the hilt. Yenallesa was pleased to see him, yet still disappointed by having to leave.

“Oh, Rai... Sir Kalegar, forgive me for leaving you behind.”

“There's no worries Your Highness. Though we cannot waste anymore time,” he bowed to greet the guests. Markus could not help but be irritated by his smile, the familiar smile of a man that always got his way. Yenallesa spoke to all their guests before leaving.

“Bless and be blessed.” She and Kalegar made their exit, Varon followed soon after, requesting the guards to lead the guests on, he still had no answered Markus' question. The guards obeyed their orders.

“Please may you follow us now, we shall sort everything out for you.”

At the other end of the long hall, the group, lead by two guards took a right turn into a smaller corridor, with wooden decorative doors on both sides. To pass the time, Dyarl tried to speak to his friend who appeared annoyed.

“It must've been nice to see her, she seemed nice,” Dyarl thought. Markus did not respond. “And that Ke...Kalegar bloke looked impressive.”

“If you like knights in shining armour.”

“That's a shame, he kinda reminded me of you,” he looked up, with his smile gone, “well the old you.” Markus looked away. “Hey, cheer up. At least you made it alive to see your mother again.”

“I guess, but here, we're not,” he glanced at the guards escorting him, who seemed to be paying close attention to him, “it's nothing.”

~

The escorts stopped, and opened a door.

“This will be your room, Lord Horuston. We hope you will enjoy your stay. We shall inform the Lady Lirina of your arrival immediately, please wait here.” Markus did not thank them or respond in any way, other than to walk into the room and shut the door on them. The room itself was large, with the same design as the rest of the building. There was a double bed with a purple blanket that Markus laid upon as soon as the door was shut. A chilling wind blew through the two open windows, blowing the purple curtains; and sending shivers down his spine. He got up from the short lie down. He took off his battered armour and let it fall to the floor, causing loud bangs. He was reaching to close a window, when snow flakes flew into the room; touching his face and dampening his shirt. He stared out from the window, seeing that beyond the city. The pine tree forests were already covered in an enchanted white, though any beauty in it did not strike him.

Instead, he felt more depressed, remembering all that had happened. The sounds of battle were still rang like background noises. Nor could keep the cold hatred of Elbenor, out of his mind. He stood at the window for a long while, pondering when a knock on the door came.

“I don't want... Come in.” He turned around, not realising that the floor around the windows had become blanketed in snow. The door opened, revealing the guest to be a middle aged woman with neck length greying hair, faded blue eyes and several wrinkles. She wore a red silk gown and big smile. Markus was both overjoyed and nervous, he could not do anything other than bow before his queen. He opened to mouth to greet her, but was interrupted.

“You don't need to do that,” Lirina had stopped smiling, seeing the state of Markus. His torn clothes and cuts.

“I... I'm so sorry, it was selfish of me to.” Markus sprang to his feet.

“Don't say things like that!” he cried. Lirina was shocked by his sudden outburst. “None of it's your fault! I would have made a horrible mistake to not make sure you were well!” A tear came to her eye, seeing her son speak with such certainty.

“I'm so joyed to see you... after everything.”

“Forgive me mother, I cannot give you any news of father.”

“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself dear.” She moved closer to him, putting her arms around him. Markus was eased by her embrace, his thoughts had become clearer. And when she moved back he spoke his mind.

“Mother, we have to leave as soon as possible.”

“But... His Majesty has been such a wonderful host.”

“These people will abandon us. They never had any intention of helping Searan.”

“But Markus dear, we've nowhere else to go.”

“I... but we cannot stay here.” There was another knock on the door, but this time there was no time for Markus to reply.

“Dinner will be ready shorty, His Holy Majesty insists that you attend.” Lirina was concerned for Markus' words, but did not wish to cause any commotion.

“Don't not worry dear, these things will we worked out tomorrow. But for tonight you should rest.”

“But-”

“Dear... you've come all this way to make sure I was well. You care enough to trust me?” he asked. Markus could not say anything, only wiping the dust off his shirt. “And aren't you happy to see Her Highness again? She's a wonderful young woman now.” Markus went rose cheeked at her implications.

“Uh... well... Fine, I suppose staying one night would be a good rest,” he agreed. Her smile widened.

“That's wonderful, I'll leave you to get ready.” She opened the door and went on her way giving Markus a sweet nod goodbye.

~

He looked around, trying to find any clothes that he could use to replace his own worn outfit. He appeared much more positive than, the burden of his promise was finally lifted. But there was still the concern of his suspicious allies, though for his mother, he would put them aside for the night. He checked the wardrobe, where he found a long formal white coat, the edges and sleeve ends were lined in black and gold. Unfortunately, there was nothing else in the room for him to wear, so he put the coat over his shirt, there was no lapel, nor anyway any buttons to close the coat with, so his worn clothes still showed prominently.

He left the room, inspite of his appearance, turning left from his room door, heading back to the main corridor. The building was lit up by rows of candles on the walls, but it was still cold throughout. Once Markus had reached the main corridor, he seeked out the nearest guard.

“Excuse me there, you wouldn't mind pointing me to the dinner hall, or any place like that?” The guard inspected him, giving a puzzled stare at his appearance.

“Oh... of course, His Holy Majesty must be expecting you Lord Horuston,” he pointed to a corridor that was no far away. “It's at the end, the other guests had already gone down.” The guard bowed and went on his way, with no thanks from Markus, who hurried down to his destination. When he had reached the end, he found a large double door with a floral pattern carved into it. He could hear the sound of laughter within, confirming that he was in the right place. He entered, pulling open both doors, find that everyone was already sat down waiting to eat. At the end of the long, food covered table was King Dmitri Vincent the Fourth, a man of strong presence, an ageing face surrounded by thinning blue hair. He wore a thick red cloak lined with the fur of a snow wolf, with golden vambraces and a royal purple shirt, patterned with rune like symbols. Markus' distrust of him was at a new high, and they stared at each other, seemingly reading their faces. The king made the first move.

“Well, come boy, we've all being waiting for you,” he bellowed. Markus followed his seeming friendliness.

“Forgive me Your Majesty, I hope I'm not too late.” He looked around for an empty chair, locating it to the right side between Henrietta and his mother. He sat down without any further delay, finding Yenallesa on the opposite side of the table.

“Of course not boy. You're here now, so we shall start.” Everyone had started collecting the food for the middle and put it on their plates. Various quality meats, potatoes, vegetables were shifted around constantly, Markus struggled to get his hands of dishes that caught his eye. Markus took several drinks of the wine that had been placed at his seating. Mindless banter filled the room, talk about the gardens, Varon's maid and sailing seemed to dominate the noise. Markus, putting whatever he could get a hold on onto his place, kept one eye one the king, barely noticing his mother nudging and talking to him. Eventually he turned to her, forking some carrots on his plate.

“Ah dear, me and Jason were just talking about that time at the Searan festival. You remember, the one where your father slipped off the stand in his speech.” It took a while for his memories to kick in, but he soon smirked at what had happened.

“Oh... yeah, he was on his back for the rest of the day,” he sniggered. Dyarl re-entered the conversation.

“His Majesty can be such an old coot sometime.”

“Jeez Jason, you're going right to the chopping block for saying things like that.”

“Well it's the truth.”

“Never said it wasn't! The old guy's senile!” Markus laughed. Varon sipped his wine, watching them. He chuckled under his breath and turned to his brother.

“Was it such a good idea let him drink? Seems like it's gone right to his head.”

“I would have expected him hold his drink better, his father could win contests with his liver.” Markus got up and slammed his hands on the table.

“Don't you take about my father like that! If he knew what kind of a backstabbing crook you are!”

“Now see here boy...”

“No! You see here!” He turned to the rest of the crowed, who glared with wide eyes and dropped jaws. “You want know what your Holy Majesty is going to do? Nothing! He... he's going to let Searan ROT! The hounds were woken by a noise, and you feed Searan to calm them down! Is that it!” There was an awkward silence as Markus awaited an answer. Everyone else was stunned by his uproar, but they did not express any other opinion. Dmitri and Markus stared off at each other, refusing even to blink, Markus had his whole body tensed up, concentrating his fury, where as Dmitri's eyes were filled with apathy. When it came clear the king would not speak, Markus' rage boiled. With one swipe he turned the table into a wreck and stormed out of the room. There was a delayed reaction from Lirina, who rose to follow him, only to have Varon stop her.

“It won't do any good. Maybe he'd be better off on his own right now.” She ignored his words and left the table, not noticing any other attempts to stop her. Yenallesa stood up, clasping her hands to address her father.

“Father, please may I be excused?” she beamed. He looked at her with suspicion.

“And what would be your reason to leave?”

“I promised Ja... High Priest Jalinr I would help him at the Temple tonight.”

“At this hour? Jalinr wouldn't-”

“I volunteered to father. He was desperately looking for someone to help with his special service tonight,” she put on a sweeter voice. “Wouldn't be a wonderful treat for them people if I helped them.”

“Very well, but make sure to take Sir Kalegar to escort you.”

“Oh yes father. Thank you thank you! Bless and be Blessed!” She gave him a peck on the cheek to reassure him before she went on her way. Dmitri smiled as she left; he then turned to Varon, who was trying to get comfortable in his seat.

“Varon, call a guard to keep and an eye on her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he did not change expression, leaving the room to do as requested. This left Dyarl and the Humenve's in the presents of the king, awkwardly trying to think of topics to discuss. Dyarl tapped his fingers on the table for a while, before coming up with a random topic.

“So... Gerald. How long did you own that inn for?” he asked. Gerald swallowed down his meat in a frenzy.

“I was wondering when you'd ask! Well, I've had that place for a few years, not that long actually. It used to belong to an old friend.”

“And what did you do before?”

“I was sailor, former captain of the Eeswell Hydra. One of the finest ships in the Dalbron navy.” Dyarl was surprised by such an answer.

“You don't say... that's really something,” Dyarl was astonished.

“Isn't he just wonderful!” Henrietta joined, uninvited.

“I guess you're more than meets the eyes... right?” Their conversation continued, turning into trivial directions, but all three being content and distracted, though the king felt out of place while to cutting his roast beef.

~

Outside the gates of the palace, Varon stood with a wine glass in his hand; trying to enjoy what was left to enjoy that night. He took a final sip, before sighting Lirina running to him.

“Any luck there, My Lady?” he inquired; his stern visage had softened. She looked to the ground, depressed. “Nothing. Well, I told you,” he invoked a stinging slap from Lirina.

“Don't you tell me how to treat my son!” she choked. Varon looked away, covering the red mark on his left cheek.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. Lirina returned to her place of sorrow, raising Varon's guilt. “Erm... is there any way I can help you, My Lady?”

“N-no thank you. Markus should come to his senses. I was just so... it worries me to see his do things like that.”

“I...I think you should get some rest, My Lady.” She looked up at him with watering eyes. “I'll have some men keep an eye out for him.”

“Thank you but,” she yawned, “you'll find him... won't you?”

“Of course My Lady, you should go now,” he smiled. She was hesitant, but knew she would be unable to find him at this time of night. Once she had left for the palace, Varon turned his attention to the two men at the gates.

“As you may or may not have heard, I have a task for you two. There will be three hundred Orihal for you each, if you can find Markus Horuston and inform him of his mother worry.” They gave the same stiff response before going to perform the task given.

“As you command My Lord!” Varon stood by the gate with his drink, distracted by this thoughts of what Markus had said at the dinner. His mind was troubled.

~

The next morning was damp and grey, with fog masking the distant forests. Varon walked down the corridor when he spotted one of the guards approach him, whom had noticeable bruises on what could be seen of his face.

“Hmm...what happened to you?”

“Forgive me My Lord, I was watching Her Highness as you asked, but I was put out cold and locked in one of the storage rooms.”

“Where? When?” Varon asked, with urgency in his voice.

“Not long after you asked me. It was in the Palace.”

“Hmm... show where exactly this happened.” The guard let him away up the corridor. Eventually they met up with a tired Markus, still wearing the white coat he found the night before. Though at first he did not notice Varon, his turned around when his arm was grabbed by the blue haired nobleman.

“Did you get the message last night.” Varon was angered by the state of his dirty appearance. Markus raised his eye brow, indicating to Varon that he had not been given the message. “Well, if you had, you'd know that your mother was worried sick.” Markus shrugged, seeming unbothered. Varon sighed with disgust; and with one swift punch, knocked him to his knees.

“You make me sick! You talk about coming all this way for her, and all you've done is cause ill to her.” Markus was expressionless and silent still, angering Varon further. But knowing he was not getting through to him, Varon left without any parting words. Completely ignoring what had just happened, Markus continued down the corridor, trying to remember which room his mother was in.

A while later, he found where he thought he would find her. He grabbed the door nob and barged his way inside. He found Lirina gazing out of the window, hopelessly at the foggy sky. She snapped out of her day dreaming, seeing Markus she rushed up to him in tears.

“Where were you? I...I...” Markus stepped back, and lowered his head.

“Forgive me. I didn't wish to upset you, but I had to take care of somethings last night.” Lirina stared at him with her hands clasped lightly. “Father told me you came here with others, is this true?”

“Yes, they've been put in shelters on the other side of the city. About thirty or so.”

“That's not too many; they can't stay here.” She was at unease hearing his decision.

“But what choice do they have!?”

“We can't leave them here... These people used us.”

“And what do you want to do with them?” Markus paused for a while, the question had him stumped.

“I... have some ideas. We have a home, and it isn't here,” he pleaded. Lirina was still unconvinced.

“I don't exactly what will happen, but I do know nothing will happen if he stay. Father never raised us to do nothing... and I know I was never as good as her, but it's my responsibility now, whether we like it or not.” Lirina was uplifted by the answer, though still not entirely convinced.

“And what if they don't want to come? Their not soldiers, and you can't make them.”

“When we'll just have to ask them won't we.” Though still unsure, she was not prepared to deny him completely. She nodded with a gentle smile, and made her way to the exit, leading him to the shelters.

Upon their way out they were greeted by a stoic king with his four personal guards. Though this time, Markus was not enraged, but wore smug smile which disturbed the king.

“Hmm... I was coming the make sure our guest was feeling better, but you already seemed to of patched things up.” Markus was prepared for this encounter with a sharp tongue.

“Thanks Your Majesty, but your conscience can rest, we're leaving.” Dmitri stared into his eyes again, sensing he was up to something.

“...I see, it is your decision. Though I should warn you that once you leave, I may be unable to provide anymore help.”

“It's fine Your Majesty, my father would be thankful for all your help.”

“Is this meant to be some form of vengeance upon us? Revenge is a pitiful thing boy.”

“That's true, but it did make me feel better.” Markus and Lirina walked past him, not giving a second look. The king clenched his jaw but spoke nothing. Markus called out him at the bottom end of the corridor.

“Bless and be Forgiven Your Majesty!” he left with Lirina, and did not look back.

Edited February 17, 2009 by Shuuda

[Zanarkin]

I will read it as soon as i have time

[Doom103]

I feel bad for the ts. All that and no one will read it, I'm sure it's great though

[Serene]

Damn that was awesome I love your writing Style. Got any tips for my story

[TLSothe]

Ehh, I think I read this once before...though I am not sure. I'll read over asap.^_^

[Shuuda]

Chapter Five: The “Promised” Land.

The King Dmitri Vincent was sat in an edgy state atop his throne in dark and empty room, with only a faint afternoon light from the windows making anything visible. At the other end of the room, a tall double door opened, shining a stronger light into the room. His younger brother, Varon had entered, closing the door behind him and shutting out the peeking light.

“You wished to speak with me Your Majesty?” Varon seemed concerned about the surroundings.

“That's right, there is an urgent problem. Yenallesa has gone missing,” he brooded. Varon took a moment to grasp the situation.

“When?”

“She did not return last night.” Varon thought back to the guard from that morning. He was unable to find out who had been responsible for the incident. “I do not wish for this news to spread among the people, thus I charge you with finding her.”

“I shall do all I can, but I must ask if you know of any leads.”

“Markus, he's responsible for this.” Varon was both shocked and puzzled.

“That would be low... too low for him even.”

“He confessed it to me. He claimed he had revenge against me. His behaviour here has proven his motivation.”

“If what you say is true, then there's every possibility that he did this...”

“And we must hurry, for Markus has already left the city, taking the majority of the Searans with him.”

“Then there is no time to waste, I will find him... and if he is guilty of this crime, his reward is death,” said Varon. He made he way to the exit, concluding their talk; or so the king thought. Varon turned around to speak once more. “Might I ask you one question? As brothers.”

“You may.”

“What do you wish for Searan? Or perhaps more importantly, what will you do with them?” Varon asked. Dmitri did not expect such a question from him, but was calm with his answer.

“Brother, war is a terrible thing, a thing that should be avoided. If we were to contend with Garollen, where would those battles take place?” Varon took moment to consider the question. “And, who would be in the middle of those battles? Those innocents whom are trapped in Searan. Even if, by some miracle, we could match the Houses of Garollen, we would succeed only in disrupting the balance of power. The fate of Estiba would rest in the palm of Pedrotwae, the future is something that Turpustasha cannot be trusted with. We strife to solve this problem whatever way we can, but force will not succeed.”

“I understand that brother, but something else needs questioning. The plots which supposedly doomed Searan, do you believe these to be true?”

“I wish they are not, but I have no choice other than to investigate them.”

“I understand, forgive me. I shall take my leave now.” Varon did so, leaving the throne room, closing the door behind him. Once outside the room he heard quiet footprints that seemed to come from nowhere.

“I assume you heard that,” he called. A woman came out of the shadows, wearing a maid dress. Her hair was blond, kept in a bun. Her eyes were a dark blue, and her entire body appeared stiff and cold, her lips barely moved apart when she spoke.

“Yes My Lord,” she bowed, and presented a message on a slip of paper. Varon took it off her and glanced over it. “It is a message from Sir Kalegar saying that he is aware for Her Highness' disappearance and has gone to search for her alone.”

“Thank you, Annabel. It's a shame he could not have waited, but another searcher is another searcher.”

“Transport and supplies have already been arranged for you My Lord. Though I am unsure of how long they will last you, your destination is unclear, correct My Lord?” Varon took a while and pondered the conundrum.

“Hmm... Perhaps not. I have a hunch on where Markus may be heading.”

“In that case, do you wish for me to return to the Levweld manor, My Lord?”

“No, I may require your assistant to this journey,” he said. She spoke nothing more, and they both moved on down the main hall, with guards saluting Varon has he past them.

~

Out on the snow topped hills, Markus and his newly enlarged convoy travelled onwards to the east. With him were twenty of the thirty Searans that had escaped the initial invasion, carrying only the basic supplies of bread and water. Markus kept watch of them from the top of the nearest hill, Dyarl approached him, pleased to see that his friend was looking much happier than before.

“Ha, am I crazy or is that a smile I see today?” Dyarl beamed. Markus looked back at him, irritated by his joking as usual.

“Uh, I guess. It's nice view from up here.” He pointed north, where there were a pair of hill side by side in the distance, surrounded by pine trees all covered with snow that sparkled under the red sun. Dyarl looked at it, somewhat impressed, but for questionable reasons.

“Jeez, I didn't know you enjoyed staring at a nice 'pair of hills' that much.”

“That's a laugh coming from the guy who can't stop eyeing someone's wife,” Markus grinned. Dyarl stumbled, embrassed by the sudden attack.

“I... I, what?” Markus laughed at the turnaround of torment.

“I was just joking.”

“Well no wonder I was shocked, since when could you joke?” Dyarl took a breather to regain composure. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you a question. Why is it you choose to lead us to Jistine? For didn't you always label them as treacherous backstabber's? Have you really changed your view of-”

“Don't speak such crap! The Jistine counsel are a vile, always thinking themselves as my fathers better. Their contempt for us is sick.” he spat, trying to remove the wretched taste that speaking of them left in his mouth. “But they, and the others of Jistine are Searans at heart, and if they have any decency left, they would surely not turn these people away.” Dyarl nodded.

“But why is it you are moving them? They were safe in Vinceles, and if they are not to be trusted, Prenia or Kameir would be safer places.”

“Moving to Jistine will put us right next to Searan, it will be easier to keep an eye on things.”

“I see, the closer we are, the easier it will be to strike back.”

“And we will, we must. Even if it means we have to play this game of 'democracy'.” They ended their conversation on no particular note, continuing to inspect the men and women that moved by. Markus still wore the white coat which he had found, wearing his silver chest plate underneath and a new spear on his back; with a sharp shining head and a red ribbon on the other end. Dyarl had polished his royal blue armour and had cleaned the blood from his blade.

It was a peaceful setting; and in spite of the snow, it was enjoyable. That was until a loud sneeze could be heard echoing from the trees, and a familiar head splitting voice accompanied the disruption.

“Ah! I hate hate hate this! Ah... Ah...” there was more sneezing. Markus despaired at the ruins of his day. Out of the woods, the three wayward Northerners had returned to him, cold, hungry and each carrying full sacks. Elissa pointed out to the pair on the hill.

“Hey! How about a hand!” Markus turned away and ignored them, though Dyarl was more sympathetic to them.

“Say Markus, shouldn't we help them?”

“If by that you mean we should get rid of them, then yes.”

“Well she did save your life, a little gratitude is in order.”

“And she won't say how, it's so annoying. Besides, that other cur's just going to cause trouble.” Though uninvited, the three came up the hill, shivering and sneezing. Shinzou was unusually untalkative, but Mahlo was able to fill in for him.

“W-w-w-we got caught in a snow storm last night. W-w-we're lucky to still be alive,” he whimpered.

“You're not lucky to be alive, the rest of the world is just unlucky,” said a disappointed Markus. Elissa rolled her eyes, not entertained by witless banter, moved on to put Markus in submission.

“How cruel of you. To think you're the same person I found laying in a puddle of blood.” She sighed, watching Markus lose his cool. “Since you're going to be so unfair to us, I guess you don't care about what happened back then. Too bad, the look on her face was priceless,” she laughed at the memory. Markus had snapped like a twig.

“What! You could someone like you...! Impossible!” he raged. Everyone around him back away. “Are you trying to tell me, that you, a Northerner could do what I could not?!” Elissa spread her arms.

“We'll see. Attack!” The others were baffled, but Markus happily agreed. He took the spear off his back, and aimed it towards her chest. It was a fast strike, but she dodged with the simplest sidestep right. And with a swing of her right leg, she ploughed her foot into his face, knocking him down the hill with his weapon. Markus rolled onto his back, moaning in pain.

“Aggh... you whore! Cheating like that!” he cried. She came to him, and offered him a hand getting up with a smug grin.

“Do you always blame others things when you lose?” Markus rejected her help, dragging himself of the snow, he did not reply to her question. “Don't worry, you don't have to answer that. But you'll have to one day. Losing can be a good thing you know... We'll be joining for a while longer, you might just learn a thing or two.” Dyarl had not paid attention to their talk, but was annoyed by her treatment of him. He went to aid his friend.

“Are you alright?” Markus moaned, covering the bruise on the side of his face. “We really should be getting a move on. If we keep going, we should reach the border in a day or so. Let's just take these people and go.” Shinzou and Mahlo came down, and each thanked them

“Aww great, really... ah... ah,” Shinzou sneezed, without covering. Markus jump away.

“Thank you,” a timid Mahlo bowed, following in his companions path. Markus was confused and irritated nonetheless.

“Hey, I never said you could come,” he moaned. Dyarl headed off as well, trying to avoid his wrath. “Trust me Jason, these Northerners are more trouble than their worth!” Nobody took notice him. “Tsk, they just want to leech off us.”

~

Their trip across the countryside of Bremoe continued unhindered. The lack of crooks, bandits and thieves startled many, it almost seemed perfect. As nightfall came, the snow had melted away and the skies were clear and alight with stars. The convey made a camp of many small tents next too a small forest. The people lined up to receive rations of bread, meat and potatoes. Markus was sat on the grass away from the rest, eating his meagre meal in peace, looking up at the constellations, the Sentinel watched over them that night. He was unwontedly visited by the swampy haired Northerner, who talked with a slice bread in her mouth.

“Thanks for lettin' ush um... eat. Howsh your facesh?” She muffled. Markus pouted and turned directly away. Elissa took a bite out of her slice and swallowed it in one chew, and spoke again without her mouth full. “Sorry about that, at least it's not too sore.” Markus looked at the bandaged side of her own face.

“I suppose you'd know,” he scoffed.

“Aye, I guess I do. Listen, why don't you try and attack me again,” she smiled. Markus was suspicious of her. “Go on! Just thrust your spear at me again. Who knows, you might hit me this time.” She appeared to be genuine in her offer, so Markus got up, and drew his spear yet again for an attack. He focused hard, trying to thrust as fast as he could, at the same location as before. His thrust was much more impressive, straight on course and swift towards her. But still she dodged, this time to the left, and mirroring the earlier attempt, she kicked him in the other side of his face. Markus fell, though less humiliatingly than the last attempt, with both sides of his face red and sore.

“Arrgh! You did that again!”

“And you fell for it again. That's not good at all.” She sighed. “I wonder if you have any talent at all?” Markus got onto his hands and knees like a dog. “Well keep trying. If you can hit me just once, I'll tell you anything you want.” Markus had gotten up, but left his spear lying on the ground. Elissa had picked up her meal and was walking away, but Markus could not wait for answers.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Ah ah ah! Remember the deal,” she played. Markus was infuriated by her nerve; to mock and beat someone of royalty, people like her really did lack manners and even moral. He tried to eat the rest of his supper, but his sore red cheeks stung him with even the simplest movements.

~

The next morning was pleasantly mild, and the sky was clear, the convey journeyed on. By the afternoon they had reached the east border, and on the hills they could see the famous South Coast in the far distance.

The land was characterised by tall rocky cliffs, pure golden sands and a cold, rough sea. It made Markus ill inside to have to come here, but he was sure it was he only place that was suitable for him to work from. Dyarl was optimistic as usual, brushing his hair with his fingers.

“So this is the so called 'Promised Land' formed out of our civil war,” Markus mused, tutting.

“We should be able to reach Rephall tomorrow morning if we do not make camp on the way,” said Dyarl. Markus took this as good news with a smirk.

“Great! I'm sure these people can keep going a while longer.” Dyarl was concerned by Markus' determination in spite of the others, but it was his suggestion so he thought it would rude to object. He also had other questions on his mind.

“Markus, about what happened to you last night,” Dyarl sighed. Markus glared at him, unaware that he saw him back then. “I know I'm the one who keeps insisting that we repay them, but she shouldn't do things like that to you,” he concluded. Markus smirked, enjoying Dyarl regret the idea of letting them stay. “And since we did let them eat with us, they should really watch their manners or go.”

“Well, I still need to ask her a few things. Besides, if I can't hit a one-eyed rat, I certainly won't beat Elbenor. The idea of dealing with a Northerner is sick, but with Elbenor, it's matter of worth. Next time, she'll be the one on the floor.” Though Dyarl knew what he meant, he could not help conjuring different images of them. Markus thought back to the swampy haired woman, pondering her motive. “But it does seem odd why that Northerner would want to help me,” Markus pondered. Dyarl was also puzzled by her motives; tolerant as he was, he did not approve of the idea of her mentoring him.

“I guess we'll have to watch them, they can be sneaky people sometimes.” Though the weariness of the convoy was surfacing, they continued onwards with haste.

~

Up north, in the conquered land of Searan, east of the city of Antabis, lay a miserable camp of filthy tents that housed the population of the entire city. The camp was surrounded by razor wires and patrolled by footmen of Garollen, while the prisoners held within were feeding upon leftovers and slept, trying to gain the energy to walk.

At the entrance of the temporary camp the guards were approached by the man in black armour, Morgan. With his fiery cape flowing and his strange new pet wandering behind. The two men at the gate came to question him, though they were impressed by his appearance.

“Might we ask what your business here is Sir?” they asked. Morgan was pleased by their diligence, giving them a warm grin in return.

“I've come to speak with the ranking man around here. Some local sources tell me this is where I can find a Lieutenant Nolman. Is this correct?”

“I'm afraid we cannot talk about such matters to anyone,” they both pointed for Morgan to leave. Morgan held out a signet ring in the palm of his right hand. The ring depicted the head of bear with the curled horns of a mountain goat in solid gold. It took the breath of the guards away, though Morgan was unsurprised by their reaction.

“I know it doesn't mean as much has it used to, but I hope it reassures you good gentlemen.” They looked up at his face with pride. Without any other requests they stood aside, and saluted him by raising their spears in the air. “Thank you, what wonderful soldiers you are,” Morgan's smile widened in praise, before he entered the camp. The two guards stared at his humanoid pet as she went by. Apart from a black cloth that wrapped around her waist and covering her thighs, she was nude. With skin like a ghost, long ebony hair that reached all down her back and curled at the end, nippless breasts and golden eyes. She was oblivious to the stares she earned from the other guards.

Morgan went towards a much larger, sturdier tent flanked by yet more guards. By the time he had reached the entrance to the tent, the red haired lieutenant came out to meet him. Nolman was curious; the figure that greeted him was familiar, yet he could not remember who it was. Morgan struck the first blow in their talk.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Sir Nolman,” he extended his gauntlet to shake hands, but was denied.

“Who allowed you here, and what do you wish to waste my time with?” Nolman snarled. Morgan was unscathed by his rudeness.

“Your men let me in, and I wish to give you a small complaint.” Nolman's curiosity waned, and he ignored Morgan. He walked past, though he was continually hounded. “You see, I couldn't help notice that you placed these civilians in this nasty little place, barely kept alive.” Nolman still ignored him, and Morgan still persisted. “Handling prisoners of war in such manner is against Garollen's code. His Majesty Macen Garenr would be most displeased if he knew of this,” he nagged. Nolman turned to retaliate, with a face of anger.

“And who are you to interfere?” he yelled. Morgan stroked his bearded chin and introduced himself.

“I am Morgan Helgrane.” The men straightened their posture and saluted, the prisoners in the camp perked their dirty faces to the scene, for Helgrane was a name well known in Garollen and of all civilised lands of Cera. Nolman was enraged, and did not submit to his name, finding the reaction of his men gut wrenching.

“Your all pathetic! Don't you remember? Helgrane is the fallen House, a disgrace!” he turned his fury upon Morgan. “Your just an old hypocrite. Who amongst the five Houses spoke most highly of honour and chivalry, but threw it all away so that he could wed some commoner?” Morgan still smiled, though more subtly.

“I did throw away my position as House Lord, I tore down the lineage of my entire family, and I cut my loyalty to the Garollen Empire. All this, for her.” His face expressed no regrets as he spoke. “But I did not lose everything. I kept my honour, because I loved her.” Morgan had gotten more serious, gripping a large polished lance. “You however, have abandoned yours. But, if you release these people to their homes, you can still save face.” Nolman drew his sword with both hands and adopted an aggressive stance, he would not obey the commands of such a man.

“Those views you and His Majesty embody are old and decaying. Now are the days where greatness is measured only by success,” Nolman boasted. Though Morgan still had his spear in grip, he had no intention to fight.

“Now this isn't good, would you reconsider? The punishment for war crimes, is death.”

“The only life that will be lost here is yours, you old has-been.”

“Come now. You don't want to make this mistake. I am a forgiving man.” But his words were in vain, Nolman was confident in his victory.

“Enough, time to end this. You'll be pushing daisies like that bitch of yours,” Nolman taunted. Morgan still appeared to be calm and cheerful, but now he drew is weapon, blocking Nolman's charge. With a single push, he threw Nolman back a considerable distance. Both were knocked off balance. Once they regained stance, they clashed once more. Morgan was on the offensive, though Nolman competently parried his attacks.

A crowd had gathered around them, but no one interfered with the battle or spoke out against it. After many blows were dealt hitting only their weapons, they stepped back for a short rest, but Morgan had yet to use the ace up his sleeve. He positioned his spear horizontally in front of him, and ran his left hand up the pole and tapping the blade once he had reached the end. The spear burst in the flames, and vanished into the air. He then took a stance as though he was about to thrust an invisible spear. Nolman was clueless, but wasted no more time in charging. Hoping to strike the final blow. But before he could swing his blade, a giant lance of flame rocketed from above Morgan and engulfed him. He was swallowed whole. He screamed in agony as the fires burnt his flesh and and raced through his entire body. The fires shrank in a whirlwind, reforming into the spear that was piecing the ash body that was once a man. The other end appeared his the right hand of Morgan.

“A shame... I'd hoped you would have lost sooner.” He broke his spear free, smashing the charred remains to pieces. Everyone was speechless over his victory, apart from his pet who franticly clapped her hands and laughed like a small girl. Morgan's demeanour was unchanged, still smiling he called out the frozen guards.

“I trust that you will not make the same mistake as he did. Take these people back to where they came from. And if you see lil' Elbenor, tell her she'll need a replacement for Mister Nolman.” A flicker of despair came of the men at the thought of having to tell her about this incident. Morgan turned his attention back to the odd woman, who had returned to her docile self.

“A big shame about him, sad part is that he was right. Now are the days of desperation, men clawing at each others flesh, surrendering all else for even the smallest victory.” She clapped and laughed again. “Oh? Does that sound fun?” he chuckled. “Well come deary, passing through here was nice, but I've still got to solve your riddle.” He made for the exit acting as if nothing had happened, his pet followed him as if she was leashed. The prisoners rose in cheer has they was being prepared to leave, marvelling at the phenomenon they had witnessed.

~

It was a warm evening and the sun set into the centre of the valley where three children played. Two girls, one in a green dress and long blonde hair, the other had her red hair held back in a thick pony tail and wore a snow white dress. The finally child was a boy with copper hair and a black vest. They chased one another through the tall grass, laughing and playing. They rested in the shade of a large oak tree, the grass they laid on was soft and dry.

“Markus,” the blonde girl laughed out. The boy was too tired to answer. “Markus!”

“Hey Markus!” Dyarl whacked him on the back of the head, snapping him out of his daydreaming. Markus comforted yet another bruise, gnashing his his teeth. “Sorry, you weren't paying attention.”

“Oh? It was just a bad memory. What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, the people are getting tired, I doubt they could go on for much longer without a break,” explained Dyarl.

“Is that all? They will just have to keep going,” Markus sighed.

“Their not soldiers Markus, we shouldn't push them like that. We have to stop for them.”

“Fine fine! Jeez, I thought I could rely on my own people at the least.” Dyarl thanked him, but was secretly irritated by Markus' insensitivity. He turned around to the convey of weary men and women and raised his voice for attention.

“We shall be setting camp soon to rest!” The crowd chattered in relief and praised him. The people loved Sir Dyarl, to them he was the friendly face of Searan, strong, kind, young and handsome, and though he tried to be modest about it, he enjoyed their opinion of him. “By those fields over there,” he pointed to a flat stretch of land in the near distance. “They will do nicely!” Markus pulled a disdainful face away from them, he knew how much Dyarl enjoyed their thanks.

It was late evening by the time they had set up their next camp and a half moon sat above them this time. Markus sat in the company of Gerald and Henrietta for supper, stiff bread and tangy water. Henrietta was reading another book, a smaller black one which was titled in gold “Brief History of Avikier.” Markus raised an eyebrow at a seemingly random book.

“Why are you reading... that?” He did not care much, but it would take his mind off his foul meal.

“Oh? I'm a lover of Rineran history, it's just a hobby of mine. I'm an Honorary Avikier Vanguard you know.” As much as he wanted to, Markus could not raise his brow any higher.

“Don't you have to a warrior to join them?” Markus wondered.

“Well, I'm no warrior, but I helped them with a few things a couple years back,” she giggled, trying to keep a hold of the book that fell to the ground. Markus sighed in the face of her cheerfulness.

“Well... those women aren't so great, I mean they did get beaten by Pedrotwae pretty badly from what I've read.” A foot slammed into the back of his head, causing him to fall forwards and spill water in his face. Elissa looked down on him with a vein on her forehead.

“You want to have another go... or are just going to stab me with those words?” Markus did not respond. In blind rage he picked up the spear that sat next to him and attacked without delay. It was a swift thrust, and Elissa had to jump back to avoid it. She leaped towards him as he prepared his next attack, she spun and kicked him in his chest, sending him across a few meters before he fell into the mud.

“Enough of this!” Dyarl stepped in between them and drew his sword. He was unusually angry. “Miss Elissa, do you know nothing of manners?” She shrugged. “Here is a lesson; guests should treat their hosts with respect.” Elissa showed no interest in his words, she had no intention of ending Markus' humiliating training. “I will not allow you to treat my Lord in such a way, especially in front of his own people. Stop or you will be made to leave,” he pointed his blade in her direction. She took no notice of his threat, but did ponder on the issue of Markus' status.

“Oh... um, I'm... sorry,” she said. Dyarl was disappointed by her lax apology, but accepted it nonetheless. Markus had gotten up from the ground. He was ashamed with himself for being beaten yet again, but was not as distressed by her actions as Dyarl had been, it was a necessary thing that he had to put up with. The peasants watched and gossiped among themselves, shocked at the easy defeat of their new leader.

~

When all others had gone to sleep that night, Markus stayed awake, keeping watch over the camp with bored eyes. A shadowy figure came to him, it was Dyarl dressed in a white cotton shirt and brown trousers, he held his sheathed sword in his hand. Markus turned around to find him.

“Oh... Jason?” he said. Dyarl's face was stern like stone. “If it is about tonight, I do not wish to be disgraced, but if that woman holds the answer to my victory I must reach for it.”

“I understand that, and yet... these people are missing someone, the one who gives them hope.”

“Hope is hard to find, these are dark times,” Markus responded. A voice whispered into his ear.

“Fear not this, darker is yet to come.”

Markus felt a shiver, but seemed deaf to those words. Dyarl had not been spoken to by this presents, grabbing his sword with both hands.

“Their King, Markus, they need him,” he stated. Markus sighed, Dyarl's answer seemed almost obvious.

“But my father is not here.”

“In body no, but in spirit,” he drew his blade from it's sheath and held it to the sky. “Markus, for the sake of our people, you must take your place.” Markus' eye glared in wonder, the idea was madness to him. He could not take he throne of his father, knowing that he may still be alive. But Dyarl stood in salute, utterly confident of his friend. The moment of his thought was long and silent until at last Markus placed his right hand upon his heart, and reluctantly took an oath.

“Uh... In glory and in ruin... for her people and land,” he closed his eye, and took deep breath, “...I shall be just, strong and wise... I take the mantle of the King, as Markus Horuston the Second, heir of Searan.” Dyarl smiled and whispered glorious praise.

“Hail His Majesty! Long live the King.” He. withdrew his sword and knelt.

“Isn't this a tad... hollow? Saying a few words in front of one person doesn't really give me the crown.” Dyarl stood up and chuckled.

“I know, and it doesn't. I just needed to know if you would do it. Tomorrow we'll announce our plan to the others.” Markus was still full of uncertainty, he felt that the others would not accept him at these times. “Don't worry Your Majesty, with the right leader, even miracles can happen.”

“And I'm this leader?” Markus thought his ramblings were foolish at best.

“Well it is your destiny. And besides, Lirina and I are here to help you, a great leader should have great subordinates.” Dyarl seemed almost too sure of his plans, though it were a game. Markus sighed, he had lost control of the conversation, some king he thought.

“Lets just... deal with this in the morning.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

~

Markus was restless when he went to bed that night.

“That's not fair!” A boys voice protested, the rest of his words were muffled. “It isn't! It should be me.” It ran through his mind, he could not drown it out.

“Markus!” a voice cried. He leaped out of bed with fright, gasping for relief and sweating with terror. Dyarl had his head poking into the tent, calling to him.

“What!? What is it!?” he clenched his jaw tight.

“We've got a problem, come quickly!”Markus came out, though he wore nothing but gray night clothes. Over the mountainous hills in the distance, a ghastly cloud smoke rose, blowing in their direction. The people watching despaired, Lirina in particular was concerned about the event. She rushed to Markus and Dyarl

“It's coming from Rephall. If something has happened... they might refuse us,” she said. Dyarl shared in her fears, but resolved to keep going.

“Then we just have to hurry up and see what's happening, right Your... Markus?” Lirina gave them a suspecting look.

“Yeah... defiantly.” He caught a glimpse of his mother's face before she turned away. “Mother, is something wrong?”

“No dear, I was just... imagining things,” her response was unconvincing, but they did not have the time to ask her about it.

“Mother, please may you stay here and keep the people in order while we're gone?”

“Of course dear,” she turned back to with a gave him a faint smile. “Please be careful dear.” They left her, unknowing of her feelings. Markus had gone back to his tent to prepare while Dyarl gathered what supplies they needed into a small sack. He soon found himself being approached by the strange woman from the north, whom he still possessed ill feelings for. However, he maintained his polite voice in her presents.

“Miss Elissa, is there something you wish to speak to me about?” Though she could see the displeasure in his eyes it mattered not to her, it was something she was used to.

“I see that you two are leaving for danger.”

“It is just a fire, but that place has much importance in these lands.”

“I'm coming with you.” A shock Dyarl began to protest against her plans with calm words.

“There is no reason for it. Having you with us might... confuse them, besides...” Before he could finish, Markus expressed his own ideas.

“Jason, let her come.” Dyarl's cool had been shattered, he looked back at him with a lost expression.

“Markus, that's not like you... she's a Northerner.”

“Maybe so, but I'm not letting her out of my sight either way.” Dyarl still hopelessly gazed at him, disbelieving his friends wishes. “There'll be no argument over it Jason! Now lets go!” Dyarl needed a moment to absorb the commands.

“Yes... Markus.” He was pained to see the man who would be King fall so far down, but Markus' word was his law now. He obeyed him, and followed in his lead to the source of the cloud. Lirina watched the three leave in hurry, her red dress flowed in the tainted wind. Her face was cold and sad, she could not believe the words she had almost heard. The thick black smoke now rolled over the hills, a fearsome sight for the people whom were in the dark.

“Why isn't he hearing me...”

Edited February 17, 2009 by Shuuda

[Deity]

I didnt even have to read the whole deal to know about your writing style, Shuuda.

You call yourself a writer?

Why the heck then do you go writing using alot of : he? lol

I mean come on, you can also use teh characters name for god's sake. All I saw in the first page was stuff like:

He said, he asked, he objected, etc...

Haha, no wonder I cant picture the main character of this story.

[Shuuda]

A part of me cannot help but feel that this i mostly out of some petty spite. But either way, I will play.

You call yourself a writer?

Tsk tsk, the least you could have done against me was to try and get a moral high ground. Ever heard of "two wrongs don't make a right"?

Why the heck then do you go writing using alot of : he? lol

I mean come on, you can also use teh characters name for god's sake. All I saw in the first page was stuff like:

He said, he asked, he objected, etc...

You do not have to use the characters name constantly, you should be able to clearly see who it is referring too. Here is an example.

“Captain Ryvor, are you and your riders prepared? Farner asked.

“Naturally Sir, the 26th Squad was born ready.” He confidently responded, earning him a raised eyebrow from his superior, although Farner was not too concerned for his attitudes.

Now, because I started a new paragraph for the second line of dialogue, it indicates that another person is speaking. It is easy to tell who the first person is speaking to since he addresses him, and therefore you should realise instantly that the character he is speaking to is the one responding. If it was otherwise, I would have stated who it was that was responding by using the name to indicate that a new character had entered the conversation. The whole point of subjective pronouns like "he" is so that you do not have to needless like write their name all the time.

Haha, no wonder I cant picture the main character of this story.

That "Haha" pretty much summarises your ill intentions.

Edited October 8, 2008 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Think what you like. I simply came and gave my opinion on your writing, fool. Now see how it feels to get feedback? Congrats, now you know.

Would you like to see some REAL feedback, which I got when I realised the very first draft of my prologue a long while back. By the way, I'm report that post for flaming me, and the other one for openly insulting me, it is only fair after all.

Serious, man. Nine bloody pages. If I were Leonidas (and thank God I am not), I'd scream "this is madness" by now. Ah, well, I really enjoyed reading it. You're a pro, man, except for when your writing gets all confused by either 1) bad grammar, or 2) odd choices of words. I'll try to elucidate some of the more glaring errors before moving onto subtler points such as characterisation and the way you handle narrative flow.

I. Some Specific Remarks

Darkened clouds began to hover over the valley where he was standing, watching the bottom with his azure eyes in a gentle anticipation.

Not being a native English speaker, I am unsure whether there is a grammatical error here or not; anyway, I would phrase this like "darkened clouds began to hover over the valley where he stood watching the bottom with his azure eyes" rather than where he was standing, because the former alternative shows a more direct link between the two sentences.

The young man, in his black Armour, stood strong against the harsh winds as if he didn't even notice, only his silver, ear length hair made any motion.

Should this be capitalised?

The young man chuckled mockingly before diverting his eyes to a large bundle that Morgan was carrying in his arms which was wrapped in his own red cloak.

A very complex run-on sentence like this ends in confusion if not handled properly. I would word it this way: "... before diverting his eyes to the large bundle Morgan was carrying around in his arms. He had wrapped it in his red cloak." Splitting a sentence is sometimes better than coordinating them.

“Got something interestin' to show?” he asked in a feigned curiosity, and although Morgan sensed the real lack of caring, responded.

Two things. First off, it should be with feigned curiosity. Second, it does not make sense; not at least in the light of the subsequent paragraph. This is probably due to you changing the wording or something like that, so it's no big deal.

ungentle manlike

Ungentlemanlike or not gentlemanlike.

“So he's finally acting against the alleged...... plots of the Rephall Pact?” Morgan asked with his fiery eyes widened.

There are never more than three (...) dots in an ellipsis.

“Aye, back to Kelfbrow, for rest and a good meal.... I hope, I mean... as long as they can cook a good lamb 'n' mash down there.” Morgan said with a lick of his lip before picking up the girl to carry across his shoulder.

You'll have to decide: present or past tense.

“ALL MEN TO THEIR POSTS!” was yelled into the air as the soldiers struggled to subdue the chaos set ablaze by news of a marching army approaching

I do not recommend to start off paragraphs with impersonal sentences; it is seen as clumsy. A better way (IMHO) to phrase it would be "A voice called out: all men to their posts" or something like that.

Given the massive length of the story as well as my general laziness, I won't continue to comment individual parts of your text as such from here and on. I did this is order to address what I see as the most common recurrent errors.

I was very thankful to get this kind of criticism instead of a few sad "omg it's great!" comments. So I know what getting feedback feels like, and how grateful I should be to those that helped me get better.

Edited October 8, 2008 by Shuuda

[Jyosua]

Thunder, you can't say things like "Why do you even call yourself a writer". If I catch you saying something like that again, I'll warn you.

Regardless of that, I do agree that using the word "he" instead of the character's name too much is a bad thing. That is something you could improve upon.

[Deity]

Ok, I got that. But you should also check what this guy went to post at some of our stories, Jyosua. I only saw it as a fair thing to do to come and give a little feedback of my own. Besides, we all know Shuuda's comments sounded more flamative than mine.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Six: Gaze Below.

The dark scaled An-wyrm glided towards the snow topped mountains, carrying one man on her back. It was cold, crisp, and the sky was clear; though the ground below was hidden by soft fluffy clouds. The brutal beauty came across a structure built upon a flat stretch high up, a stone stable with a large opening for the rider to enter. On the inside, many An-wyrms were resting on the hay, eating from troffs and playing among one another; some with their teeth. The rider landed on the smooth floor and dismounted. It was the captain who served under Farner: Signash Ryvor. He removed his pair of green, wing shaped pauldrons, letting them clang upon the floor. He reached for a satchel that was attached to the saddle of his faithful companion Helen, whom still bore the wounds of their past battle on her bandaged left collar. He took out a white envelope while he petted her.

“You stay here a while, alright?” Helen watched and whimpered, as Signash left to deliver the letter. At the other end of the room, was Karr Farner, the great Warlock of Garollen, lighting two hovering flames to keep himself from shivering from his cold. Signash came to him with the letter, gaining a smug satisfaction from his suffering.

“Here the message you want me to get,” he said. Farner glared at him with stabbing eyes. “Oh sorry... here is the message, My Lord.” He passed it to him, trying to slip it into Farner's jittering hand. “Now... can I go back to my old job please?”

“No, not until you've made up for your blundering.” Farner gave the cold shoulder, leaving Signash to pout alone.

A mousey scream filled the stable, causing Signash to turn with his red ears protected. A girl came charging up to him; wearing similar riding armour in silvery blue. She had chocolate brown hair in a thick ponytail and big jade eyes. She faced off against Signash and waggled her finger, standing just more than half his size.

“Signash Ryvor! How do you explain that!?” she pointed over to the resting beast, Helen. Signash had no concern over her anger.

“Oh that... it was just a bad move, that's all.” He made his way back to his companion, but the girl followed him, running circles round him and yelling.

“Just a bad move!” Signash tried his best to ignore her childish fury. “You horrible horrible man, letting poor Helen get hurt like that.”

“Listen alright Mia, it was just as much her fault as it was mine. Helen and I are the same: fighters, warriors. You and your little house pet wouldn't understand.” He tried to reasoned with her, but the girl still raged on.

“Well you should take better care of her!” She wrapped her arms around the beast's neck, and cuddled her. “Old Helen needs lots of love and care, and mean Siggy just lets you get hurt.” Signash's cheeks turned rosy.

“M-Mia please, I've still got messages to deliver.” Mia reared her head back up, as though something was wrong.

“I though you were a Captain?”

“Yeah... ol' Karr demoted me for a while so I can 'make up for my failure, or so he says,” his tone was full of spite. Mia's mood swung, and now took pity on him.

“Maybe... we could do that together... since I'm off duty now.” Her idea brought a smile to his face.

“That sounds great,” he said. She blushed at his joyful answer, moving away from Helen to call back her own steed with a high pitched whistle. A large, grey An-wyrm came beside her. It lumbered around, praying for attention. She climbed on top as Signash collected his armour from the floor, and strapped them back on. Farner came to see the pair off, still making a futile effort to warm himself up. Mia glanced at him, noticing the running snot down his nose.

“Is he okay?”

“Farner? Oh yeah, he's fine, just a bit old.” The two flames burst and roared franticly, cueing them to run away. He watched as they glided into the clouds. He soon found himself in the presence of a shadowy figure.

“Young love huh,” spoke a soft, yet masculine voice.

“Hmm... what would one like you know of those things?” The figure came out of the shadows, revealing himself to be the enigmatic azure eyed man. “I would have though that someone like you would have better things to think about.”

“Well... now that you mention it,” the man talked with his usual heartwarming smile, though Karr was instantly suspicious and had already turned away.

“I know what it is you want, so I shall save you time in telling you that I will not say anything about it.” The man chuckled, finding Farner amusing.

“You really are competent aren't you,” he added with a streak of patronisation.

“Moreso than someone who chooses to watch from the sidelines... Vido Forryver. For all your supposed power and wisdom, you're a fool.” Farner scoffed, though Vido laughed harder in the face of his insults.

“I see... I guess I won't be getting any answers from you afterall.” Vido tip-toed away, about to leave the frigid general with his flames. “But I'm surprise you didn't ask about Morgan.”

“I don't need to worry about him... but it's such a shame he follows a man like you. Now leave me.” Farner clenched his fist. Vido flicked the front of his silver hair and continued on, leaving Farner alone in the freezing cold of the stable.

~

The trio of Markus, Dyarl and Elissa reached the top of the mountainous hill, from where they could get the best overview of the port city of Rephall. The cloud of smoke brought nightime to the city below, the east side of which had been devastated by a still raging inferno.

“This is... worse than I thought.” Dyarl's eyes were wide open, and rattling. Elissa on the other hand, cared little for bricks and mortar.

“I wonder how this happened?” She looked at Markus who, though frowning, was not in any stress over the scene. They followed a dirt path down the hill until they entered the west side: where tens of people scurried like rats, the fear could be smelt. Markus attempted to stop people in the cramped streets, but the civilians pushed him aside like a door.

“Hey! Can't any of you help-” Markus was shoved aside again, falling onto the floor. Dyarl gave him a hand getting up and advised him one what to do.

“This won't work, we should ask some of the guards,” he told him. Markus nodded while he wiped the dirt off his jacket. “We should be able to find them on the other side of the city, getting people out of danger,” Dyarl continued as he lead the way, trying to squeeze past the clumsy mob.

Once they had made their way to the middle of the city, they found four guards in simple grey suits of armour.

“You there! Arms of Jistine!” Dyarl called to them. “I am Sir Dyarl of Searan, and this is my master Lord Horuston. Please tell us of the situation?”

“This fire has destroyed almost half the city, and an unknown number of Council Ministers have been taken as hostages at the Halls of Evallence,” one of the guards informed them, with a worried voice.

“And who is responsible for this?” asked Dyarl.

“Their identities are unknown. They appear to be a highly organized group, they poisoned the guards at the Halls before they attacked,” the guard replied. Markus took a moment of deduction, though he could not find anyone to fit the bill.

“I doubt it's the work of Garollen: if they wanted to attack Jistine, they would do it much faster. A usurp perhaps? Who is in charge of the forces here?”

“That would be Sir Gesisburg, who is negotiating with the captors. Most of the forces here are focused on dousing the fire down.” The guards had told them all they knew, and were released from their explaining by Dyarl.

“This isn't good,” said Dyarl. Though Elissa and Markus a different opinion.

“But if we save them, that would make them in debt to us. It could work out.” Markus placed his chin on his finger while he pondered.

“Right, I doubt anyone else around here could do anything.” Elissa closed her eye to visualise their next step.

“Now hold on!” Dyarl objected to their plans of exploitation. “This isn't about getting a favour, this is about the people who's lives are in danger.”

“That matters too, but you came here for a reason remember,” Elissa said. Dyarl scowled at her, still not having any ideas why she had come with them.

“This isn't the time for talking, let's hurry it up.” Markus came in between, defusing their argument. As they continued on through the emptying city, they saw that the cloud of smoke had consumed the entire skies above them, creating a hopeless aura. They could almost make out devilish faces in the cloud. Upon a hill overlooking the city was the Halls of Evallence, a large rectangular manor surrounded by towering black bars. The windows of the building had all been smashed and the garden had been burnt down. The trio felt the blaze on the east side nearing them, it's heat rising with each second. The buildings to their right burst into flames, causing them to shield themselves.

“We've got to get away from the fire!” yelled Dyarl. His face was covered with sweat and his black curls had become damp. They ran away from the fire, though setting themselves off course down a different street.

“We're never going to reach Evallence at this rate.” Markus gritted his teeth together, while wiping the sweat of his forehead. The blaze chased them, trying to trap them whenever possible. Soon it became clear they would not reach their destination in time.

“Why can't this thing just get out of my way!?” Markus shouted, the heat becoming unbearable.

“In need to a hand their, friends?” a man's voice asked them. Down the street, surrounded by burning buildings came Rai Kalegar, with a grin on his face. His silver armour reflected the fires glow, but the end of his purple cape had been charred by the searing heat.

“It's you!” Dyarl was confused by his sudden appearance. Markus did not look so surprised, but did not smile either.

“Yeah. I've got just the thing to help you with.” He reached for something on his belt. Not his sword, but a strange object. A sword hilt made from a pearly material, though where the blade should be there was simply a slot. He held the hilt in the direction of the blaze, squeezing the pummel. The slot gave a blue glow and the white hilt shone with lukewarm light. The fire reacted strangely, gathering towards Kalegar. Masses of raging flames became absorbed into the slot of his tool. As it drew more flames into itself, the hilt's glow intensified: Markus had to squint his eyes to keep watching. The street that was dancing in fire was now a long line of dead black buildings. The glow of Kalegar's tool died down. A blade sprang out of the slot, possessing a hot orange aura. Markus, Elissa and Dyarl were astonished by the feat, though only Dyarl understood what had happened.

“An Isarona sword.” Dyarl explained. The other two gaze at him, hoping for more answers. “I've read about them: swords that gains their power by manipulating energies and using them to form there edge. Only ten exist in this world.” He recited it though it were a passage in a book.

“Ah, that's right.” Kalegar approached them, wielding the intense blade. “We should hurry before the fire spreads back. I can't do that trick again 'til the blade loses it's power.” And so they continued their rush to Evallence with a new companion.

“So what are doing here?” Markus asked.

“Well... I have business here. Other than that I still needed to thank you, Lord Horuston.”

“Ah,” Markus looked around, making sure that Dyarl was not paying attention. “About that-”

“Don't worry.” Kalegar gave him a sure grin. As the Halls came closer in reach an explosion burst from the stone buildings to the right of the group, throwing them away. A mountain of rubble collapsed across the street, and the fire had begun to spread over it, blocking the way.

“Jason!?” Markus shouted.

“We're okay!” Dyarl replied.

“I don't think we can get through... can you go on ahead?” Markus and Kalegar were stuck on one side, unable to see the Halls anymore; whereas Dyarl and Elissa on the other side were still able to continue on.

“We will keep going, but we won't do anything 'til we meet up again. Be careful Markus.” With that Dyarl and Elissa rushed onwards. As they ran, Dyarl gave uncomfortable looks towards the enigmatic woman, her reason for being round with them were still unknown.

“You don't need to do that?” She kept her head looking forward when she spoke.

“I'm sorry, but I can't help but think you're up to something.”

“Oh... I just wish to help Markus.” Her tone was cold.

“And why is that? I've having a hard time trying to realise why someone like you would want to help Markus take back Searan.” Elissa stopped running.

“I ask you, what is it that Markus wants?” she asked.

“Well, he wants what's best for this people,” Dyarl answered, without even hesitating.

“Oh, how noble of him,” she let off faint laughter at the thought, “but, is that really it, or just what you like to think it is?”

“And what do you mean by that!?” Dyarl was unsure about asking, but did so anyway.

“You're a nice man Jason, truly. But your problem is that you always want to see the best in people, that's why you let us stay.”

“And maybe that was a mistake.”

“Don't feel bad about yourself, it's natural that Markus wouldn't want you to know, as his friends.” She looked at the disdainful expression Dyarl gave her, she knew he would not believe any of it. “That's why Markus needs me.” Dyarl turned away from her and continued on their path, though as they went, he spoke again to her.

“I don't know how it works up north with you, but down here you cannot simply know someone so easily.” Elissa did not respond, but listened carefully to what he said. The rest of their journey was accompanied by silence.

~

Back at the camp, a crowd of people spend their day staring fearfully at the rising black smog. Away from the crowd, sat on a small outgrowth was Shinzou. He was resting his chin into the palm of his hand, watching the swirling dark mass with little interest. Mahlo on the other hand was worrisome.

“This is not good, not at all... I means it's just bad. Are they going to be okay?” He stammered around in a circle, fidgeting his fingers.

“Well,” Shinzou thought out aloud. Mahlo turned his attention to him, trying to distract himself from stressing out. “We would be better off leaving now.”

“Erm... well maybe, but we should wait of Elissa to come back,” Mahlo said. Shinzou made no acknowledgement of what he was talking about. “Wait... you're not actually going to abandon her are you?”

“Why not? She's the one wasting our time, forgetting that we were sent down here for a reason.” Shinzou's voice was bitter when he spoke of her. “Besides, I didn't want to leave Mezu alone for so long.” Mahlo had a sad face while he listened to him.

“And you can't stand being around that woman either...” Mahlo added on, though Shinzou brushed off the idea.

“Get our stuff, we'll sneak past them Garollens and head back home.” Shinzou jumped off the outgrowth and strode back to the crowd to find their sacks. He was stopped by the ferocious charge of a horse that raced in front of him. The rider appeared vaguely familiar to the two of them: it was Lord Varon, with his white cloak flapping in the wind.

“Your kind should leave this place,” Varon ordered. He pointed at Shinzou to make himself more clear.

“Bah, it's you again!” Shinzou shook his fist at him.

“Again? My apologies, I don't really remember every piece of dirt I come across.” Varon did in fact recognise him, though he put him down either way. Shinzou drew his crud blade and charged forth with blood-thirst. But, he found himself being blocked by Varon's maid, wielding a long wooden pole. The blond haired woman glared deep into Shinzou's eyes, and pushed him back with magnificent strength. Shinzou charged again, though directing his attack towards her. Annabel span her poll above her head, and swung it at his legs. It created a loud cracking noise. Shinzou dropped his sword and rolled onto the ground, grasping his left leg in agony.

“You! You! I'll have your head you bitch!” Annabel took no notice of his foul curses, and bowed to her amused master.

“Thank you, but you did not need to involve yourself like that.” Varon was struggling to hold back his laughter. He then turned to the blue haired Northerner who cautiously made his way to help his friend.

“It was foolish of him to do that,” Varon said.

“E-Even so... there was no need for that.” Mahlo trembled when he looked into Varon's face.

“Perhaps not, but I feel that he deserved it, don't you?” Varon continued to mock them, though seeing the young man stand up to him impressed him, however little. “You seem decent, for a Northerner... would you like to see a little display?” he kindly offered.

“What kind of display?” Mahlo asked.

“One of power.” Varon stretched out his right hand towards the ocean in the distance. With his left hand he drew into the air, leaving a blue trail was he wrote. After a long while, patterns had formed a large, complex set of runic symbols with the face of a wicked wolf as the centrepiece.

Hear the thunder clamour in rage,

Release the Storm Wolf from his cage.

With the breath of gale,

And spit of hail,

All in his path shall fail.

Without wing he flies high.

And with jagged fangs, rip the sky!

Ninety-seven: Vidum Lance!

The runes swirled together into an orb that shrank into nothing. A white, cracking beam shot from his right hand. With incredible speed it flew across the land and sea. It tool five seconds for the energy to hit the horizon, sending up a towering column of water accompanied by a lasting white flash. The coastline was attacked by waves that fled from the epicentre, and the winds blasted the faces of the speechless Northerners who's breath had become strained.

“Is that something that the two of you can understand? Raw power.” Varon looked down upon them proudly.

“T-T-That was... impress... impressive,” Mahlo struggled to put a sentence together. “But... your not the only one... I can... I've got some tricks too.” He placed his shaking hand in front of him. Varon raised his eyebrow, feeling unthreatened by the scrawny mage.

“Interesting,” Varon pondered. “Judging by how weak them bones are, you've been practising on too many high end techniques at a young age. Save yourself a few years on your live and stop while your ahead.” Mahlo put his hand down and rested it, still trembling. “Not that you have that long mind you.” He could almost see Mahlo shrink as he stepped away.

“Lord Varon! What are you doing!?” a woman's voice yelled. Varon turned his horse around, finding that Lirina was running up to him in her simple red and white dress, waving her arms at him. Once she had reached him, Lirina took a moment to catch her breath. “What is the meaning of this? People here are worried enough without you causing a big scene!” Varon had been knocked off his high horse.

“Oh... well, my apologies...” He stuttered, trying to avoid any unusual reactions.

“You should be, we have an emergency situation here.”

“As do I,” Varon retorted with regained confidence. “Lady Lirina, I would hate to think that you are a villainous soul, therefore, if you tell me anything you know, do so now.”

“Anything about what?” Lirina asked. Varon read her confused expression as he came down from his horse.

“I see... is your son Markus here?”

“No he is not. He is dealing with an important crisis right now.” She pointed to the cloud of black smoke that continued to grow and rise.

“A fire in Rephall?” Varon showed little concern for it, finding his own task to be far more important. “Would you mind if I were to take a good look around?”

“Of course... though I do wish you would tell what you are looking for.” Lirina was suspicious, but could not find a reason not to let him. Varon turned away from her stabbing eyes to address his servant.

“Annabel, you shall stay here. Take care of my steed.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Annabel bowed and watched as Varon walked away to inspect the camp. She moved over to Shinzou, who was still grasping his leg. She knelt down to check his injury.

“Is it broken?” she asked in her monotone voice.

“No it ain't broke. What the heck do think you're doing?” Shinzou shuffled away from her, twitching in pain.

“Forgive me for hurting you like that, but those you threaten Lord Varon must be detained.” She placed her hands on his leg and gripped.

“Ow! You idiot!” He rolled around, trying to knock her off. “I'll be fine here seriously, Mahlo will-” He spun his head around, not finding his frail friend anywhere. “Hey Mahlo! Where'd you go!?”

“Didn't you see him walk off?” She rubbed Shinzou's leg, easing the pain into a mild numbness. “Aren't you his friend? Didn't you pay attention to him?”

“Of course I did! That's why I gotta talk to him, about that stuff that jerk was on about!” Annabel gripped his leg even tighter, giving an unusually fearsome glare.

“Lord Varon is not a 'jerk', you should show some respect.” Shinzou moved back again, kicking her away with his other leg. “Do you have to do that? Don't you know when someone is being nice.”

“Nice? Don't most nice guys do things with a smile?” He gave Annabel his twisted grin, sticking his tongue out and laughed with venom. Annabel looked into the eyes of the cruel Northerner and curved her small lips upwards. “W-Wha... you call that a smile?”

“Well, it's nice to see an interesting face.” Shinzou backed away, his wicked grin was now drooped downwards. “What's your name Mister Northerner?”

“It's... Shinzou... Kurzang.”

“That's an odd name... Mister Shinzou.” Annabel caught him again and started massaging.

“You... you're the odd one! First you hit me, now your helping me.” Annabel was too focused on healing his leg to take notice of his ranting. “Will you just listen! I gotta go see Mahlo and ask him what all that was about. You got any clue what that jerk was on abou...ow!” Annabel dug into his leg again, the smile had vanished.

“I'm sorry Mister Shinzou, I do not know much about how sorcery and energy works. I would call Lord Varon to tell you, but he is busy.”

“Oh yeah, like he'd tell me anyway. What's he even doing here, not to just make fun of us that's for sure.”

“An investigation.”

“What kind?” He leaned backwards and relaxed, while Annabel continued to work her fingers on his injured leg.

“I'm afraid I cannot tell you, Mister Shinzou.”

~

Varon marched around the camp with Lirina in tow. He checked inside all the tents, keeping an eye out for anything the least bit suspicious. Seeing the two Northerners in the group served only to lower his opinion of Markus further.

“Why don't you just explain what's going on?” Lirina grabbed a hold on Varon's arm desperately. He sighed and released himself.

“Fine, can we go somewhere private?” Lirina lead him into a larger green tent away from the chattering crowd. They sat down on wooden stools, each taking a canister of water off the large box between them and started the discussion again. Lirina asked her simple question first.

“So, why have you come here?” she asked. Varon took a short drink of water, trying not to savour the tangy yet sweet taste.

“The reason I have come here is because Her Highness Yenallesa-Selena Vincent has... disappeared.” Lirina placed her hand over her mouth, keeping in her gasps. Varon waited as she tried to respond to the news.

“My goodness that's... and you think that Markus has something to do with it?”

“Well, did your son not claim to have exacted revenge upon my brother when they last met?” Lirina did not answer, thinking back to how he acted at the palace. It did seem unusual to her, yet the image of her son being such a criminal could not form in her mind.

“Well... maybe he said somethings, but do you honestly think he'd commit such acts?” Varon got up off his stool and strode around as he talked.

“Those two... your son would allow their kind to travel with his people?”

“What!” Lirina burst out of her stillness. “You can't use that against him like that!” Varon scoffed.

“What kind of a leader would make his people be around them kind?” Lirina slapped around his left cheek, her eyes red with fury.

“How dare you! You petty man!” Varon was becalmed, holding his face away from her. “What would Her Highness say if she saw that? Watching to take whatever cheap shots you can, against a man who has done nothing wrong! He may not be some famous wizard but... don't you dare belittle him like that.” Varon moved away, dented by her wrath he gave up on her.

“Very well,” his voice had become hoar frost, “if you have nothing worth saying, I will simply get the answers from Markus himself. If he is as innocent as you say he is, well then you have nothing to fear, Lady Lirina.” He marched to the exit, no even looking back. Once he had gone, Lirina, still burning hot, sank to her knees in tears.

The peasant crowd stared at Varon as he went past, pretending not to of heard anything. Varon was shaken on the inside, unprepared for such passionate defence, though on the other hand it made him nervously laugh as well. Once he had ascended the hill, he found his servant Annabel still conversing with the injured Shinzou. Varon found the sight disgusting, but could find no words in his state.

“Annabel!” She drove herself back to her master, kneeling down and lowering her head before him.

“My Lord Varon, forgive me, I was merely tending to the wounded.”

“Do not worry, I have work for you. Keep your eye on things here, especially on Lady Lirina.”

“Yes, My Lord!” She remained knelt until Varon had climbed back onto his horse. Her cold, still face served as his only goodbye as he rode to Rephall with haste. She glanced back at Shinzou, who was still laying on the ground, quietly watching as Varon left.

“Ah, I'm sorry Mister Shinzou,” her lips curved into a sweet smile for him again. “I have to go now, you should be able to walk soon, but take it easy please.” She took no notice of the disgruntled face that she got in return. Shinzou let out a roaring sigh as she left him. He shuffled around, trying to pull himself up when he could, but it was no good. Rolling over, he pressed his hands on the ground, and pushed himself away. He rose up on his injured leg, breathing in struggle. He limbed away from the camp in search of his missing friend.

~

In the sludgy streets of the city, Markus and Kalegar continued to navigate their way to the Halls of Evallence. The putrid smell ached their noses and drained their eyes of water.

“We're not getting anywhere with this!” Markus had to pinch his nostrils from the unbearable air around him.

“If the fire keeps on spreading we'll be trapped again.” Kalegar check his enchanted sword, the red blade was dissolving from the top. “And I can't just keep using this thing.” They made a right turn into an identical alleyway where they could spot the Halls on the faraway hill. Markus wanted to keep his mind off the foul stenches, even if it meant having to speak with a man he found annoyingly self-righteous.

“By the way, you said you business here?”

“That's right, I need to speak with the Jistine council as well.”

“I wouldn't have expected a bodyguard to be doing these kind of things.”

“I figured that, I guess I'm not quiet the obedient dog you probably thought I was.” Kalegar chuckled, but Markus found horrifying to listen too. “What is it you have against me?” Markus closed his eyes, the answer was hard to find.

“You're just... sheltered.” Kalegar stopped dead in his tracks, his lungs could not bare the laughter.

“That's... that's a funny thing for a Prince to say.” He lost his breath at the very irony. “Do you honestly think being happy means I'm sheltered?” Markus rolled his eyes around.

“Well you certainly look like you've got it good. Working for a little girl all your life.” Markus scowled and stomped on past him. Kalegar was still in stitches.

“Got it good you say. Heck, coming here has pretty much put my head on the chopping block.” His chuckles had become nervous as he followed behind Markus.

After more running through the rat infested labyrinth, the duo had finally found a large grass clearing with the Halls closer than ever before. They climbed the steep hill, glancing behind them, seeing that the once grand port town was falling to the ground in a hellish blaze. Ships were escaping across rough seas and the demonic cloud started to bury the city with ash. A woman's voice suddenly entered Markus' ear.

“You finally made it.” Markus freaked out and fell over. The woman behind him was the green haired Northerner with a grin across her face.

“You!” Markus got up, spiting out the dirt between his teeth. “This isn't a time for messing around.”

“Oh... are you so easily surprised?” Dyarl came over from nearby, annoyed by Elissa inappropriate playfulness.

“Miss Elissa for goodness sake. In case you cannot see, this is an emergency.”

“So what? A few buildings never meant anything.” Markus rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Someone like you wouldn't understand,” he whispered, under his breath. Their banter was soon interrupted by demands from mysterious figures from the windows of the Halls.

“Hear me!” He was a tall man, clad in a red and black robe that wrapped around his face. His eyes were completely white. He was directing his speech the man standing at the front of the gates with his soldiers. He wore thick steel armour with a red cape and brown facial hair that made a frame around his face. “If you do not leave within half an hour, we shall begin the execution of the councillors until we find the one we are looking for! We will succeed whatever you choose to do!” The group of ten men being addressed remained adamant in their position. The phantom figure cast his hand out of the window. “How very foolish of you! Sacrifice the lives of these worthless men if you so wish!” He moved away from their vision, closing the tattered yellow curtains.

“Damn blast!” The leader of the guards stomped his feet, snorting like a bull. Dyarl recognised the middled aged man.

“That must be Gesisburg. I guess we should speak with him.”

“Do you really think he'll want to?” Kalegar gulped, the sight of the angry knight was uninviting.

“We should just deal with this ourselves.” Elissa sneaked up to the fence, but Markus signalled her to return with a wave of his finger.

“Jason and I shall speak with him. You two shall wait here, understand?” Kalegar nodded, though Elissa merely sat down and sighed. Markus and Dyarl made their way on to the cobblestone road and marched up to the gates. Gesisburg turned his head at the sound of their footsteps, placing his suspecting blue eyes on the sweating men.

“And who are you?” he pointed.

“I am Markus Horuston of Searan.”

“And I am his servant, Jason Dyarl.”

“We have come to help assist you in this situation,” said Markus. He and Dyarl bowed their heads, but Gesisburg was still weary of them, continuing to direct his finger at them.

“The Dog of Searan and little Jason.” Markus clenched his jaws and smacked Gesisburg's hand out of his face.

“Shut your mouth traitor.” They stared each other off, the air between them was electrifying. “Former General Rastus Gesisburg, commander of the rebellion. Perhaps you should just roll over and die; let us handle this.”

“I don't have the time for you brat.” Gesisburg patted Markus on the head. “You should go home... oh, I'm sorry.” Markus was frozen with rage, unable to even lift a finger. Dyarl came between them, voicing reason.

“Please, Sir Gesisburg, we did not come here to trade blows with you.”

“Why Jason, you sure have grown in ten years; but you're still the same clod you always were.” Dyarl said nothing; instead he focused his eyes, trying to strike the cruel man with his gaze. “Your eyes are too soft for that... but maybe you have changed, we'll see.”

“My father, a real man taught me all I needed to know since then.” He reached out his hand in offering. “We do not have time for arguing, we must save the hostages correct?” Gesisburg's attitude to him had shifted, looking much more friendlier.

“That's right.” Gesisburg clasp Dyarl's hand and shook heartily. Markus however, was not prepare to put things aside, even though Gesisburg made the next offer for a half hearted handshake.

“Don't get the wrong idea. I'd never think of touching a traitor like you.”

~

From another window in the Halls, the shadowy figure observed their meeting. The red streaked black robe masked him from head to toe. A second figure approached him, wearing an armour of black chain mail and a crimson face wrap.

“Master Ulysses.” He knelt down and begged for forgiveness. “We are still unable to locate the Kaejiean Ambassador. I am sorry Master Ulysses, truly-”

“It matters not.” The cloaked figure spoke in a raspy voice. “You have given my ultimatum to our guests. If they do not tell us themselves, we shall rid of them and raze his grand structure to the ground.” Ulysses wafted down the cream corridor, talking as he went. “However, I do wish for you took keep your eye upon Jistine's descendent, I sense that he maybe craftier than he appears.”

“Yes, my Master Ulysses.” The minion left his presence. Ulysses now gazed out of another window, spying on the group below with a keen glimmer.

Edited February 17, 2009 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Seven: Ulysses.

The city of Rephall was a skeleton of it's once grand self. An intense heat rose from the burning rubble, reaching for the black cloud. A tent had been set up on the hills away from the Halls of Evallence, where inside a map had been laid on the grass. Gesisburg was knelt down, pointing to locations on the large map.

“These are the original plans of the Halls, they should still be accurate. This here is the main entrance.” He pointed towards the south end of the map. Dyarl and Markus were also knelt down, paying attention with fine eyes. “Now, there are other ways into the Halls, some of them unknown to most. However, we know for a fact that the captors used one of the hidden passageways to enter, so they will be expecting us to infiltrate that way.” Dyarl was still lost on a few points.

“So what is it that these people want?” He asked.

“They've given us no demands or ransom. Though we believe they may be seeking an ambassador who was staying in the Halls for a short period of time.”Gesisburg took his finger off the map. Markus still did not understand.

“So what's so important about this person?”

“They came to this port to travel to Garequess. The ambassador from a neutral nation would negotiate peace between Garollen and Pedrotwae. Without this meeting, a war could happen between them.” That point stuck in Markus' mind, but saying nothing he lets Gesisburg continue on about their plans. “Now then, they are most likely keeping any hostages in the dining room. It's the largest room in the building with only one entrance.”

“But how do we get inside?” Asked Dyarl.

“Well, like I said: There are a few entrances which are hidden, and they came through one of them. I could gamble that while they are aware of that way, they do not know of the others. But,” Gesisburg explained. Markus pondered on that idea for a short moment.

“Is there anything else we could try?” He said.

“You could try coming with me.” A man entered the tent, addressing Markus. The three of them looked up, seeing a lock of blue hair flapping along with the tent doors.

“Lord Varon?” Dyarl tilted his head. Varon placed his right hand infront of himself, and drew a circle in the air. A while circle flashed rapidly.

Call forth the hunting snake,

Many prisoners may we take.

Twenty One: Serpent's Hold.

The three of them found their bodies being squeezed by and invisible force. It felt like thick ropes were binding them. The three of them rolled on the grass, trying to struggle free from the mystic force. Varon dragged Markus out of the time, taking him somewhere more private. Dyarl and Gesisburg were left, shouting for help. Once they had reached a short distance from the tent, Varon threw Markus back down, giving him a few scraps off the ground.

“What the heck are you doing?” Markus yelled.

“Markus Horuston of Searan, you are under arrest as a suspect of an abduction.”

“WHAT!” Markus tried to move his arms, balling up his fists. “Why don't you try actually telling me what this is about?!” Varon did not answer, but instead picked him put again.

“If you tell me where Her Highness is, I might spare some mercy for you.” Markus wormed around, trying anything to break free.

“Listen! I don't know where she is, so you can let me go.” Varon sighed, pointing his finger point blank in Markus' face.

“I am afraid that is not good enough. If you cannot give me an acceptable answer,” his finger cracked with lightning. “I shall just have to interrogate you further.” Markus' throat closed up with one large gulp.

“Now now Lord Varon, don't you think that's a bit extreme?” Kalegar planted his hand on Varon's right shoulder. Varon let go of Markus, calming down his furious finger tip. He looked over his shoulder, giving Kalegar a sharp glare.

“Markus is a prime suspect: He harbours intentions against His Majesty and...”

“He's innocent,” Kalegar did not even flinch at the anger of the wizard. “for you see, I have been travelling with him for a few days now. I encountered him near the borders, I too suspected him, so I went along with him to see what I could find.” Varon had calmed down, giving complete attention to listening. “I looked under every crack, and found nothing. I assure you that Lord Markus is not the one you are after.” Varon was speechless, turning back to Markus, whom was baffled. He took a deep breath.

“I... I understand.” Varon spread out his hand above Markus and focused hard. The invisible bonds vanished, earning a gasp of relief from Markus. Varon stroked back his frizzing hair and knelt down before his former prisoner. “I... am truly sorry for my actions here. I beseech you for forgiveness.” His sombre plea made Markus fidget around. Varon, with nothing else to say, left them to free the other two in the tent.

“I guess I should thank you.” Markus looked up at the white knight. Kalegar extended his hand out to return Markus to his feet. “Though I'm surprise you'd go as far as to lie for me.”

“I thought I told you, I still needed to thank you.” Kalegar replied. Markus pondered as Varon came out the tent, loud cursing could be heard, but Varon ignored it.

“Wait there Varon!” Markus grinned as he approached him. “Maybe we could work something out. Here's the deal, you help us out, you know: a few tricks here and there. And in return, I'll forgive you.”

“No.” Varon answered with a plain face. Markus stumbled back.

“But... but...”

“Finding Her Highness is of far greater priority to me.” Varon walked away, but was stopped by more requests.

“Please, Lord Varon. I understand you have a task of incredible importance,” Dyarl caught his attention by kneeling down before him. “but the lives of many are at stake. Even a drop of assistance would prove vital to us.” Varon sighed, inspecting them both with a fine gaze.

“Half an hour,” Markus and Dyarl perked up with a smile. “I shall grant you my aid for half an hour, as my apology.” He sat on the floor and began counting the seconds with his eyes closed. Markus started explaining his simple plan.

“All you have to do is use that spell or whatever to get us, and the other men inside the dining room and then...”

“That is impossible, unless I can synchronise combination seventy five with another. Alone, I can only use that spell on myself or one other person.” His explanation made Markus curse and stomp his feet.

“For goodness sake! You offer to help, and you can't do anything! Are you ever not against me!?” Varon got back up on his feet.

“Well, if you must know, I already have a plan.” He smiled and stroked his hair back. “I shall simply use that spell to locate the hostages unseen. Once I have reached them, I will use another spell to keep everyone in the room suppressed to the floor. At the same time, Gesisburg's men will storm the halls and kill the foe.”

“That might work, but I still don't know.”

“I doubt you'd think of anything better in time.” Elissa said, she had seen everything as she sat on the top of the tent. “You may as well just do it.”

“I guess your right, whatever works fastest.” Markus nodded, but Dyarl just let out a big puff of breath.

“You're not actually going to do it JUST because she says so?” He asked. Markus ignored him, addressing Gesisburg about the plan.

“Get your men back in action right now. It's the only plan we have right now, I won't have any arguments over it.” Gesisburg tilted his head with a raised eyebrow.

“You forget your place Horuston. I'm in charge here.” He walked over to Varon, who was still counting the time pass. “Lord Varon, what are the chances of your plan working?”

“I can't say for sure. But with enough luck... it should claim victory.” Varon moved away, hoping for them to hurry up. Gesisburg scratched his chin, and before long he had reached his decision.

“We'll do it!” He raised his fist in the air and yelled out.

“What? Why didn't you just...?” Markus twitched his fingers that desired to be around his throat.

“Do you think someone like me would take orders from you? It would be an insult to everything I represent. Come Little Jason, we must get a move on!” He charged away to rally his troops. Kalegar approached the tent.

“Come on, let's not waste anymore time.” He said, Markus agreed, but Dyarl was thinking about other things.

“Miss Elissa, are you fighting as well? Or just stay there?”

“Staying here.” He pats the bandages over her face. Dyarl frowned and scratched his head. “Seriously, I can't fight.” She laid back and relaxed.

“Just leave her and lets get this over with.” Markus stormed off with Kalegar in tow. Dyarl still gazed at the tent roof, that woman lay there without a care. He knew it was pointless to ask her anything, so Dyarl went to join with the rest of his friends.

A group of twenty men were over the hill, preparing their spears for battle. Gesisburg stood at the peak of the hill and commanded.

“Get into line men!” He raised his fist. They all stood up and saluted.

“YES SIR!” They called, gathering into rows of five.

“We may have lost the city, but we won't lose what matters. We shall storm the Halls and take them back!” He drew his sword and pointed it to the sky. “IN THE NAME OF JISTINE!” The men cheered and followed their leader in the march to battle.

“Those men must really trust him to follow him like that.” Kalegar watched them as they moved out.

From the windows, Uysses watched as the forces came down the hill between the ruins and the Halls. He moved down the corridor until he reached a wide set of stairs. Two of his servants stood at the bottom.

“It would seem that they have a plan. A direct attack is coming.” He extended an arm that was wrapped in a worn bandage. “Prepare for it.”

“Should we kill the hostages Master?”

“No... using them will work no longer, their plan is clearly something more. Let me see.” He drew purple runes into the space in front of him. An eye with many tentacles waving out if it. He hummed a tune, the words were unintelligible.

Ruevr So.

He lowed his arm and there was silence. A purple beam of light flowed from his eyes and escaped through the walls. The two servants looked across the room, waiting to see what would happen.

“I see now.” Uysses regained conciousness. “Varon is with them.”

“What does that mean Master?”

“He is preparing a spell away from the rest. He could be planning to teleport inside.” He stroked the end of robe with his right hand. The men gasped.

“Should we kill them now Master?”

“No, do not. Instead, get all of our forces to engage little puppet boy and his merry men. I can handle Lord Varon.” He spread out his arms and mediated. He used both hands to then draw a pair of amber wings that shone brighter and brighter.

Break apart the flesh, and become as the spirits,

Be boundless and everywhere.

See the land of you desire and go find it,

None shall bar your path there.

Ride the lightning and winds through the sky,

Be anywhere your eye could stare.

Seventy Five, Pormatou's Wings.

The light filled his body, changing his form into a glowing gold orb. He shrank and vanished from the sight of his men who were began organising the others for combat.

Ulysses was stood in the same place as always, but himself and the world around him were a ghostly blue. He hovered above the reception area, crossing his arms and humming. Varon entered the Halls, walking through the doors that stayed shut. He looked up at the dark figure in mid air.

“You must be the one who was watching me. Using an unnumbered technique... impressive but foolish.” He walked on, ascending the stairs. “Thankfully for you, I have no time to waste here.”

“Why the rush? I no longer have any intention of killing the captives, and my men will not defeat your allies. You may as well go and keep looking for your dear niece.” He floated toward Varon, who was ignoring him. “Wise of you, but I do wish you to stop.”

Erover fusocin nox octisn,

Hid ex lagiac Recber.

Quamnun.

Umbraoctis.

Black smoke poured from his finger tips and engulfed them both. Varon drew a shortsword from his belt and stepped around, but he could see nothing past the curtain of mist. Ulysses' fist appeared from nowhere and smacked Varon into the wall. He stood back up, with his left hand he started drawing runes.

Take this power and burn...

Another fist came through the mist. Varon stopped his incantation to swiftly cast a simpler spell: a click of his glowing fingers, causing Ulysses' attack to be knocked off course, hitting the wall. Varon thrust his blade through the mist, seemingly stabbing something. The fog washed away, revealing that Ulysses had grab the blade with his left hand, only inches from his face. He threw the blade away from him, blood dripped from his fingers. Grabbing Varon he pulled him down through the floor. Through bricks and soil they travelled downwards into the basement level. Varon broke free of his grasp and aimed for a second strike. Ulysses flew back and dodge. Running his fingers up and down his blood soaked arm he spoke another spell. His wound lit up white.

Sixty Three: Gumiomucro.

The blood on this left arm was pulled into his over hand, hardening into a scabby sword. The Pormatou's Wings had end, returning them both to the normal world where the basement walls were dark and stone. They swords clashed, neither one able to best the other. The leap back from each other to take a breather. Varon hurried to cast the next attack, writing a red rune.

Take this power and burn brightly,

and burst into the air frightfully.

Twenty five, Incendia cannon.

Searing energy began building up in his aiming hand. Ulysses brought forth his left and and chanted.

Erover fusocin nox octisn,

Hid ex lagiac Recber.

Quamnun.

Umbraoctis.

The black smoke shot from his fingers again, cloaking himself. Varon blasted a fire ball into the smoke, exploding on the other end. The smoke had cleared revealing nothing, Ulysses had vanished.

Varon wasted no time in finding a way out. Running down a long tunnel, he saw a set of stairs that lead up. He slowed down as he approached them, keeping his eyes on the move. He placed one foot on the first step before feeling disturbed. He swung around, blocking an chop from Ulysses' blood sword. They struggled and panted, their blades scrapping together.

“You seek to ignite war, why? Is peace not enough for you?”

“Is that what you call peace? Trying to freeze time, letting people live in eternal fear of the war.” Ulysses' sword started to crack as he spoke. “Though, one who is afraid of the future would not understand the importance of progress.” The blood sword smashed into shards, and Varon gave Ulysses' cloak a tear. The battered figure flew back and knelt down, panting.

“Ulysses, did you think that a few words would beat me?” Varon said, placing is sword at Ulysses' neck. Ulysses' laughed, bring chills to the room.

“So, for how long had you figured me out?”

“Killing you would be wrong, but...” Varon drew back his sword for the killing blow.

“But you can't have me running my mouth.” Ulysses leaped back, barely dodging the blow. He summon another wave of mist from his fingers to get away. “It would seem that the Kaejiean ambassador was out of my grasp quite sometime ago. But it was good to see you again. Good luck finding your dear niece.” His voice faded away, leaving Varon alone in the dank basement.

The large double doors at the entrance we cracking, a strong force pounded against it on the other side. The hooded warriors of Ulysses drew their swords and formed a defensive line.

“We should just slaughter them hostages, that'll show them.”

“Fool, Master Ulysses commanded us not to. You must obey his judgement.”

“Where is he?” The doors burst open and the armoured soldiers charged in. Both sides collided, and many masked men were gored upon sharp spears. More of Ulysses' men came from the sides to flank the enemy, but found themselves on the end of a second charge lead by Dyarl and Gesisburg. One attempted to attack Dyarl, swinging their sword for his neck. Dyarl parried and swiped the deflected sword out of his foe's hand. As he tried to back away, the masked man felt Dyarl's sword piece his stomach. Gesisburg drew his claymore with both hands and swung with incredible force: bringing another three to their knees.

“Goodness, you sure don't get worse with age.” Dyarl watched his attacks.

“Well, haven't you got a good eye.” Gesisburg laughed, even as he blocked more attacks from incoming foe. “Looking for a gap in my moves?” He knocked another foe down with one push.

“No! Nothing like that!”

“Don't be shy. Your father and I considered each other rivals. It's only natural you'd see me as an opponent.” He stopped while overlooking his troops. Kalegar led the main group up the stairs where they continued to slay the enemy. A pair of Ulysses' men fled the battle, running up the stairs and down the corridor. When an exhausted Varon appeared before them, they charged with their swords. Varon held out his palm forward and focused tripping the two men forward with an invisible force.

The air is standing still,

Strike the foe with incredible will.

Twenty Seven: Storm Fangs.

White lightning pulsed from his hand, connecting to the pair on the floor. The agonising shocks continued as more lightning came forth, burning their bodies. The spell came to an abrupt halt, releasing the two smoking corpses. Varon careful stepped over them, wafting the smell away with his hand. He meet with Kalegar at the top of the stairs.

“Lord Varon,” he looked at Varon's wore cloak.

“The councillors are safe, you and I are done here.” He descended without giving a second look back, utterly focused.

“Forgive me Lord Varon, but this is where we part. I still,” Kalegar was stunned when he saw Varon ignoring him. “okay, good luck!” He signed and turned away, Varon had disappeared from the scene.

Not long after the victorious battle, the hostages were found in the ground floor dining room. The opened the tall double doors to find more than thirty men and women bound on the polished floor. The soldiers all cheered with relief but the hostages were in much panic as they were being untied.

“Sir Gesisburg... the city.” Said a grey haired, middle aged man.

“It is gone Sir Jistine. We have yet to perform any death count Sir.” He knelt down and lowed his head. “I'm truly sorry.”

“There's no need for that Rastus...” Jistine forced a smile.

“What about the ambassador?” Gesisburg interrupted in quirky style.

“He's safe. I managed to show Jaeri a way out before they caught me. He's on route to St Jistine's Mount.” Gesisburg let out a sigh and relaxed. Markus was stood a short distance away, listening in on their conversion. He thought on the situation, not realising the hand tapping him on the shoulder. The tapping became harder, before the hand simply slapped him around the face. Markus gasped and swung his fist.

“So, things turned out good?” Elissa caught his hand and smirked.

“When did you... no, it's not good.” He continued to think, not even trying to free is hand. “But I'm glad your here actually. I have just the task for someone like you.” He lead her out of the room to speak in private, dragging her around the door.

Dyarl, like many other, looked at the ruined city through the tall windows. The fire still raged, and dark clouds continued swirling and mixing. A woman came and stood beside him, she was the same height but was a good eight years older. She wore her short brown hair tied back, and kept her sly eyes behind a pair of glasses. She wore a plain, but smart beige dress with a black belt and a silver necklace.

“You wouldn't happened to have the time on you?” She asked, straightening her glasses with her left hand.

“Erm... well, last I can recall, it's late afternoon.” Dyarl smiled and faced her, but was surprised by the familiar woman. “Ursula!” He jumped back at pointed at the now grinning woman. Jason took a breather to calm down. “It's been ten years, you sure look different.”

“You've barely changed at all Jason.” She place her hand on his shoulder pad and shuck him. Dyarl chuckled but at the same time, he tried to back away. When he look into her eyes through the glasses, he could stop droplets of water forming. “It's... I'm glad you're alright. When I heard about the attack on Searan, I couldn't stop wondering if you were safe.”

“Come on now, you didn't have to worry so much. We should really be thinking about Rephall now.” He smiled sheepishly.

“It's a tragedy.” Ursula looked back through the window and watched the fires burn as she spoke. “That was our largest port, and Jistine barely produces enough harvest to properly feed the entire population.”

“You've still got imports from Bremoe.” Dyarl scratched his head.

“But we greatly value our... partnership with Dalbron. I suppose the important thing to do is rehouse the people.” She analysed Dyarl's fiddling with his fingers and the way he move his eyes away from her. “You came here to ask us a favour, didn't you?”

“Prince Markus and I brought a few people with us. But it's really not important right now.” He could see the irritation behind her glasses, a small vein had appeared on her forehead.

Markus had re-entered the room alone, seemingly happier than before. He came up to Dyarl, unaware of the conversation he was having.

“Ah Jason, isn't it about time we spoke to some of these people about our business here?” He had completely ignored Ursula's presence.

“I don't think this is the best time.” Dyarl replied. Markus put his hands on his hips and sighed.

“But we came here for a reason, and we cannot let our people down, right?”

“I'm afraid it doesn't work like that.” Ursula glared at him, tilting her head up slightly, as though to look down her nose at him. “Your not in Searan anymore, you can't just ask for things and get them Your Highness.” She frowned at turned to Dyarl. “It was nice to see you again Jason, such a shame you're still clinging to that family.” She left them, making sure not to notice Markus' taunting as she passed him. Markus stringed a few curses together and blew off some steam. He glanced around the room, noticing someone missing.

“I wonder where Kalegar went to?” He still looked around, trying to find the white knight.

“It does seem odd for someone like him to just disappear like that. Maybe he just decided to wait before speaking to the Councillors, like we should.”

“I don't recall asking you when the right time to speak with them is.” Markus walked off and dismissed Dyarl.

“Well, it is my job to give that kind of... Markus?” He followed behind, trying hard to regain his attention.

On the outside, walking away from the Halls and the city up the grassy hill was Kalegar. He dusted off his cape and inspected his stained blade. At the top, he met with a figure, cloaked with a brown hood.

“This didn't turn out well. Forgive me.” He bowed and sheathed his sword. “What do you wish to do now?” He figure put down their hood, revealing themselves to be the blue haired princess in the flesh. She bore signs of rough nights, small grey bags under her eyes.

“We should travel to St Jistine's Mount. The Councillors will be heading there aswell.” She yawned and pulled her hood up again.

“Your Highness you need to rest, it has been a long journey for you.” He knelt down to take out a bed roll roll a large bag that laid on the ground.

“That's not necessary Rai, I'm,” she yawned again. “perhaps I should take a rest.” She laid herself on the thin mattress and drew the blanket over herself. Kalegar sat down and kept a keen watch on the surrounds to keep her safe. After a short while he noticed that Yenallesa was still wide awake.

“Is there something wrong, Your Highness?”

“That's a horrible scene, I've never seen anything like it.” She shuffled around, keeping her eyes fixed on the ruined city.

“Indeed.” Spoke a raspy voice. They both turned to find the cloaked Ulysses was stood behind them. “A tragedy really.”

“You!” Kalegar yelled, drawing his sword from his belt and pointed it squarely at Ulysses. “You're with them aren't you?” Ulysses stroked his hood and chuckled.

“There is no need to be so hostile, I simply thought I might warn you two.”

“What about?” Kalegar still held his sword out.

“Did you think you had Varon fooled? He probably suspects you already, it's only a matter of time he will come for you.” He began to walk away from them, when Yenallesa leap from the bed and called to him.

“You know my Uncle!?” She tried to run to him, but was catch on the shoulder by Kalegar. Ulysses waved his hand back at them as they grew further apart.

“Worry not dear, I just thought I'd give you that warning.” He started to fade away into the gathering mist, still waving his arm out. Neither one of them spoke, but instead they sat down and tried to rest.

The Royal Castle of Searan had become fully enshrouded in mist. The courtyard was still littered with the melted corpses of the wall archers. Outside, rows of soldiers without their armour were making laps around the castle walls. As they passed the entrance for the next lap, Elbenor would command them.

“Ten more, then prepare yourselves for sentry duties.” She wore a long white dress which had a tint of green, the long sleeves trailed at the ends, hiding her fingers.

“Yes, House Lord!” The men yelled as the passed her, making sure that their posture was straight as possible. A man came out of the fog behind Elbenor, he had thick, short greying hair and a goatee. His gentle blue eyes hid behind a pair of slim glasses that had a gold rim on the top. He wore tidy brown robe with a belt carrying many rolls of parchment.

“House Lord, I've bring messages of some significance.” His voice was clear and smooth. He took one of the scrolls from his belt and unrolled it. “First of all: Lieutenant Nolman appears to have met an unfortunate end. It would seem that he was engaged in seedy practices...”

“I would like a full report on this, and begin searching for a replacement. ” Elbenor's interruption had not irritated him in the least.

“No worries House Lord, I have already prepared a short list of potential people. It's such a shame that Nolman could not follow simple orders.” He continued to read down the scroll, sliding it through his fingers. “Lord Valenhearth has made a request that you to gather some information and send it to him.” He pulled out a second scroll and skimmed it. “It looks rather complex, perhaps I should handle this.” He smiled.

“What are implying Arhen?” She crossed her arms.

“It looks like a time consuming task, I'm sure that you would be too busy for such things.” He kept a straight and innocent face to temper he anger, but Elbenor continued to pout.

“Let me see that!” She asked. Arhen handed out the scrolls, which she swiped out of his light grip. Elbenor tried to read each word carefully, trying to grasp the meanings of the many long terms. “What the heck is dropping things off walls meant to prove?” Her face started sweating.

“I believe he wishes to see if his erm... 'pulling force', to simply put it, is the same strength everywhere.”

“ENOUGH! You go and sort this out!” Elbenor shoved the scroll back into Arhen's hands. “Who could honestly care about some pulling force? I mean, where is it?” She stomped her feet.

“I don't think it works that way.” Arhen corrected his glasses, and straightened out the scrunched scrolls. “Moving on: I also received a message from Lord Taslsin,” he paused while Elbenor moaned at the mention of that name. “but it was merely the usual, so I did away with it.”

“Thank you, anything else” She said, almost with a smile on her face.

“Well, there was one last thing: High Priest Reitzo wishes to confirm whether you will be attending this years Founding Day celebrations at the capital. Since you intend to stay here at Searan for as long as possible, should I tell him you will not be attending?”

“That's right.” She nodded her head.

“I will write the reply and have it delivered for you House Lord.” Arhen rolled up his scrolls and bowed.

“Thank you Arhen.” She dismissed him and walked away, entering back into the court yard. As she disappeared from his sight, Arhen waved her farewell.

As Elbenor walked down the stone path, passed the thick hedges, she encountered a squad of ten archers who were packing away their bows and target boards. The sound of her footsteps caught their attention, stopping their conversation dead.

“Who ordered you to end your practice early?” Elbenor clenched her fists, causing the men to straighten up.

“Well, the conditions are too bad House Lord.”

“Exactly! All the more reason for you to practice now!” She started yelling, and the men trembled. “If you cannot perform well in the worst of conditions, then perhaps you are unworthy to fight in the name of Garollen!”

“But House Lord, we can't possibly do it, it's impossible.” One man was able to summon the courage to speak up.

“You cannot do it because it's impossible? Then impossibility is the enemy, defeat it!” She stared into all their eyes, trying to instil her message. The men did not reply, they looked each other nervously. “I order to you defeat it!”

“Yes! House Lord!” They saluted in unison, and started unpacking their equipment again. She left them to their practice, heading towards the inside.

Elbenor continued down the long stone corridor, a red carpet mapped the floor that forked to side paths, an exit could be seen at the far end. She now stood in a small garden surrounded by tall walls on all sides,the sky was blocked out by the fog. The clearing way filled by rows of gravestones. She inspected them, reading each name was she passed. She stopped at the final grave on the final row and read the name again and again. Rythia E. Horuston.

“It's been too long since I've visited, please forgive me Rythia.” Elbenor knelt down and rubbed the patches of dirt off the gravestone. “I would have come more often, but I kept thinking about what you would have said: visiting a grave is a waste of time, it's just the most depressing way of remembering someone.” She laughed once before returning to her usual demeanour. “I'm sorry, but this is the it has to be. I know you'd tell me not to; but if you love Markus, then rejoice that you will be seeing him again, even though he may deserve that less than living. And, I will set everything right with Searan, I promise it's in good hands.” She sat back on the damp grass and stared upwards. “Hmm...maybe I should sent for some emerald roses,” she shut her eyes and smiled. “those would nice around here. I should go and see if Arhen's still around.” She rose back up, not noticing the wet patch down the back of her dress, and left the small garden.

When Elbenor had made her way back to the main courtyard, she found the archers still trying to practice, and the other men were ready to receive new orders.

“We are ready to be given our positions House Lord.” One of the centre men told her.

“I wish for you to guard Ser Wain, not far south of here. You are not likely to encounter any major threats, a few scouting parties and drafted peasants, meagre resistance. Go now! And if you see Arhen on your way, tell him to return here as soon as possible.” She turned around and left.

Elbenor had take one of the left corridors to find a staircase. Once she had reached the next floor she checked all the rooms until she found the one she wished to be in. It was a dust covered bedroom with a large white canopy bed. Wardrobes and chests that had been kept shut for years, with no keys to be found anywhere. Elbenor laid herself onto the bed, but there was no comfort. It felt like daggers in her throat, but she remained on the bed nonetheless.

“I can see why they didn't want to see this room again. It's hard to believe this is where...” She looked over to a mirror on the other side of the room. Though she tried hard to keep an apathetic face, she could not hold back the thin stream of tears.

Edited January 9, 2009 by Man of the Year!

[Shuuda]

Chapter Eight: Hawk and Black Horse.

In a small dark room, a man found himself tied to a chair. He was thin, with dark skin and black hair that had two tails running in front of his shoulders. He did not struggle, but he stayed wide awake. He could hear footsteps approaching. A door opened and light shone on his face.

“You doing alright?” A woman's voice asked.

“What do you think.” His voice was quiet and worried. The door shut again and the woman came closer, he could not see her face. “What is it you want?” The man shuffled around, trying to move his arms.

“I don't want anything from you... Jaeri wasn't it?” The woman put her face point blank of his own. He could not keep his eye's off her bandaged mug. “What?!” Elissa grunted.

“It's... just you face, it's...” before he could finish, Elissa backed up and punched him across the face, sending his spit to the other side of the room.

“Oh, I'm sorry if I hit you, I have trouble seeing.” Elissa scoffed. She took out a small lump of bread out of her pocket and shoved it into Jaeri's mouth. “I'll be back later, if your lucky I might not accidentally hit you again.” She left the room, which was infact an old shack in a forest which no path lead to. It was a cool morning, and the air was damp. After a short walked, she found herself on the edge of the woods. There were many fields of churned mud, and in the distance was a camp of tents.

The peasants were lined up in a disorderly cue to get their small rashons for the day. Markus was stood on the grass next to his tent wearing his black top, choking down a slice of solid bread. When Dyarl walked nearby, he called out to him.

“Soooo any word on whether it's the right time to talk to them yet?”

“Please, their're going through a time of hardship and...”

“And we're not?!” Markus leaped up. “I swear that we are not staying here much longer!”

“It's not so bad here.” Dyarl smiled, but it only increased Markus' frown.

“Not so bad! Let me tell you just three of the things that bad about this place: Firstly, wolves travel near here at night. Secondly, the farmers won't stop giving me an earful over being here. And finally, the mud is most dreadful here after last nights rain. Oh, and rats! Always rats!”

“Well, atleast we found somewhere to stay, look on the bright side.” Dyarl said.

“Oh yes! The bright side that is of course being surrounded by empty fields!” Markus sighed and took another bite of his breakfast.

“Well, St Jistine's Mount is not too far away. Perhaps we could make a short trip to see what the situation is like.”

“We? I'm sorry, but if I am to go, I wish to take some others with me instead of you.” Markus smirked when he noticed how surprised Dyarl was.

“Who do you have in mind?” He asked, raising his eyebrow. Markus glanced around the camp, until some familiar figures came into his line of sight.

“Aha! Gerald and that woman: two lovely faces to liven the day up.”

“Why them... and Mrs Henrietta has a name.” Dyarl flustered, with a hint of red on his cheeks. Markus came up to him and firmly patted Dyarl's shoulder.

“Funny, you always make a joke about me, but it would seem you're the lecherous one.” He chuckled as he watched Dyarl blush deepen. Markus left him to calm down, and gave his offer to Gerald and Henrietta.

“How would two like to accompany me to the capital?”

“Oh really Your Highness! Yes please!” Henrietta burst out. “I-I-I've just got to visit their market! It's really great! I hope I get a copy of The Encyclopaedia of Ceran History: Volumn Three.”

“Don't you already have that?”Gerald scratched his head and counted with his other hand.

“No no, I've only got first two volumes and Arhen Grimfold's Third Era of Cera.”

“I doesn't matter what you have, I wish to hurry.” Markus tapped his foot while he wait for their response. Gerald was stuff thinking to himself, stumbling around.

“What about Jason, isn't he coming?” Henrietta asked, she had caught Dyarl in the corner of her eye, walking away around a tent.

“He's... got things to do here. So, will you be joining me? I'll be leaving shortly.” Markus' tapping hastened. Henrietta nodded and took her husband back into their tent, appearing intimidated by Markus' expressions. When Markus turned around, he saw that his mother was brooding in wait. “Mother, is there a problem?”

“I believe that is what I should be asking. If you are going to the Mount, you should have asked me to join you, I could speak with the councillors for you.” Her answer puzzled Markus, who took his time before speaking again.

“Please mother, I wouldn't want to put you in harms way.” He spoke with a much calmer tone than usual.

“Forgive, but I shall not accept any other option.” She could still notice the confusion. “My son, you are not the only one who wishes to have their home back. Leadership is a terrible burden, especially in these times.” She tried to reassure him with a warm smile, but Markus was preoccupied with her words.

“Very well. But I cannot bring Jason; after all, someone has to keep the people safe from those Northerners.” He laughed.

“I was hoping you might do the honour of protecting me, but I'll be sure to try and blend in.” She laughed lightly with him before leaving to change dress.

Markus guided his eye's around the camp, paying close attention in between the tents. He caught Elissa sneaking near the east side. They made eye contact but nothing more before she vanished into a green tent.

He continued looking around, seeing the people in their tatty clothes, feasting on whatever food they had. He then looked down his own clothes, scrubbing out the dirt and fiddling with the small holes at the seams. Cautiously avoiding detection, he moved back to his own tent. Inside a sack were what was left of his clothes: the white coat, a second shirt hat seemed to atleast smell better than the one he wore and two pairs of trousers. After a quick change he stepped outside again, wearing a different set of clothes, trying to hide whatever holes there were with his coat. He met with the rest of the group, who waited nearby with backpacks and coats.

Dyarl came out of his tent just in time to see Markus' and Lirina leave with the others. He was prepared to chase after them when he caught another figure in the corner of his eye; Elissa was skulking around. He slipped inbetween a pair of tents to intercept her. When he rushed out in front of her, Elissa stepped back to head in the opposite direction; but it was too late.

“And where have you been Miss Elissa?” He crossed his arms and sighed.

“Ah, Markus wanted me to do look out duty for the night,” she yawned, trying to make it as convincing as possible. “I was just heading for some sleep.”

“Your guile is second to none Miss Elissa.” He raised his eye brow and lent forward, but Elissa merely giggled.

“Why Jason, you're making me sound like a rotten egg!”

“And why should you be that lucky?” Dyarl clenched his fist at her. “You disappeared after the battle, and now to turn up with blood on your clothes.” He pointed to her skirt where small splatters of blood and sweat had set in.

“Oh that! Well, I was hungry so I found a few bandits for a meal. The blood gets places.” She tried to walk away, but Dyarl persisted with his chastising.

“I'm afraid that such attitude will not be tolerated. You have yet to even explain what you are doing here and...”

“I told you,” Elissa swung back round “I'm helping Markus.”

“Someone of your nature is unfit to train His Majesty in fighting.”

“His Majesty huh...and I suppose the one who is fit to teach him would be you?” They stared each other down, their muscles tensed up. “Since your feelings are as clear, there is only one way to solve our differences: we shall fight, first to drop their sword loses. The winner will be the one to teach His Majesty how to fight.”

“Since you have proposed the challenge, I shall accept. There is to an hour of preparation before we meet at say... that ploughed field.” He pointed to the north. They both agreed and left in the opposite direction from each other.

Neither of them had realised that Mahlo had been eavesdropping on them. He stepped out from between the tents, struggling to keep his footing in the mud. He slipped and fell towards the ground with a shriek, but something had caught his arm before his face reached the mud.

“Looks like she's not the only one who can disappear.” Shinzou pulled him up and continued to speak. “Where the heck did you go? You got a spell that makes you unseeable or what?”

“I just wanted to look around on my own.” Mahlo forced a smile.

“I guess that's what you came for. But this doesn't have anything with what that man said does it? He must have a yiezr's parse for a mouth to speak to you like that.”

“Please Shinzou, it's nothing like that. I was just a bit shaken by that spell, and you were injured so I didn't want to be a bother.” Mahlo back away, chuckling to reassure Shinzou.

“Well, didn't sound like what he was saying was friendly banter. I ain't having that! If I ever see him again, I'll make him sorry for ever living.” He gripped his blade and swung it in the air.

“Please, spilling blood just on my account? What would Mezu say?”

“Don't try that, you know Mezu would cry if see saw someone putting you down!” Shinzou grabbed him by the collar. “Do even know how much she thinks about you?!”

“I know... but she's just a girl, she'll grow up.”

“And what, find nobody better?”

“I'm flattered, but it's a personal problem. You two would not need to worry.” Mahlo still had a smile plastered to his face. Shinzou let him down gently before limping off, kicking up the mud and pouting.

“First that damn woman won't stop bugging me and now this!”

In the field of wet mud, Dyarl and Elissa met up again. Dyarl carried two swords with him, one of which he handed over to his confident opponent.

“I see you've been relaxed, you're not even wearing protection.” He said. Elissa clutched the sword he gave her. They both stood silently, pointing their swords with both hands. Elissa moved first; she sloshed through the mud to get away. She looked back to find Dyarl still stood in the same spot: so she came to a halt. Dyarl began to walk towards her, pressing his feet hard into the ground. As he closed on her, Elissa scooped up balls of mud and threw them at his face; laughing as Dyarl wiped them away. Their blades finally met when Dyarl's slash was blocked; but the force of his swing pushed her back, slipping on the mud. Elissa fell to the ground, but rolled away before her neck was at blade point. A moment she had gotten up, another attack came at her. She parried and stepped back, panting. With a desperate lunge, Elissa thrust her sword at his neck. Dyarl sidestepped her attack and grab a hold of her wrist, trying to squeeze the sword out of her hand. Elissa pulled hard, unable to free herself.

“Just drop your sword, you'd be dead in a real fight.” Dyarl sighed, but Elissa still resisted. He let go of her wrist, pushing her to the ground in the process. Once she had stood up, their blades collided again; both pushed as their feet slid in the mud. They clashed several times before Dyarl slipped onto his kneels. Elissa readied to point her sword at his neck, but was tripped up when Dyarl grabbed her leg. He stood back up and trap her sword under his foot. Elissa looked up to meet the point of his sword in front of her.

“Fine fine I give!” She moaned as her hand let go of the sword. “Goodness sake!”

“You played pretty foul and still lost, I guess that settles the matter.” Dyarl offered her a hand getting up. Elissa had got up and began wiping the mud off her clothes.

“Pfft, what's foul play?” She grinned.

“I choose this place to fight because I knew you would pull a trick. Seeing that I was not mistaken only proves my skills over yours.” Dyarl waved her goodbye as he walked away. “I hope that you did not hit your head too hard, I wouldn't want you to forget your bet.”

“Yeah yeah! You can teach him whatever you want!” She sat back down, muttering under her breath “Not like that's anything to do with me.” She chuckled. A drop of rain knocked her on the head, grey clouds were gathering in the sky.

Markus stopped on the hilltop. In the far distance he could see a large city, built in rings around a tall green hill.

“My goodness! There it is!” Henrietta leaped up behind him and pointed. Gerald and Lirina were much more relaxed, welcoming the chance to rest.

“So Mister Markus, how much longer?” Gerald asked.

“About an hour or so to...” Markus was interrupted when four men came passed. They were dressed in light armour with backpacks of travelling equipment. “Hey! You're scouts aren't you?” Markus called out to them.

“We've no time to speak; and urgent matter needs our attention.”

“What's going on?” Gerald leant on Markus' shoulder, without noticing his annoyance.

“An important foreign ambassador was en route to the Mount, and has not shown up. His guard was found dead; stabbed in the back.” Once the man had explained, everyone looked shocked.

“I'm guessing that the council is in an uproar over this.” Markus scratched his head.

“If that's true, we might have a hard time trying to speak with them.” Lirina told him, remaining stern. Markus turned to her and replied.

“But heading back now would be a wasted effort.” Markus remarked. The scouts left them, taking a near side road towards the coast, only Gerald and Henrietta seemed to notice. “So we shall press on.”

“Very well, but please allow me to decide on our actions once we arrive.” Lirina turned around to tell the others, only to find they had already gone ahead. She was dumbfounded, but then quietly followed behind. Gerald and Henrietta were chattering merrily, lightly pushing at one another and laughing. Markus and Lirina walked silently, listening to happy couple.

“Is there a problem mother?” Markus' looked at her sorrow filled face.

“It's nothing dear, I was just thinking.” She changed her face into a soft smile.

“About father?”

“Well, more than just that... he's still alive, the King.” Her eyes gazed into the sky longingly. Markus turned away to hide his suspecting expression.

“Of course he is, no matter what happens.” He smiled, but it only made Lirina more uneasy.

Once they reached the city gates, a pair of guards approached them.

“Due to recent events you will be required to hand over all arms to us.” They both extended their hands out to collect. Markus took a small dagger from his belt and gave to the guards; Henrietta and Gerald opened up their coats, their bags and pulled their pockets out, showing the guards they possessed no weapons. “Very well, you may move on. Have a nice day.” They both stepped back and saluted.

The city was crammed with activity in every corner. The main street circling the city was full of market stalls, selling fruit, fish, wines and exotic trinkets from everywhere. People flocked for bartering and auctions: screaming, cheering, yelling and shoving.

“Markus and I will head towards the council manner district, you two can look around for a while and do as you please.” Lirina stood in the centre of the group as she commanded them. “We will meet up at this gate in say... four or five hours.”

“Yes Your Highness!” Henrietta exploded into joy, grabbing Gerald's arm and dragging away. “Come on dear, we've got to hurry before the best buys go.” Gerald's attempts to resist were futile. She started off a stall which had no crowd; the table was full of hand made wooden ornaments. After a short glance at each, Henrietta found one that tugged her eyes: a sitting dog with it's tongue sticking out.

“Oh much for that one?” She asked the shopkeeper who hid his eyes behind a large hat. She pulled out a small sack from the side of her backpack.

“Erm, dear, I thought you wanted to buy...” Gerald tugged on her arm, but she did not notice.

“Fifty five orihal.” The shopkeeper interrupted, making sure his customer listened to no one else.

“For that! Blind robbery!” Gerald shouted.

“These are finest around, imported all the way from the north of Linisiu.” The shopkeeper picked up the dog and turned it upside down “You can see fine craftsmanship and this little mark here is the signature of Ceite Zileca, he's famous you know.” Henrietta raised her eye brow and paused for a moment.

“But Zileca is a charcoal artist. Five orihal!” She smiled, but despite her non threatening look the shopkeeper back away and drop the statue; breaking it on the ground. “Oh, it's broken!” She walked away, and after a shake of his fist, Gerald left the shopkeeper in a state.

After a short walk passed the stalls of bread and oddly shaped fruit, they came out an outdoor book shop. The air was full of dust and the smell of decay. Henrietta started lifting books from their piles and reading the titles.

“Advanced Study of Constructs... Saints of the Second Era... Laphal's Study of Tasceran Caverns... ” She flicked through the pages of each. “My good, this place is a mountain of treasure.”

“Pick two!” Gerald put his foot down. Henrietta sighed, placing the first two books back. The shopkeeper of this stall was relaxing behind a tower of books.

“Excuse me their Sir,” Henrietta approached him, holding the last book against her chest. “you wouldn't happened to have The Encyclopaedia of Ceran History: Volumn Three?”

“Aww... I've got it somewhere.” The tall, greying man got up off his chair and started checking the books surrounding him. “This might take a while Miss.”

“Well I won't be waiting here. Come on dear, we can come back later. I want to see some sights.” Gerald said, waving the old dust away.

“You can go alone, I'll stay here.” She grinned, but Gerald just looked around at the landscape of pages, confused by her enjoyment. He back away slowly. Henrietta helped the man with the search for the lost book.

“Aha! It's here!” The man pulled it out from a underneath a large pile that collapsed on top of him.

“A-a-are you...” Henrietta's face was red with laughter. They both started cleaning up the mess when two men, wearing brown leather and chainmail came into the shop.

“How might I help you two.” He was intimidated by their tough stature.

“Mister Galvin, the Department of Funding has sent us here because the payment of your taxes is long overdue now. I believe you know the rules: pay up or we have no choice but to seize your property.”

“But but I paid them before harvest season! You can't do this, I-I-I want to see some identification!” Galvin trembled, waggling his finger at them two men. The pair drew out scrolls from their belt pockets, and held them in Galvin's face.

“Stamped orders from both the Department and the Arms.” They grabbed Galvin by his arms and dragged him out of the stall. “You and your friend will have to wait 'till we've got what we came for.” They pushed him away, bringing him to his knees.

“I'm not going anywhere!” Henrietta stood firm when they soon approached her, placing her backpack on the floor. The left man reached for her arm, but she resisted with a push back.

“Listen Miss, if you don't step out we have orders to use force.” The other man gripped the sword on his back; however, she still refused to move. The man drew his sword and placed against Henrietta's neck. She ducked and sidestepped away, tripping the swordsman up with a swing of her leg. Before he could even hit the floor, Henrietta leaped towards him and chopped his wrist; sending the sword flying across the stall.

The second man drew his sword and slashed at her. Each furious attack was dodged, but Henrietta soon found her self back up against the table. The man grabbed her by the throat and lifted off her feet.

“Now then Miss, are you going to come along quietl...” He shrieked when Henrietta dug her nails into his naked hand; drawing trickles of blood. She pried herself free, gasping for air. The attacker shook his bleeding left hand and swung his blade again. Henrietta span around, collecting a book off the table and blocked his sword, which had now wedged itself in the book. As the man struggled to unlodge his weapon, Henrietta lent forward and struck his chest flat with her palm.

Both of the men had now been bested, though they did not surrender. They launched their next attack together. Though their blows still could not connect, they surely had her on the ropes. She panted and stumbled. Henrietta flung her white coat and threw it at the pair. The distraction gave her time to leave the stall into the open street, where people stood far back and watched: some cheering, some panicking. The men charged again, thrusting their swords; but she dodged still, with back flips, twists and twirls. A small troop of armoured guards rushed to the scene.

“Halt!” One shouted. They drew their swords and spears to threaten the trouble-makers, who stopped their battle. One of the two swordsmen sheathed his blade.

“Guards! This woman is defying our legal orders, take her away!” He whipped out his form and showed it to the guard captain.

“We'll have to ask all of you to come with us.” The guards surrounded them, closing in around them. The two men came peacefully, bowing in respect of the law. Henrietta rushed around, trying to escape; but their was no opening. She relaxed and let a pair of guards bind her hands, she sighed. The crowd broke away, except for the odd strangler who gawked at the events. Galvin had pulled himself off the floor just in time to testify.

“Please guards, this is all my fault, really. These men were being very forceful...” his voice was weak, and his fingers twiddled.

“Perhaps you should come with us to the office as well.” The guard responded. The whole group stepped down the street.

The road Markus and Lirina travelled slopped up the hill, the buildings appeared to get grander with each pass. The finest guards patrolled the streets, their movement unnerved the pair.

“I believe that's their meeting place.” Lirina pointed to a large stone building. “It doesn't seem busy now.” They both came before the door guards, who stared at them though their helmets.

“I am Prince Markus of Searan, I wish to enter.” The guards looked at each other. “Is there are problem?”

“You don't look like a prince.” They chuckled. Makus looked down on his clothes.

“It's nothing to worry about dear. I will be able handle this by myself. You would do well to buy some clean clothes.” She laughed when Markus' face scrunched up. “Oh don't worry dear! Go and enjoy your day, my treat.” She handed Markus a small bag of coins and sent him on his way. Lirina then addressed the guards.

“You will allow me to meet with the Council.” She bowed. The guards were about to respond when she took off a pendant which was hidden under her clothes. It too the shape of a small orb covered with gold and ebony.

“I am Lirina Horuston, Queen of Searan and Lady of Pelius. I believe this should suffice as proof of my heritage.” She handed the pendant over for inspection. After their examination of her heirloom, they handed it back and opened the two wooden doors.

“Right this way Milady.” The halls were covered with dark polished wood and red velvet carpets. They directed her to a row of chairs that sat outside another pair of doors. “You will have to wait there until someone else comes to assist you, I shall alert the office immediately.”

“Thank you.” Lirina sat in the middle of five chairs. The two guards left in opposite directions. Lirina rested back for a while before noticing someone else was nearby. Ursula stared at her from a distance, trying not to be seen. “There's no need to hide. This is the day you've been waiting for all your life isn't it?”

“Hmph, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Ursula approached and down a chair away from Lirina. “I'm surprised you didn't bring anyone else with you. I mean, I can understand why you wouldn't want to bring that half-wit you call a son, but surely you didn't intend to just walk in here and talk us over.” She sighed mockingly. “But I guess it's natural for someone like you to think that way.” Lirina simply looked back and smiled.

“That's nice, but you'll find that no everybody have such spiteful minds.” Her voice was calm.

“With that attitude you're just wasting time here.” Ursula corrected her glasses, hiding her eye's behind the reflection of light.

“Come now, you can tell me what your real reason for this is.” When Lirina extended her hand in welcome, Ursula got up and stormed away. “That's a shame, I was hoping you'd have kept me company for longer. Shall I tell Dyarl you said hello?” Ursual turned on her heel.

“No you shall not! Now if you don't mind, some of us do important work around here.”

“How nice, you sure have come along way.” Lirina widened her smile, sending Ursula away flustered.

Down the slopping road, Markus meet a familiar person. Gerald walked up and patted him on the shoulder.

“What a surprise, I thought you were busy.”

“They wouldn't let me in.” Markus clenched his jaw.

“Why... I couldn't imagine why.” Gerald chuckled as he inspected Markus' rags.

“YES! I'm going to get it sorted! Don't you have a wife half your age to tend to!” Markus shouted, but Gerald laughed hearty.

“Oh, she'll be fine.” Gerald patted Markus' shoulder a few more time, almost forcing him to his knees. “I'm sorry, I guess being kicked out bothered that much huh?”

“Not really, I was never really taught about politics... but that's not the point!” Markus strolled down the street with Gerald, keeping a look out for any interesting shops as they entered the commercial district. Each stall sold everything from everywhere. “Jeez, no where else in the world does so much junk come together in one place.” He wandered to a stall at random, and started eyeing items. “Who would buy things like this?” he picked up a lute from the table with both hands. The wood was smooth, but covered with dust.

“A fine looking instrument that is.”Gerald look over Markus' shoulder to admire the lute's artistic craftsmanship. “I've got an uncle who can play one of those.”

“That sounds wonderful, maybe I should buy this then.” Markus grinned, but Gerald was confused, scratching his head as he wondered whether Markus had meant it. “No...” Markus put the lute down, waking up the tired old lady who owned the shop.

“What'd you want you brutish knuckle heads?!” She shook her fist at the pair.

“Nothing dear, you just go back to keep to keeping a vigilant eye on things.” Markus sniggered.

“Oh I am! Don't you worry about that!” The woman leant back on her chair and shut her eyes. Markus rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Maybe we should just leave her alone.” Said Gerald. Markus walked away from the shop, putting his hands into the pockets of his coat. As the pair continued forward, the crowds of people became larger, and ruder: bumping together and shoving their way past each other.

“Did you see what happened near 90b...” gossip spread among the people like wildfire, it filled the air and choked Markus and Gerald. When they could take it no more, they started asking around for what the talk was about.

“Oh, something happened at the bookstore at 90b, I hear some girl had a fight with a pair of tax-collectors. I think the guards took them away.” A washer woman told Gerald. His face became red with fury, his teeth scrapped together.

“That woman!” Gerald roared. The woman who told him tried to back away, but Gerald was not finished. “Where would they have taken them?!”

“Oh, I think the it might have been the guard towers at 10b: the closest holding cells from 90b.” She hurried away. Gerald stormed off like a rouge beast, the people who bumped into him were quickly blown aside. Markus followed behind, smiling curiously.

“Surely you don't think she could fight off a bunch of men now do you?”

“Listen lad, I'm going have to go alone. You mind splitting?” Gerald did not wait for an answer, speeding down the road. Markus stood and watched, rain dropped from the sky and hit him on the nose. The droplets became showers, and people began fleeing into buildings and under shelters. Markus' rags became soaked, and water dropped from the end of his hairs. He splashed through the street, astounded by quickly the way had cleared.

Just when he was relaxing, a parasol hit Markus on the back of his head.

“Watch where you're standing boy.” Said the same old woman who he met at the store. She wore a tattered cloak, and her grey hair was tied back.

“Don't you have a shop to keep watch of?” Markus smirked.

“Ho ho, no need to worry about that. By the way, that shop with the red sign over there, you should find some nice new clothes there.” She walked around him and continued on her way, rambling and mumbling.

“Hold on, how did you...” Markus reach his hand out, but the woman had vanished through the downpour and fog. He started snivelling and coughing, so on the advice of the old woman he headed to the shop on the right hand side with the red sign, Ilrei's Fine Clothing.

The store was full of clothe racks, a rainbow of styles. Taking his mind of this confusion, Markus browsed through the shop, his own clothes dripped on the wooden floorboards. Markus ended is browsing, not finding a single thing that caught his eye he sighed. An odd looking man in glasses approached him from behind.

“Greetings young Sir, is there anyway I could assist?” He asked. Markus leaped forward with fright. “I am Ilrei, owner of this establishment. I could not help but notice that you are having a hard time picking some new clothes out. Perhaps I could assist you.” Markus stepped away from the rack and shrugged, and Ilrei began inspecting his measurements with a tape. Markus span his arms so that his chest could be measured; while he waited he glanced around the shop, it was empty.

“Bad business as of late?” He remarked.

“Oh no, just the with the rain and people probably getting home before nightime, scared and all that.” Ilrei pulled the tape tightly across Markus' chest, speaking in a light-hearted voice.

“Of what?”

“Oh, it happened last night. I saw it with my own eyes: something was prowling the streets, and under the moonlight it had an eerie white glow. I was quite some distance way, so I couldn't make out it's shape. There wasn't any harm caused by this thing, but with the recent happening at Rephall people are getting very worrisome.” He took a breather while he took the length of Markus' arms. “Tonight is predicted to be a full moon, and some are warning that his might cause this phenomenon to have more dire effects.” Ilrei put the tape measure back into his waistcoat pocket. “all done, now you just wait and I'll pick out your perfect suit.”

Markus decided to take a peek out of the shop. The sky was clearing up and the sun was close to setting, bringing tones of orange that mixed with the dimming blues.

“I suppose we should be hurrying up.”

“What is the problem young Sir, you take those superstitions seriously?” Ilrei chuckled.

“Of course not!” Markus snapped. “But, I have places I need to be. Who could take such things seriously?”

“Heh, the local priests do, that's for sure. They've already sent a message to the temple in Vinceles, no doubt Jalinr and the King will discuss how if it fits into the Nine Illnesses and Blessings and Feltie's predictions...” Ilrei rambled on, even when Markus wandered away. “Aha!” He picked out a light gray top and a pair of black trousers. Ilrei brought the items over to Markus. “These should fit you just right, and they're made from some of the most durable material around.” Markus inspected the clothes, frowning slightly.

“Those look rather plain, don't you think?”

“Oh well, they're designed for travelling in mind. You look as if could use something to last. Atleast be a sport and try them on.”

Markus took the clothes into the nearest changing room and shut the curtain behind him. In the cramped space with a mirror on each wall Markus removed his coat and tattered top. In the mirrors two things caught his eye: the first being the scar he received from Elbenor, the next was a complete mystery. A marking could be seen upon his lower back, a small black rune. Markus attempted to rub it away with his old top, but it did not even smudge.

“Are you done yet young Sir?” Ilrei asked as he stood by the changing room. Markus stepped out, wearing the new trousers and shirt under his coat, carrying the old rags in his arms. “Splendid! Do you wish to buy them?”

“Y-yes... I'll take them. How much?” Markus stammered in confusion, taking out the bag of coins.

“Oh now lets see.” Ilrei pulls out a small list from his waistcoat pocket. “Together the cost should be seventy five orihal.” Markus counted in tens as he collected the money needed. Ilrei cupped his hands like a beggar and Markus dropped the money in: seven round brass coins and one smaller copper. Ilrei grinned. “A fine trip on the mountain I see.”

Markus left the shop without so much as a goodbye. He searched for any path that lead up the hill, but soon found himself being followed; the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing was never far behind. Markus slipped into an alley and waited to ambush his stalker. As the footsteps reached a crescendo Markus emerged from the shadows to surprise them, but he found himself on the end of a fist to the face.

“Oh, it was just you.” A woman laughed and panted at the sight of Markus falling to the ground. When he looked up he saw the one-eyed Northerner, the left half of her body was covered in mud.

“What happened to you? And what are you doing here?”

“Oh this? It's was nothing. I came here as fast I could 'cause I needed to speak to you.” She helped Markus on to his feet. “It's kinda important: I need to know what you me to do with... you know.” Markus turned his head, confirming that they were alone.

“I would of hoped you could have used your imagination there. It's a trifling matter, don't bother me with any further.” Markus dismissed her, but she would not leave. As Markus raced back up the slope, Elissa followed him in the distance.

Edited January 9, 2009 by Man of the Year!

[Shuuda]

Chapter Nine: Desunus' Rise.

In the dank, dark jail cell, Henrietta sat on the wooden bench with only a single ray of light from a slot in the wall for company. Water from the ceiling dripped onto her red clothes, and her hair was frizzing. A guard came to her cell.

“You've got a visitor. Do you want to speak with them?”

“No thank you,” she sighed. There was a clatter of metal when Gerald rushed in and shoved the guard out of his way.

“Oh no you don't! Guard, leave us!” his voice echoed against the stone walls. “We're talking, whether you like it or not!” He gripped the jail bars and shook at them. “What in blazes did you think you were doing?!”

“I...I...” her hands clamoured together.

“Did you forget what you promised?!”

“There was someone in trouble, I was just-”

“No excuses woman!” When he roared into the cell, Henrietta burst into tears. Gerald let go of the bars and lowered his tone. “Listen, you know what you did was wrong. If you can't stand by one small promise, then maybe this whole thing can't work. You understanding that?”

“Small? It's anything but small,” she sobbed into the palm of her hands.

“Are you even listening to what you're saying? You're not the only one who left people behind. This was your idea, and it was for the best.”

“But I miss them: Huan and Fen,” Henrietta stared at the ceiling, tears ran down her cheeks.

“Don't say things like that. Get some rest and I'll see if I can get you out,” Gerald left without waiting for a reply. Henrietta laid down on the bench and comforted herself.

Upstairs from the cells, a guard was hanging a set of keys upon the hall. Galvin sat on a wooden chair in the corner, folded up neatly. At table on the other side of the room were the two men whom had threatened Galvin before. The pair were silent, but they both kept a close eye on Galvin. When Gerald entered, everybody turned their attention to him.

“Listen you guys: I don't know what your problem is, but she doesn't belong here.”

“Our problem? She deliberately defied the law, she belongs to be locked up,” one of the taxmen rebuked.

“Oh c'mon! It's just a small scrap. I bet you're not even hurt.” Gerald came closer to the men. He started checking their faces for cuts and bruises. “Being beaten up by a girl! You lot are the worse set of brutes I ever met.”

“Is there a point to this?” the lone guard asked. “Sirs Aaron and Ethan are both mercenaries in service of the Department of Funding. They're members of the local guild and had permits to use force if necessary.”

“Alright, alright,” Gerald sighed, “what do I have to do to get her out?”

“If we are given certain details, we can release her temporally for a price.”

“And what price might you be askin' for?” Gerald reached into his pocket, bringing out a small bag.

“Well, unless census records on her can be provided, it won't happen.” The guard took a glance at Gerald's bag, it was surprisingly small to him. “I am afraid that even if details could be provided, the likely amount you have there will not be enough.”

“For cryin' out loud! If your collector boys weren't such thugs, nobody would be in this mess!” he shook his fist at Aaron and Ethan. They scoffed.

“I... was just thinking,” Galvin trembled in the corner. Though his voice was quiet, everyone hung on his every word. “I'll turn myself in, just don't get these others involved.”

“Don't try to to bargain with the law now Mister Galvin!” Aaron shouted.

“Now isn't that funny?” Gerald jested. “But really, just let her go; it's getting late.”

“You know the rules now!” the guard would hear no more of his moaning. “Now will you please leave; your visiting time is now over.” He pointed to an open door at the opposite side of the room from the stairs. Gerald rubbed his eyes and sighed. Aaron and Ethan stared at him with smirks on their faces.

“I'll be back, just you wait!” he stormed out of the building, mumbling foul words and slamming the door. Outside, Gerald leaned against the stone wall of the tower. He stroked his beard for sometime, watching the setting sun; the clouds were lined with ripples of pink. The tower he was at was not far from the gates, and much time had passed since he first came. He looked up the mount and the other two levels of the city, waiting for the others to return.

~

From the window of his small cozy inn room, Kalegar had a view of the city below and the ocean in the distance. The inn stood on the second level of the Mount facing south west, only a strip of pathway separated the building from the slope down to the base. It was mid evening and the sun was setting in the west behind the hilltops and trees. Lanterns around the city were being lit up by a lone guardsmen.

He was not alone in the room. In the white bed slept his young master. Though she was not asleep at all; she simply hid under the blanket and stayed still. Kalegar watched out the window; the street was empty, and from what he could see the base level was peaceful.

Just as Kalegar was about to relax, he saw something in the corner of his eye that made him sweat. At the end of the street, where the road turned off down the slope, he saw Varon traversing up the pathway. Kaleger backed away from the window, and reached to dowse out the lantern on the table. Once the room descended into darkness, Kalegar crept back to the window, checking where Varon was heading. When he directed his eye down the street, Varon was nowhere to be found.

“Who is it Rai?” Yenallesa sat up in bed.

“It's your uncle.” At the mention of him, Yenallesa held the blanket tight. “But don't worry Your Highness, I have a plan just in-” Kalegar stopped when he heard a sound, a creek and a quiet thud: footsteps approaching. The pair could not even breathe as the unseen figure grew closer with each step. There were two loud knocks on the door.

“Erm... who is it?” Kalegar held the grip of his sword.

“You ordered room service?” asked the voice of a woman.

“No! You must be mistaken.” The footsteps went away. They sighed in relief before continuing their conversation. “As I was saying: if he is looking for us, then we'll have to leave as soon as possible. There are temporary houses being set up near the city where we could hide out. We just need to get there without being seen.”

“That sounds alright.” Yenallesa got out of bed, wearing a white nightgown. She went to put on her red robes in the other room.

“You wish to leave now Your Highness?” Yenallesa nodded her head, packing her gown into a bag. They left the room, traveling down a set of narrow stairs. Outside they found themselves on the stone path, with only a railing on the other side.

It was early in the night, and the moon had not fully risen yet. The pair turned right from the inn, pacing their steps. The streets were empty, and an unease crept up their backs. Yenallesa looked over the railing; there was no movement to be sighted below.

“Why is this place so bare?” she asked. A soft wind blew her blue hair in waves.

“Please stay silent Your Highness,” Kalegar kept his voice down. “I've heard stories, but don't concern yourself with such trivial matters.” They moved on, keeping an eye over their shoulders. They saw nothing behind them; but as the moon shone rays of silver they felt a presence watching them. They quickened their stride, fearing to even breathe too loud. They reached a point where the path forked up and down the Mount.

Just as they were about to take the descending path, the wind picked up, and the pair were blinded by a gale. They looked forward again when the wind had slowed down. Varon stood before them, his face had a glare icier than the frozen wastes. There was a still silence between both sides; the lights of the street lanterns danced. Varon took a deep breath before reaching his hand out.

“Hand her over,” he commanded. But neither Kalegar or Yenallesa responded. When Varon took a step forward, they took a step back. This continued for five more paces before Varon came to a halt. “Both of you know that running will be fruitless. And you know that justice is inescapable; one way or the other. I will not ask this again: hand her over.”

“And... what will you do?” Yenallesa said.

“Do not worry. We shall simply do whatever can be done to cure your illness. You are the mastermind behind this treason; am I wrong?”

“No! No! It's not treason,” she flustered.

“Do not even be so foolish as to say you realise what you've done.”

“But my father, he wishes to take control on the sacred area of Cerldanil.” She clenched her hands.

“Your point?” Varon sighed.

“Cerldanil is land that no one should have possession of!” Yenallesa frantically shook her head.

“An island where a Saint was born is still just an island. I have known about His Majesties plans for while; though I do wonder where you learnt this from,” he paused. Varon took a moment to inspect Yenallesa's shocked reaction. “His Majesty is doing only what is needed to ensure our safety: Cerldanil will be of great use in protect our people if war were to happen. But this is not important now; perhaps once you accept your fate you'll tell me your reason for being here.”

“I'm not coming.”

“I thought I told you: it's inescapable.” Varon extended his arm forwards, and with his finger he drew a white rune.

Call forth the hunting snake,

Many prisoners may we take.

Twenty One: Serpent's Hold.

Yenallesa's body became constricted, and her hands were forced behind her back. The bonds were visible only by the creases in her robe. She wormed around on the floor, unable to break free.

“Lord Varon, let her go!” Kalegar drew the longsword from his belt.

“Sir Kalegar, stand down. You are merely a loyal knight; but, if you continue to threaten me, I will dispose of you.” Kalegar rejected his orders. With his left hand, Kalegar drew the hilt of the Isarona Sword. Varon drew his own sword and stepped forward in an offensive stance. Before they could engage in battle, the air between them was suddenly engulfed by an inferno. The air was scorched for a while before the fire calmed down, and finally disappeared.

“This is a funny site indeed,” said a man's voice, coming from behind Varon. They turned to face the mystery man; who turned out only to be Morgan, alone and grinning.

“You!” Varon pointed his sword at him.

“Come now, there is no need for that.” Morgan took a glance over Varon's shoulder. Yenallesa was still struggling, not taking notice of what was happening. “You should send them away; lest I embarrass you with tales of our own mischief.”

“Enough! I have no desire to be seen with the Order of Gearad,” Varon's tone was sharp. He turned to Kalegar. “Sir Kalegar, you will take her to the north city gates. And know that if you are not there when I return, you will surely regret.” Kalegar took heed, taking Yenallesa under his arm and backing away from the scene.

Varon and Morgan came together, one step at a time. The two finally stood face to face, they stared deep into each other's visage. After a short passage of time the two embraced with friendly arms. Both laughed and cheered. They soon released each other, still chuckling.

“This I can't believe!” Morgan slapped his hand on Varon's shoulder.

“It's been a long time, not since you and Cecilia's-” he came to an abrupt halt, “I... I didn't mean to-”

“Don't be sorry. She was a fine lady, it's can only happy to speak of her.” Morgan laughed, though Varon was still weary.

“What brings you out here?” Varon inquired.

“Oh me? Well, I was heading for Saint Jistine's Stump. I hear that recently, they have made some of their grimoires open to scholars.”

“I've heard this too, but I have already read them. They are rather basic compared to the Vinceles closed grimoires,” Varon explained. Morgan pondered this for a moment.

“Even so, if I can access them, I might find what I'm looking for,” he stroked his beard. “Although... with your help, I could get access to rarer texts.”

“Don't even think about it! Why do you even need them?”

“I need to do some reading on Pelior constructs and Muenmiasma,” Morgan answered. Varon raised an eye brow, but Morgan just smiled innocently.

“Well, I suppose it would do you no further harm to help you cheat your way to the answer one more time. I've read the closed grimoires, and I could share some knowledge.”

“C-cheat! I never... Yes, your help would be brilliant.” Morgan scratched his head, chuckling nervously.

“Well, you lead the way.” Varon put his sword away.

They travelled together, descending on a stone staircase down the Mount. On their left down the stairs, was a row of pole lanterns; flickering as the sky grew darker. There was no rail to hold on to, and many of the steps were covered with a slimy water. Once they had reached the base level of the city, they took a minutes rest.

“How much further?” Varon's breath was strained.

“It's in a nearby abandoned home.” Morgan continued on walking down the road; a slight stumble was in his step.

After a short journey through the curving street they reached a cosy looking bungalow made out of stone and thatch. There was a faint light inside that filtered through the gaps around the door; it sent a cold sensation down Varon's spine. Morgan opened the wooden door. They could see that the light filling the hallway was blinking on and off. They both stepped inside, squinting their eyes. Morgan directed Varon through the first door frame on the right; Varon rushed to shield his faces with his hands.

Sat in the corner of the room was Morgan's pet. She was playing with a blanket; quickly covering and uncovering herself. Her naked boded emitted a white glow; Varon could barely make out her figure. As he tried to make his way towards her, the girl giggled and waved her left hand franticly.

“Heeeellooooo!” she shouted, her voice was a soft monotone.

“Hah! I taught her to say that!” Morgan put his hand on Varon's shoulder. His own black armour was reflecting the light. “Isn't she just brilliant?”

“I can barely see it,” Varon had to shut his eyes. It was not until the girl covered herself again that he was safe from the surge of light. “Where did you find this thing?”

“Oh well, it was just in the north of Searan. She was wandering around some woods. Might you be able to shed some light on her.”

“I think she's doing enough of that on her own!” Varon sighed. “Does she always do this?”

“It began last night actually, and she was fine this afternoon,” Morgan explained.

“In that case, I have read of this kind of reaction before. Lunar synthesis: things linked to Muenmiasma draw energy from Desunus in the moon when it is more prominent in the sky. Tonight is Desunus' Rise, the night of a full moon. Meaning that the synthesis is at it's strongest.”

“Does this make her one of Muenmiasma's constructs?”

“This is interesting; but many things have this quality,” Varon remarked. “Though there is on test we could do.”

“Well what are we waiting for?” With Morgan's go ahead, Varon drew out his sword and slashed at the girls right arm. Even though she did not even attempt to dodge his attack, the odd girl was unharmed; the sword only pressed against her skin. “Are you mad!” Morgan pleaded. Varon ignored him, withdrawing his sword. Out of a pouch on his belt, Varon brought out an inkwell. He dipped his left index finger in the ink, and started drawing square patterns around the blade of his sword. From tip to hilt, his blade was covered in black lines. Varon then whispered an incantation.

Rustec Derinice.

The sword glowed. Varon attacked again, going for the same area. At first, the sword was still unable to cut through; but after some persisting force, it dug into her arm. The girl made no reaction, even when she saw her own arm fall onto the floor.

There was not a drop of blood spilt. Instead, a thick, black ooze could be seen inside both cut ends. Varon scooped the arm off the floor and inspected it. The oil like ooze was swirling around. Four tendrils of the substance rose out from the arm, each trying to reach the body. Varon clutched the ropes of oil and squeezed them together. The girl gasped in agony; leaping from the blanket. With her other arm, she pinned Varon against the wall.

“Stop this madness!” Morgan yelled, snatching the severed arm from Varon's hand. He offered it to appease the girl; who indeed took her limb back and held it in place. The two men stared as the glowing skin sewed itself back together. Once she had returned to one piece, the girl moved back into the corner with the blanket. Any trace of her outburst had vanished.

“You wouldn't happened to have a name for this thing?” Varon's breath was heavy.

“Oh, a name?” Morgan wondered, stroking the back of his head. “Amber!”

“Try harder,” Varon sighed. “Though this does settle half of the matter. What you have here is defiantly a construct, made using the model created by Muenmiasma. Though her mind is undeveloped, so I doubt that the Pelior herself was responsible for this. The only explanation for her origin I can think of right now is that a human created her.”

“A construct scroll? But-”

“Only five of the six were destroyed in the First Era: Muenmiasma had no part in the war like the rest of the Aurant.”

“But in order to hand that scroll down to a mortal, she would have had to make physical contact with someone. But according to what I've heard, her deal with Etustir forbids that.”

“Which could mean two things: that she has either broken that promise; or, that the scroll was in fact handed down to a mortal in the First Era, but it went unused and thus unknown... avoiding destruction.” Varon took a rest from speaking.

“A construct... that's a lot of... why do I get the feeling Master Forryver already knew this?” Morgan stammered. “I guess all that's left is to find whoever made her.”

“And destroy the scroll,” Varon added. “The scrolls were destroyed for a reason. The one who holds it could potentially wield an endless army. That is assuming, if they can master using; though your little friend gives me some hope.” He walked past Morgan, heading for the door. As he rubbed his eyes on the way out, he was stopped again.

“You're leaving so soon?”

“Of course: I must give this news to His Majesty.” Varon turned around, unnerved by Morgan's frown. “Forgive me friend, but His Majesty entrusted a task to me.”

“Is seeking the forgiveness you already have more important than old friends?” Morgan chided, waggling his finger.

“I never said that old friends could not join me,” Varon surrendered. Morgan lit up with joy.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, just keep your friend under wraps. I shall be waiting by the north gates, though not for long.” Varon left the building. The girl peered round the door, and reached her repaired arm out.

“Heeellloooo!” she waved, her glow melting into the street outside.

“I don't think that's gonna do it dear,” Morgan patted her on the head. “Come on, back inside. Let's see if we can't hide you somehow.” Putting is arm around her shoulder, Morgan lead her into a room deeper inside the house.

~

Markus and Elissa dragged themselves uphill; sweating and panting. The full moon was rising behind them, and the clear sky twinkled with stars.

“Why did you have to run?” Elissa moaned.

“Oh sh... shhh... shut up.” Markus collapsed to his knees. “We're nearly there... in fact, it's right over there,” he pointed to a building on the right side of the road. It was the same which he and Lirina had visited earlier. Markus stood back up, taking deep breaths. “You just wait here.”

“Should I go find a place to stay for the night?”

“No! We're leaving as soon as possible,” Markus answered, wearing a forced smile.

He walked up to the building, catching the attention of the two guardsmen. The men looked at each other, recognising Markus, but in comical disbelief over his return.

“Greeting again!” the left guard called.

“You two again? Allow me to enter!” Markus kept on walking, reaching for the door. The guards side stepped in front of him, and signaled Markus to halt with their hands. “Out of my way!” They did not move.

“Perhaps I could give them a good talking to,” Elissa said in a sweet voice, resting her chin on Markus' shoulder.

“Don't even think about it!” the right guard yelled. “In those clothes, it's pretty obvious your a Northerner. Maybe there's someone else you can pull some treachery on; but will just arrest you anyway.”

“Enough of this! Just move!” Markus shouted, shrugging Elissa off.

“I think not! Northerners and their associates should just go back to wherever they came from,” the right guard responded, pointing them away. Elissa stepped in front of Markus.

“Well, I can see only one reasonable way to settle this.” She reached for the sheaths on the guards belts, and drew their swords into her own possession. She passed one sword to Markus, and began threatening the guards. “Will you move now?”

“You're mad! We'll have you both arrested!”

“If you don't want to die, you'll come with me.” Elissa prodded them both with the blade point. She turned to Markus. “I'll take these two away, and make sure they're bound up.” She began to lead the two guardsmen away.

“Thank you.” Markus smiled. Elissa froze. Looking back; her face was blank.

“Thanking a crook; you're the worst prince I've ever meet.”

“I'm the only prince you've meet.”

“Which means you're the best and worst I've met,” Elissa laughed in return. She took the guards away.

Markus entered the building, keeping his sword low. In the forking hallways, he encountered many men and women dressed in fine clothing. They travelled in twos and threes, discussing the latest policies. Following the signs, he searched for meeting rooms. Eventually, he could hear the voice of his mother, coming from behind a pair of large doors. He reached for the handles, but another pair of guards stopped him.

“Cease! I'm afraid that you cannot interrupt a meeting without an urgent cause.” Upon sight of Markus' weapon, they both gripped their hilts. “The meeting is nearly over, so you may wait quietly here.”

“Goodness sake, is there a door here that doesn't take an hour to get through?” Markus stroked his face with his hand, relieving the stress. More voices could be heard behind the door. He could not make out any words, but they seemed to be yelling in anger. The voices died down, and a shuffling of chairs came. After a few more minutes, the doors opened. Lirina exited alone.

“Mother, they rejected us?!” Markus dropped his sword, rushing to comfort her. “Do not worry, it's only natural those backstabbers would be against us.”

“They said they would consider giving us a settlement.”

“They'll take forever to decide!”

“Aren't you pleased dear?”

“Of course I am; but I just cannot believe they'd listen to us so easily. How did you do it?”

“Easily? It's not important how I did it; what matters is that I did it.” Lirina held her face, laughing once. “We should find a place to stay for the night. Sir Jistine told me that most of the inns will be full, but there should be a spare room at the council accommodations. It should be enough for all of us.” They both headed for the building's exit.

“I suppose that could work. But you should go ahead, I'll gather the the other two.” Markus signalled to the nearest guard to approach. “My mother requires an escort.”

“No need to say anything more.” The guard bowed. “Come with me, My Lady. We shall find proper assistance.”

Once they were outside, the guard lead Lirina further up the mount. Markus stayed around for a while, wandering and waiting. After a short period, Elissa appeared from the shadows of the alleys on the opposite side of the street.

“You're back, good.”

“What do you want me to do with them two?” Markus pondered on the question, looking around at all the empty windows.

“I think it would best if you kept them from bothering me for as long as possible. I would not wish for them to get away and cause me more trouble,” Markus replied. Elissa stared at his troubled face.

“I'll get on it now,” and just as quickly as she came, she left.

After a trip down the city, Markus eventually reached the meeting place at the west gates. He looked around, finding Gerald, still leaning by the nearby tower. As Markus ran up to him, he could see that Gerald's eyes were half closed. Markus had to clap three times before he was able to bring him back.

“Oh... Mister Markus, I was just taking a break.”

“There has been a change of plans: we'll be staying in the city tonight.” Markus glanced around again. “Will your better half be joining us?”

“Oh, well I suppose not,” Gerald mumbled.

“Trouble with the law? I didn't think she had in her?” Markus laughed, slapping Gerald's arm. He was knocked away with one great push; Gerald face looked furious. “What was that for? It was just a joke.”

“Forgive me, but I don't feel like laughing about it,” said Gerald. “Shall we go now; there's no point waiting here.” He wandered away, not caring about where he was meant to be going. Markus chased him, giving Gerald a nudge in the right direction. “On second thought: I'll go back to the camp.”

“It's dark.”

“Well we don't want Mister Dyarl worrying about us now do we.”

“No... we most certainly don't,” Markus sniggered.

“I'll be leaving anyway; I didn't plan on staying here too long.” Gerald turned on his heel and headed for the city gate. “Don't worry Mister Markus, I'll be fine.” Markus stopped following him, knowing he could sway Gerald's large body. He sighed, irritated by the waste of time.

On his way back, Markus was sighted by another man.

“Well here's someone I didn't expect to see!” Morgan called. Behind him was a cart being towed by a horse. The top of the cart was covered with a thick sheet. “The wayward Prince of Searan,” He cheered.

“The disgraced House Lord,” Markus rebuked. “Trading nobility for farming?”

“You like it? Just a little something a friend lent to me.” Morgan petted the horse's neck, stroking it's mane. Markus approached the cart, keeping a suspicious eye on Morgan.

“I was just joking. I've heard about you and the Order of Gearad,” Markus scoffed. “So what are you really up to?”

“You could say I'm doing a bit of smuggling.”

“Really... let's have a look,” said Markus, as he lifted the sheets. Rays of white light shone out, with intensity enough to blind Markus. He leaped back, covering his eyes. Morgan slammed the sheet back over the cart. “Goodness! What was that!?”

“What would it take to end this conversation?” Morgan had a hapless grin on his face.

“A lot, I assure of that. But really, what was that?”

“What if I told you something you'd really want to hear?”

“Very well, let's hear it. Gearad Secret keeper.”

“Do you know of a place called Velunir?” Morgan clasped his hands, warming them up.

“Of course, it's an ancient settlement where Norfer, Searan and Garollen meet,” Markus answered, becoming bored with the ongoing talk. For a still moment, Morgan said nothing. Markus yawned.

“Ah well yes. Within Velunir, an entrance to a network of caverns can be found-”

“Yes yes! And those caverns even link to Tascera,” Markus stated with impatience. “What kind of nonsense are you trying to fool me with?”

“Deep in the caverns, is a shrine to Avitasin,” Morgan explained. Markus pulled a peculiar face, a mixture of confusion and disbelieve. “In this shrine is scroll to summon constructs. Muenmiasma's that is.”

“Hold on just a damn minute! You don't expect me to sallow that rubbish? I mean, I've heard bad stories, but you just love the sound of your own voice.”

“So it doesn't interest you?”

“No, though what you have here does indeed,” Markus remained adamant. Morgan continued to avoid the question of the cart. He spotted another figure walking towards them, carrying a tainted sword.

“Oh look at that!” he pointed. “A Northerner down here.” Markus turned around to face Elissa.

“Elissa, what are you doing here?” Markus looked down at her sword, and rushed to her ear. “You killed them?” he whispered.

“I did what you asked: stop them from bothering you for as long as possible. If I didn't, then they'd break free eventually and come after us.” Markus grabbed hold of her, trying desperately to hide the bloodied sword. “Besides, it's their fault. If they didn't want to invoke your wrath, they wouldn't have been in your way.”

“Don't put this on my shoulders.”

“It's on ours,” Elissa smiled. Markus shook her by the arms.

“I never told you to do that!” he shouted.

“Yes you did, you just didn't think about it that hard.”

“Then why didn't you say something?” Elissa looked back at him with some confusion.

“'Cause I thought it was a good idea. You didn't seem so bothered about it with that Jaeri person.” Markus let go of her, turning back towards Morgan. He had vanished. Markus was was infuriated, yelling for Morgan to return. “Forget it Markus, he's gone,” Elissa was inattentive in her reply. Markus shook her around again.

“Didn't you see where he went?”

“No, I was listening to you.” The answer only caused Markus to grip her harder.

“Are you going to blame me for everything?”

“You're the one who's blaming me for all of this,” Elissa remarked. Markus threw her aside and stormed away. Elissa stroked her bandages and sighed, her face was locked in a wistful frown. She soon snapped out of it, rolling her eye. She turned away from Markus and wandered off in the opposite direction.

~

Markus had made his way half up the mount. It was close to midnight, and the full moon shone down upon him. A group of guardsmen were patrolling the area. It appears as though they were searching for someone. Markus was unnerved by them, but he decided to approach one of them.

“Excuse me there,” he said, “do you know here I might find the council accommodations?”

“It's near the top. Just keep going up, and you should see a sign.”

On that direction, Markus continued up the road. He found his destination near to the top of the mount: A wide building with many rows of windows. Inside the building was a reception area, with smooth, polished wood from floor to ceiling. Though Markus was too preoccupied to notice. His eyes were still strained from the blinding light he encountered earlier.

At the desk in the centre of the room was a man in fine black clothes and glasses. The man offered assistance to Markus with a welcoming smile.

“Are you looking for somebody, young Sir?”

“Yes, I am looking for a woman called Lirina.”

“Aha, you must be Sir Markus,” the receptionist extended his hand for a shake. Markus reject it. “Her room is number thirty four. Though I must ask you to keep the noise down and not to disturb the councillors staying here.” He pointed to a corridor to his right.

Counting down the doors as he paced past, he found number thirty four. Inside, Lirina was sat by a window, looking down on the city. She nudged her head slightly to put Markus in her sight.

“Forgive me mother, it would seem I wasted my time.”

“The others are not going to be here?”

“Well, Gerald is heading back to the camp, and his wife is behind bars,” Markus chuckled. Lirina gave him an irritated glance. “But you'll never believe who I met. Morgan Helgrane.”

“Goodness! I haven't seen him since the wedding. I wonder if he's as every bit handsome as he was back then,” she blushed.

“Mother!” Markus was shocked, never hearing such words from her.

“Oh relax. Those three would always argue over a woman,” she giggled, as though she were twenty years younger. Markus closed the door behind him, still pulling a puzzled face.

“Those three?” Markus wondered. He removed his coat and flung it to the floor, then threw himself onto one of the two beds, giving out a breath of relief.

“It's nothing,” Lirina frowned, “it was a long time ago.” The room was faintly lit by a candle from the corner of the room, and from the moonlight coming from the window. She continued to reminisce by the window, running her finger across her wrinkles. Her eye was suddenly caught by something outside. It was Elissa, rushing past the building despite the struggle versus the uphill direction. Lirina was quick to suspicion, glancing back at Markus.

“Is there a problem, mother?”

“I was just wondering, about those Northerners.”

“Don't concern yourself about them.” Markus remained laid down on the bed.

“Well, one of them at the camp is always giving me a most vile glare. The woman with them is a bit suspicious don't you think?”

“I'll just ask Jason to have a word with them. They're just a bunch of savages.”

“You seem to be spending a bit of time around that woman,” Lirina said, using a sharper tone. Markus perked up.

“It's just a small exchange.”

“With a 'savage'?”

“Yes. It's a shame, but she's got something I need,” Markus laughed softly. He tried to sit up, though his body was worn out. Lirina stared at him, disturbed slightly by his light attitude.

~

At the northern gate of the city, Morgan lead his cart to the small group ahead. Varon was the first to greet him, asking what took him so long, with the threat of leaving early. Morgan scratched the back of his head and guffawed.

“Sorry old friend: I ran into a spot of trouble, that's all.” Morgan glanced behind Varon, introducing himself to his other new companions. Yenallesa, who was still bound by a spell. Her face was slumped in a hopeless scowl. Kalegar kept hold of her, positioning her upright.

“Why hello there!” Morgan called.

“Ah, greeting Sir,” Kalegar smiled. Yenallesa would not even lift her head until Varon ordered her to remain well mannered.

“Hello Sir... pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Your Highness.” Morgan waved to them. “So, shall we be heading off now?”

“I need to collect something elsewhere before we go to Vinceles and-” Varon was interrupted by a shuffling in the cart. “I hope you don't intend to keep in there for the whole trip.” Morgan twiddled his fingers and averted his eyes. “Your folly will the death of me,” Varon groaned.

“It's just 'til the moon sets. Trust me.”

Kalegar kept a close watch on the cart. He had already placed much mistrust in the man in black armour.

“Your Highness,” he whispered, “do you know that man?”

“I think that's Lord Helgrane.”

“A House Lord?” Kalegar made sure they were not listening.

“He was. I think he's a friend of my uncle.” Kalegar moved closer to her, cupping his hand around her ear.

“What do you wish to do now Your Highness?” he awaited. Yenallesa lowered her head again, sullen.

“I... I need time to think.” she sighed.

“Of course, just tell me when you feel ready.” The cart clattered around and began moving. Morgan walked beside the horse with Varon following behind. Kalegar had lifted his princess onto the back of the cart. They left the city, travelling under the sign of a three headed serpent. Desunus had passed his peak in the night sky, and was beginning his descend.

Edited February 19, 2009 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Ten: Mockery to Existence.

Arhen slugged through the saturated mud, the wet grass brushed the end of his robe. In the distance was a tiny hamlet of ten shack like houses. The only prominent building was a tower in the centre where the soldiers of Garollen patrolled. Arhen looked up into the sky, it was grizzly and grey. He panted as his old legs began to fail him.

As Arhen entered the hamlet, he was spotted by a soldier who rushed to assist him. Just Arhen was about to collapse, the soldier put his arm around him to act as support.

“Sir Grimfold, are you alright?” he asked. Arhen clenched his chest, slowly catching his breath.

“Thank you kind Sir. Things got too muddy, so I had to leave my horse behind at the last stop.”

“You should have waited Sir. Come, I'll help you to the tower.” Together they carefully made their way to the door of the stone tower. On the inside, the soldier placed Arhen down onto a bench, where he then sat beside him. “What brings you out here Sir?” Arhen leaned his head against the wall, still breathing heavily.

“I came to find somebody. A Kurchikan who's stationed with this group.”

“Ah, I know who you mean. He's currently keeping watch on top. Shall I call him down for you, Sir?” The soldier stood back up, awaiting orders. Arhen nodded his head. The soldier saluted and headed for the ladder at the other end of the room. As he waited by himself, Arhen watched as others wandered in and out. They waved and smiled as they passed him.

A different man descended down the ladder. He had wild black hair and a tan complexion. He wore the same armour the others wore. He appeared to be in his mid twenties. Arhen dragged himself to his feet, and offered a handshake.

“Greetings, you must be Kek' Haukea. I am Arhen, Arhen Grimfold.” The soldier grinned, grabbing Arhen's hand and shaking with great force.

“Aha! I see you know much of my people, Arh' Grimfold Sah. It's good to meet you,” he said, with a welcoming voice. “So, what'd bring you here?”

“Well, I've heard a few stories-”

“About my victories back with the tribe. Well, you heard right, the name of Haukea is known across the Ice Plains. Many great foe have killed by my hand, like my father, and his father. But, since my tribe has long since allied with your people, great foe are hard to come by in my time. So now, I'm here, putting my skills to a higher purpose. But enough about me, no doubt there is some favour you want from me. Ask away friend, my ears are wide open.”

“Well, in case you haven't heard, Lieutenant Nolman tragically passed away. So-”

“You want me to take his place!” Haukea wrapped his arm around Arhen and laughed. “I'm surprised you didn't come to me sooner! I mean, who better to replace our good Ran' Nolman Diah than I?”

“Well, that's-”

“There's nothing to fear, Sah. I do not need to meet face to face to understand our Seb' Elbenor Diah. He's clearly a person who'd spots the talents of myself. This is why he has sent you, no?”

“Well actually House Lord did not send me to you particularly. She wishes for me to find a suitable replacement for Sir Nolman.”

“Sah, I don't know which Elbenor you come from, but you are clearly mixed up!” He laughed again.

“I believe there is no mix up on my part,” Arhen said. “But if you come with me, I'm sure our House Lord will judge you herself.”

“Of course, no point waiting around for my promotion, you joker you.” Haukea raced to the door, full of excitement. Arhen stumbled behind as they travelled past the shacks.

“Wait up!” he shouted. “I'm weary old man, let me have my rest.” Haukea skidded in the mud and ran back to Arhen. He grabbed Arhen and lifted him into is arms. “Goodness! Are you so desperate!?” Arhen gasped.

“You want me to take his job, don'tcha?”

“Willpower is a blessing; so is wisdom my friend.”

“And I bet no one has more wisdom than Arh' Grimfold Sah.” Haukea bellowed with praise. Arhen was flattered by the compliment, but he was also unnerved by his companions one-tracked mind.

“Thank you very much er... Sah, but my wisdom tells me that we should rest and eat before setting off.” Haukea was blank at the suggestion for a while. “A healthy meal will do us all some good.”

“Ah true, but old men don't need to worry about eating healthy... they need all preservatives they can get.” He performed a heel faced turn back to the tower. “But if you think we should, I guess it wouldn't hurt.” He let Arhen back onto his own two feet, but still kept an arm firmly over his shoulder. As they walked back to the tower, the soldiers they passed tried to hide their moans.

~

Shinzou lay on the grass around the camp, twiddling a stalk in his mouth. He swayed from side to side, barely able to keep his eyes open. It was until it was a metre away before he noticed the horse, trotting right towards him. He rolled out of the way, only inches from being trampled. Getting back up, he saw that the horse was pulling a cart. It travelled with many unfamiliar faces, apart from one.

“You!” Shinzou drew is sword, pointing at Varon.

“I beg your pardon, but might I ask what this is about?” Varon did not even look at his attacker. Morgan watched with an unsurprised expression. Kalegar and Yenallesa had leaped off the cart, panicking.

“You don't remember huh?!”

“Much dirt has this horse pounded into the ground, I could surely not remember each piece.”

“Quit doin' that. You know what this is about, and you're back for more I see.”

“I merely came here to collect my servant. She is here, isn't she?”

“I wish not! That dog has been starin' at me ever since she got here!”

“Then, you won't mind if I took her from you?”

“Sure; that's if, you live 'til then,” Shinzou boasted. Varon still did not move, or even glance at him. “Fine, have it your way.”

Shinzou swung his blade, aiming for the neck. Varon dodged by ducking, and Shinzou's sword scrapped against the wood of the cart. Varon gripped Shinzou's sword arm, disabling is attack. He drove his fist into the gut of the Northerner, and threw him to the mud. The next thing he knew, Shinzou had his own neck at blade point. He snarled like an animal, but Varon did not back off.

“Stop! Please!” A approaching figure cried. Everyone set their eyes upon him. Mahlo raced to stop Varon.

“Oh, it's you,” said Varon, withdrawing his sword. Shinzou jumped back up, and attacked again. His blow was blocked by Morgan's spear.

“Now calm down, boy. I don't want to be killing you.” Shinzou redirected his fight to Morgan. He struck many blows, but none of them penetrated Morgan's armour. With a sweep of his spear, Morgan tripped him over. Shinzou reached for his sword, but Morgan kept it under his foot.

“Why do crawl out of your rock to help this rat?” Varon asked.

“Well... why would you care? Why wouldn't I help him?” Mahlo was shaken. Varon sighed as he made is way towards him. Mahlo tensed up, shielding his body with his thin arms. Without a single glance down upon him, Varon continued past, heading for the camp. Mahlo trembled so much, that he was unable to follow Varon with his eyes. He tried to shake himself out of it, when he realised that all the others were staring at him.

A shuffling from inside the cart caught the attention of it's two passengers, Kalegar and Yenallesa. When they tried to lift up the sheets, Morgan rushed over to distract them.

“Hold on you two,” he said, “it's really nothing to get worked up over. Probably just a barrel falling in there.”

“You're the one getting worked up.” Kalegar chided him, still holding onto the sheets next to Morgan. “I would very much like to see what you have under here.”

“Now now, let's not be hasty. It's just a few barrels.” Morgan grinned. Kalegar gripped the end of the sheet even tighter.

“And what's in those barrels?”

“Just the usual.”

“Really? Well I've been travelling with this cart long enough to know that your lying.” Kalegar's voice became louder. Morgan was set back, hiding his worry behind a wall of laughter.

“Come now boy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've got something against me.”

“Well forgive me!” Kalegar continued to scorn. “It's just that I am rather vexed about travelling with a House Lord, and his mystery package!” He turned to his Princess. “Your Highness, surely you cannot condone of this situation!” Yenallesa whispered mutters that no one could decipher.

Shinzou, pulling himself off the ground, listened in on their conversation. When he reached for his sword, he sighted Mahlo in the distance, still shivering. Without any hesitation, Shinzou ran up and gripped him by the shoulders.

“Get a hold of yourself!” He shook Mahlo, but could not gain his attention. “You're not gonna let that guy get you worked up are you!?” He slapped him across the face. Mahlo choked, waving his head as though he had woke up somewhere completely different.

“Shinzou?”

“What's the matter with you!?” Shinzou begged him answer. Mahlo shrivelled up, holding himself in his arms. “Why won't you just tell me!?”

“It's not important!”

“It doesn't look not important to me!” Shinzou gripped harder, breathing ever faster. “Why can't you just-”

“Get off! Just get off me!” Mahlo squirmed, forcing his friend back. “Why don't you just take all our stuff and go! One glance could tell that's the kind of person you are!”

“You-”

“I've got so little, what am I worth to someone like you!?” He panted, digging his finger nails deep into his skin. Shinzou stood wide eyed, his mouth gapped open. Without any warning, Mahlo was beaten to ground with one punch around the face. Everyone around the cart suddenly gave the scene their attention. Shinzou stormed away, leaving Mahlo shaken and bruised on the ground.

“Boy, are you alright!?” Morgan called, taking whatever chance to change the subject.

“Uh... I... I...” Mahlo curled up into a foetal position, coughing and shivering. Kalegar was the first to approach him, kneeling down to inspect the Northerner.

“He doesn't look that injured.”

“Well he has to be, or he wouldn't be doing that,” Yenallesa said. “So, what's wrong with him?” Mahlo covered his ears, and slammed his eyes shut.

“Looks like your uncle might have done something to him.” When he tried to place his hand on Mahlo's shoulder in a comforting manner, he sprang back up, gasping. “S-sorry! Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Mahlo sputtered, “I just need a little time. Yes, that's right.” He wandered off, in no distinct direction, stumbling every so often. Nobody followed him.

While the watch him leave, Morgan was checking inside the cart. The strange cargo was still sleeping, not a single stir.

“Well, isn't that the oddest thing I've seen,” Kalegar smirked, tapping Morgan's arm. Morgan jumped, struggling not to trip over. “I knew was only a matter of time until you couldn't hide it anymore. So tell me Helgrane, who's that?” Morgan drooped, with a peeved scowl. The awaited answer took its time to arrive. Morgan suddenly laughed, bellowing.

“I wish a certain someone I knew would take this kind of interest in the things I bring him!”

“Will you just get to the point!”

“I know what that is,” Yenallesa said, as she took her first look inside the cart. “It's a construct.”

“But how, Your Highness?” Kalegar inspected the construct further, tempted to touch her. “And, what's this man doing with it.” They both looked up to Morgan, narrowing their gaze on his sweating face.

“Now come on, what could little old me possibly be doing with her?” he said.

“You tell me?” Kalegar replied. Morgan pushed him softly, trying to move him away from the cart.

“Come on now, am I really that untrustworthy?”

“Will you just tell us!” Kalegar shouted.

Yenallesa was left by the cart, still fondly watching over. When the girl inside shuffled around some more, she petted her hair.

“Fine fine, I'll talk. Just stop being so pushy.” Morgan groaned. The other two flocked around him, keeping their ears wide open. “Well, just let me have some space,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. He began to once again retell his tale to his new listeners.

Kalegar and Yenallesa wore faces of disbelief as they stood and heard this story. When Morgan finished speaking, he flustered and sweated.

“You don't honestly expect us to buy that?” Kalegar frowned.

“You clearly have something against me, so no I guess I don't.” Morgan rolled his eyes and laughed in a patronising tone. Kalegar clenched his fist, seething.

“Your Highness, surely you can see this man is lying through his teeth.” Yenallesa looked away, reflecting on Morgan's story. She took another peek inside the cart, with both men awaiting a response. She placed her finger on her bottom lip and hummed. “Please, Your Highness. Surely you can see that you're not safe travelling with him.”

“No, it is I you should believe,” said Morgan, with a twinkle in his eye. Yenallesa hummed, avoiding eye contact with either one of them. “Not that it's of an consequence. Who's the one Varon is not angry with? Don't feel bad dear, but neither of you are in the place to judge me.” Yenallesa became listless when Morgan patted her on the head.

“Don't you treat Her Highness like that.” Kalegar drew his sword and placed at Morgan's neck.

“Come on, you're being unreasonable.” More sweat ran down his face. Yenallesa grabbed Kalegar's sword arm and begged him to stop. He sheathed his sword.

“He is the one being unreasonable. Varon as well,” he said. Yenallesa let go of him, keeping her eye fixed on the ground.

“I don't know-”

“Your Highness, you're not actually submitting to this are you?” Yenallesa shrivelled up.

“I don't think she's got a choice,” said Morgan. “I'm sure you both feel bad over this, but it's really for the best.” Kalegar glared at him, indicating to his sword. Morgan bellowed with laughter. “You must really hate me.”

“You and that little order of yours are nothing but a bunch of crazies. I don't know what you've got planned for this construct, but it can't be good!” Morgan pulled an innocent, but puzzled face.

“And... who would listen to a bunch of traitors like you?” He narrowed his eyes and posed a cheeky grin.

“That's a funny thing of you to say.” Kalegar's scowl grew. He drew his sword again.

“Come on, boy. What'd you think Varon will do if you kill me?”

“He's right,” Yenallesa said. “Besides, he's a friend of m uncle. And he wouldn't bring along if he couldn't trust him.” Kalegar threw down his sword with rage.

~

Dyarl stood at the entrance of his tent, listening to the complaints of two civilians.

“And I found that Northerner loitering around my tent, being loud,” said a stout, brown haired woman.

“And I caught the same one running around last night!” added the middle aged, bearded man.

“I see.” Dyarl tilted his head, sighing. “I'll have a word with them if you want.”

“I don't think that's gonna do it now,” said the woman. “The others are starting to worry about it to.” Dyarl fiddled with his fingers, glancing around the camp. He spotted Varon in the corner of his eye, and wasted no time to call out to him.

“Lord Vincent!” Varon redirected is path to approach him. “Is there something you wish to speak to me about?”

“No, Sir Dyarl. I'm here to find someone else.” He turned away, scouring the camp.

“W-wait! I'll give you a hand!” Dyarl evaded the two people, waving them goodbye. He stumbled next to Varon, who did not acknowledge him. “So, who is this person?”

“My servant. I doubt you ever noticed her.”

“I beg your pardon?” Dyarl looked around, trying to spot his mystery guest. “Why would you have left someone here?”

“To spy, what else?” Varon said. Dyarl raised his eye brow, crossing his arms. “There's no need for that. Her purpose here is over, and I'll be taking her now.”

“Well thanks Lord Vincent, I had no idea you trusted others so easily.” Varon said nothing, even though his arm was been shaken by Dyarl. “Aren't you even going to explain yourself.” Varon quickened his pace, shrugging his arm free. Dyarl kept up, continuing to pester him with questions. “You don't think you're just going to leave without out an answer, do you?”

A hand came down upon Dyarl's shoulder; his heart skipped a beat. He looked over his shoulder to find Gerald. He was cover with dirt and had bags under his eyes.

“Ah! Are you all back yet? Why did you take so long?” Dyarl asked, not realising that Varon had left him behind.

“No: I came alone. The others are fine.”

“That's good to hear, I suppose. But why did you come back?” Dyarl forced a weak smile.

“I need a favour from you.” Gerald kept a stern look on his face. “We should go somewhere private.” He began to lead Dyarl away, looking for any tent that was empty.

Once they had found one, Gerald began to speak again.

“There's a little problem down at the Mount. My dearest has been arrested.”

“What for?” Dyarl asked, a pang of disbelief was in his voice.

“She had a scrap with two mercenaries... or something like that.”

“How the heck did that happen?” Dyarl's jaw almost dropped. “You don't honestly expect me to believe that she started fighting with a couple of armed men like that?”

“You can come and visit her if you want.” Gerald and Dyarl were stood inside a small tent. “I swear it's the truth Mister Jason, which is why I need your help,” Gerald said. Dyarl arched his eyebrows, pondering.

“I'm not sure about this. I mean, I wish I could, but it's not really my place to partake in Jistine's law disputes.”

“I'm sure a well respected man-”

“In Searan.” Gerald stared down at the ground, grimacing. Dyarl put his arm over his shoulder. “Listen, if I could do something about it, I would.”

“I get it. No use sticking your neck out for folk like us.” Gerald walked out of the tent, moping. Dyarl paced in circles, mumbling. Soon, he too had left the tent, to search of Gerald. Instead he found someone else. Varon approached him, crossing his arms.

“Lord Vincent, what is it?” Dyarl asked.

“I'm unable to find servant. Perhaps there may be something you failed to mention.” Dyarl was astonished by the remark.

“Why don't you tell me who this person is?”

“Very well: she's a blond woman, with her hair tied back-”

“Ah yes!” Dyarl snapped his finger. “Have you asked... what's his name again, Sheno... Shinzou? Those two seem to be around each other a lot... it's rather unusual actually.”

“A Northerner's name I presume.” Dyarl nodded his head in response. “Fine, I'll find this piece of dirt then.” Varon took off again. Just as Dyarl was set of follow him, he found himself blocked off by a small group of civilians. Each one waved their hands, exclaiming their problems. Dyarl was swamped.

~

Shinzou charged around in the woods distant from the camp. He hacked his sword against any tree he came by, scaring the bark. He tripped on a fallen branch and fell onto the dead forest floor. Rolling over, he gazed up at the clouds. It was a bleak view, the sharp claws of wood reaching for the swollen clouds. A crackling noise made Shinzou rise to his feet, twisting his head around. Another crackling passed his ear. He could not seen anyone beyond the trees, so he hid himself and readied his sword. The noises soon became loud crunches and snaps. Shinzou peered his head left around the tree when the noises came to a stop; nothing was there. He rested against the tree and sighed, lowering his sword.

“Mister Shinzou?” called Annabel from the other side. Shinzou jump forward, choking.

“What the heck are you doin'!?” He grabbed her by the collar and snarled at her stoic face. “What'd you want from me?”

“Nothing, Mister Shinzou, I was just passing by,” she said.

“Well, that jerk came lookin' for you. So, I guess that means you'll be gone.” Shinzou's grin widened, his teeth scraping.

“That's nice, you're happy.” Shinzou violently nodded. “But I'm afraid that I cannot go with Master Varon.” When Annabel gave him a smile, his own collapsed. He could almost scream. He was so broken, he could not keep grip on her any longer. “Are you alright, Mister Shinzou?”

“I'm friggin' fine, you whore!”

“That's nice.” Annabel walked passed him, heading deeper into the woods. After a moment of heavy breathing, Shinzou followed her.

“Ain't you got somewhere to go, like home?”

“I told you, I'm not going with Master Varon.”

“Wwwwwhhyyyyyyy?” Shinzou rested his face into the palm of his hands, gibbering curses. “I thought you liked the sod!”

“I do, but he can't help.”

“Oh... I can help you.” Shinzou waved his sword over his head.

“Well, I wasn't going to ask but-”

“Ha! I knew it!” He ran up to Annabel and knocked her forwards. “So what'd you want off me, eh? Come on, don't act all nice. You've been followin' me round so you can get something. Spill it!” Annabel smiled.

“Well, it's not much. I know that you and your friend were collecting some mushrooms, so I was wondering if you'd make some-”

“You want some of that stuff? Sezazo's potion?”

“Whatever you call it, yes please.”

“Well, I could ma- wait! Why should I make anything for you?” Shinzou spat on her feet. “I've got my own problems.” He pushed Annabel aside and rushed off.

“Ah, wonderful problems. Someone like you can't be happy without them.”

“What'd you mean?” Shinzou turned around and pointed his sword at her. Annabel wandered away, not responding. “Wait! Didn't you want something from me?” he asked, scratching his hair.

“It doesn't matter.” She disappeared behind a pair of trees, a light mist shrouded her path. Shinzou backed away, leaving the woods.

On is way out, he bumped into someone else. Elissa pushed him aside, yawning. Shinzou grabbed her by the arm and tugged her back.

“Well look who showed up. What happened to you?”

“It's nothing.”

“Oooooh?” Shinzou's grin appeared more crooked than usual. “You know, people around here don't know you that well, so they might be getting the wrong idea. But don't worry, I know what you're up to.” Elissa shoved his grip off, and continued onwards. “So, where are you goin'?”

“Not now! Whatever it is that's bugging you, just go and do something about it. I'm not here to make you feel better.” Shinzou was set back, snarling like a hound. “Aww, what's the matter? Lil' Shin all alone now? No dopey sister, or is it skinny who's the problem?” She giggled. “Well, it's not like I wanted you to come with me, so there's nothing stopping you from going home.”

“Pah! Least I'm not a useless leech, like you!” Shinzou taunted her with a sharp, ear burning cackle. Elissa frowned. “Aww, what's the matter? Not so smug anymore?”

“Whatever.” Elissa walked away, leaving Shinzou smirking.

“Is there something you two are up to in 'ere? Stupid women.” He stroked his chin, continuing to back out of the woods. He sat down on the grass along the outskirts, sighing and gazing at the camp. A voice ran through his mind: the voice of a small girl, asking him endless questions. He rested his face into the palm of his hand.

~

Varon patrolled the camp, keeping an Eagle eye out for any Northerners. After on clockwise trek around, he found none of them. He quickened his speed, turning his head in every direction. More frustrated rounds later, he spotted Mahlo wandering near the outskirts. When he saw Varon walking towards him, Mahlo tried to back away.

“I'll thank you to keep still when your superior wishes to address you,” said Varon. Mahlo gulped, but remained steadfast upon orders. “Your name?”

“Mahlo, Tursasha.”

“Now tell me where your worthless friend is.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't know.” Mahlo lowered his head in sorrow. “He went off after... well-”

“And where would something like that go?” Varon tutted, stroking his chin. Mahlo opened his mouth to talk, but instead came different words than what he wanted to say.

“You shouldn't say things like that.”

“Oh? And what reason is there to consider that mockery of existence anything other than dirt?” Mahlo paused for some time, planning out an answer. Varon grew tired of waiting. “Since you appear to be unable to give me a reason, I shall tell you this. Northerner's are a fools of the humanity. They are an insult to the very ancestors they try to emulate. The idea that my servant has been spending time with such people is nothing short of vile. I'd-”

“Hold on, you-you've got the wrong idea.” Varon narrowed his eyes and strangled him with his glare. “There's nothing going on with them two. I think Shinzou would be joyous if you were to take her back... I just think you're overreacting.”

“The form which their relation takes does not matter. My servants should know better.”

“You don't seem to know any better.” A smirk came to Mahlo's face. His throat was grasped by Varon's hand, and squeezed. As he was lifted off his feet, he tried to utter an apology, but Varon was deaf to his squeals.

“You are quite right, Mister Tursasha. Speaking to you is breaking my own principles. But, it's necessary for leaders to sink low for good of their subordinates.” He tossed Mahlo on his back. His expression was livid. “Now then, if you do not wish to have your already short life cut, then I suggest you help me find that worthless Northerner.”

Mahlo stood firm against Varon, even though his back was stringing. Varon sighed, extending his arm out and pointing. Sparks of lightening fray from his finger tips.

“G-g-go ahead!” Mahlo cried. Varon shot him with several bolts; each only gave Mahlo mild shocks. After two more, he was brought to his knees. He panted and stammered. “What's... this?” More bolts were fired at him. They came to a halt, and Varon began to watch silently. Mahlo fell upon all four, twitching and coughing. After a moment of recuperation, he stood back up.

“Hmm, so you do have a backbone after all.” Varon withdrew his hand. “Now, I'll ask you just once more: where would it have gone?”

“He's probably wandering somewhere distant from around here.” Mahlo struggled to usher the words. Varon let out a long breath, turning his head to inspect the landscape around them. There was a prolonged moment of silence as Varon pondered the situation. He finally decided to leave, walking past Mahlo in search.

Eventually, after a few minutes travel, Varon found himself a short distance south from the camp. His feet were surrounded by puddles and grass, and the tail of his hair was blown around by strengthening gusts. He took another look around, finding nothing but a racing hare over the hills.

Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, a figure emerged in the distance, the Northerner he was seeking. Varon headed towards him with haste, but when he grew closer, Shinzou began to flee. Varon also quickened in chase, though the mud slew him down. He aimed his finger at Shinzou, and began to draw a rune with his other hand.

Share the heart of the Celestial Wanderer,

Bask in the warm glow.

The thread of the Catalyst Conjurer,

Hold the planes with your sow.

Forty Five: Origin Grasp!

A fine, glowing blue wire shot from his finger tip, and travelled towards the target with incredible speed. When it reached Shinzou, it coiled around him. He drew his sword and tried to cut his way free, but the wire was tough as diamond. It contracted and ensnared him from head to toe, he could hardly breathe. It was not long until Varon caught up with him, staring down at the cocoon. Varon spread his hand above Shinzou and focused. The wire shattered, and Shinzou gasped for air as though he had almost drowned.

“Are you the vile worm that goes by the name of Shinzou?” After a period of heavy breathing, the captive Northerner finally spoke.

“No, I'm-” Varon pressed his foot down on his neck, tightening the passage of air.

“If you tell me where she is, I'll spare you,” he said. Shinzou tried to speak, but the hold on his throat choked him. Varon sighed, lifting his foot off him.

“She's in that place.” He pointed at the woods nearby. “You see?””

“That'll have to do.” Varon began towards the woods. Shinzou grabbed his sword off the ground and gave chase himself this time. The blue haired wizard turned around and pointed at him, muttering a chant. An unseen blast knocked Shinzou off his feet and face-flat into the mud. When he looked up, he saw Varon's sword was directly above his head.

“You bastard,” said Shinzou, spitting up mud from under his tongue. “What'd you do to Mahlo!?”

“Mister Tursasha? I said nothing he didn't already know. The bigger question is whether your life has any value to you?” He thrust his sword down; Shinzou rolled out of the way. Shinzou raced up and clashed blades with him. Neither could connect a blow, and they came to a stalemate. With his free hand, Varon blasted Shinzou far back. He began to draw a red rune and chant. Shinzou bounced back, scooping a ball of mud and throwing. The ball hit Varon's face, silencing his chant; the rune broke and vanished. Shinzou smirked and sniggered.

“All that magic, stopped by 'dirt'?” Varon wiped his face clean. The face uncovered was furious beyond control; Shinzou was frozen by it. The battled with blades again, Varon being on the offensive. As Shinzou backed up, he noticed the large dents being smashed into his blade edge. Though he blocked each attack that came, his body could take no more. His sword snapped in half, and he collapsed to his knees. As Varon was about to strike the victory blow, a voice called out to stop him.

“Master Varon.” Annabel came out from the woods, waving her arm. “I'm so glad I've found you.” Varon lowered his sword and returned to a calm disposition.

“Annabel, what have you been doing? I've heard some foul things.”

“Following your orders Master, I was keeping watch,” she said. Varon stared at her, expressing a slight disbelief in his eyes. “I came under the suspicion that this filthy Northerner was up to something no good.”

“You didn't need to follow it around to know that.”

“Forgive me, Master.” She knelt down and lowered her head. “How have you fared in your task?”

“It has been successful. I've found her and we shall be returning to His Majesty.”

“That's wonderful Master, shall we go now?” She got up and began to make her way back to camp. She quickly noticed that Varon was still stationary. “Master?”

“I shall be frank, I don't believe what you've told me.” He pointed his sword at Shinzou. “If what you've said is true, then you won't mind it if I were to kill it.” Shinzou looked right into his eye, seeing the pure intent to rid of him.

“Master, is that necessary?” She kept her face straight and serious.

“So it matters to you?” Varon pulled a victorious, satisfied smile. Annabel was speechless, though her facial expression was the same. “So tell me, does this hurt?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Are you that desperate to escape your prison?”

“Yes.” She twitched.

“That's tragic, but is it so bad for you?” Varon inquired further, barely paying any attention to whether Shinzou was still there.

“Master Varon, please. I know you mean well, and I know it would be for the worst if I were to get what I want, but that's not the point. I thank you for trying to give me a life, but I had one; I want it back.” Her voice began sound more strained and pleading. Varon looked down and Shinzou, pondering.

“I'm afraid that I cannot allow that. It would be a dreadful thing if I were to let a disaster happen. It would be just as bad if there would be a trail leading to me. Surely you knew this response already? I ask you to give up on this foolish endeavour.”

“Master, I... very well. But please, don't kill Mister Shinzou. The guilt will bear heavily on me.” She looked down on Shinzou, who had sweat running down his forehead. Varon chuckled, withdrawing his sword.

“Aren't you the most fortunate piece of dirt ever,” he said. He turned to Annabel, while walking away from Shinzou. “Come, we must head back to the camp.”

“Yes, Master.” Annabel followed him from behind, but she gave Shinzou one final look. “Good bye, Mister Shinzou.” She smiled before leaving with Varon. Shinzou fell on to his backside, breathing long and hard.

~

Dyarl sat on the outgrowth on the edge of the camp. He was resting his chin on a balled fist, trying to relax. The sun was setting, and an orange light rimmed the breaking clouds and the horizon. Another figure came and stood beside him. It was Mahlo.

“Why the long face?” Dyarl asked, trying to not stare at the bruise on Mahlo's left cheek.

“Actually, I was going to ask you same thing.”

“Well, it's just-” He stopped when he saw Markus approach him. “Markus... is it good news? Where's Lirina?”

“It's news, and she's resting in her tent.” He smiled, faintly. Dyarl waited, expecting Markus to say more. “Oh... Jistine's Council said they would consider helping us.”

“That's brilliant. How'd it happen?”

“Mother wouldn't tell me... and probably never will, not unless I was-”

“There was something I need to speak with you about.” Dyarl was quick to cut him off. “I'm wasn't too pleased about being left to run things by myself. I'd asked that you do not abandon me like that.” Dyarl stood up, frowning.

“Well, I thought I could rely on you with such a simple job.”

“Simple? Your father knew how to properly deal with things like this.” He put his hands on his hips, pouting. An impatient Markus sighed, attempting to leave. “You can't just-”

“Listen, Jason. You're my servant, right?” Dyarl nodded his head. “So if I leave you to take care of things, I expect it done.”

“That's not the point!” Dyarl shouted. Mahlo tried to diffuse them, but was pushed aside by Markus. “Don't you go off!” Dyarl continued as Markus walked away. Mahlo began to titter.

“A familiar scene, heh.”

“I'll say.” Dyarl glanced at Mahlo's nervous face. “But at least your friend would give you consideration.” Mahlo drooped into sorrow. “I'm sorry, is something the matter?”

“Not at all, I was just reminiscing. Sorry to bother you.” He began to left, going as discreetly as possible.

“Hold on just a sec'.” Dyarl said, sheepishly smiling. “If you happened to Gerald anywhere, tell him that I need to speak with him again.”

“Of course, I'll keep it in mind.” Mahlo waved him goodbye.

~

Varon returned to the cart to find Morgan leaning against one side, while Yenallesa and Kalegar were on the other side. The girl had woken up, and was peering her head out of the blanket. She was completely fixed on what Morgan was saying to her, though she could scarcely understand any of it. Both heard the sound of Varon's footsteps, putting their eyes on him. Varon face was weary and incredulous.

“Morgan, is it possible for you to not cause problems next time I go somewhere?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Morgan scratched the back of his head, grinning and blushing. “I just having a jolly old time with Amber.”

“I was wondering when she would awaken.”

“Aye, she does love her sleep.” Varon's boredom grew, impatient to get a move on.

“I've got what we came for. We must go now.”

“Brilliant idea... I thought I saw Markus in the distance. We should go before he notices I'm here.” Yenallesa looked around the cart, eavesdropping on them. It was not long until Varon's shadow covered her. He gazed down upon her with contempt, causing her to squirm and sweat.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

“For what, it was hardly important. Foolish girl.”

“That's enough!” Kalegar shouted, facing Varon with striking ferociousness.

“Might I remind you that she is under my jurisdiction. If you attempt anything against me, you'll surely die.” Kalegar was not intimidated by his remark. “I'm more than aware of the mistrust you place in Morgan. It means nothing, no matter how unusual it is for someone like you.”

“But-”

“Enough! I've had enough! You will shut your mouth and get a move on! We are leaving and that's that!” He dragged Kalegar by the collar and threw him away. “Annabel, make sure that he does nothing to disrupt our journey.”

“Yes, Master.” She bowed her head. “But... should I not direct the horse also?” Varon thought on it briefly before turning to Morgan.

“No problem, I've been feeding her,” he said, anxious not to anger Varon any further. He took one last look around at the group; everyone's face was depressing. “Let's just put this behind us... come on.” Everyone remained silent, moving to their place alongside, in or on the cart. Annabel took place right of the horse, holding onto one of the straps to guide it. Amber stayed in the comfort of the blanket, fiddling with anything she could get her hands on. Yenallesa and Kalegar sat at the back, remaining deadly still. “Say Varon,” said Morgan, speaking quietly.

“Yes?”

“Doesn't this remind of that time us three were trying to get to Helima on the mountain roads?”

“Oh how could I ever forget. Karr and I were such dreadful travellers.” Varon frown turned to a quirky smile and produced a long sigh.

The horse trotted along the beaten path, the cart rocked every so often. The setting sun guided them west.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Eleven: The Princess' Shadow.

It was a nippy morning, a weak red sun was rising between sparse clouds. Markus was topless in his tent, struggling to get a view of his back. His copper hair had grown some length since he left Searan, reaching some way down his neck, and his chin was also more covered than before. No matter how much he flexed, he could not get a good view of the rune he spotted in the mirror. He fumed at the impossibility of the task. Giving up, he popped his head out of the tent, looking around for assistance. The first person he recognised walked right passed him, it was Elissa.

“Hey, woman,” he called. She stopped and turned her head to him. “I need you to do something for me. Come in please.” She followed Markus back inside upon request. She was lightened by his half nakedness, laughing under her breath.

“Nice to see you. You do know how to get a woman's interest.”

“What? I need you look at something.” Markus turned around and pointed at his back. It did not take long for Elissa to direct her eye to the marking on the lower area. “You see it?”

Elissa moved in for a closer inspection. The small pattern was elaborate, like an ink labyrinth. In the top left corner of it was a tiny smudge, breaking the line.

“Yeah, I see it. Kinda good looking; shame about that part.” She was genuinely impressed by it.

“What part?” Markus grew into a panic. “Is it bad?” he cried.

“It alright! It looks great.” She tried to reassure him with a pat over the shoulder.

“That's not the point! What the heck is it!?” He shrugged her off, stomping his foot. “Any idea?” Elissa took another hard look at the markings. Baffled by there meaning, she gave up and sighed.

At that moment, Dyarl entered. He dropped his mug at the sight of the pair, lost for words. Markus jumped to explain.

“Jason, don't get any ideas. I just needed a favour.”

“Of course... I believe you.” Dyarl tried to back out of tent, but was stopped by Markus.

“Do you have any idea what this is?” He turned around and showed the marking off again. Dyarl inspected it for himself, coming to the same confused conclusion as Elissa had. After a minute, he finally came out with something.

“I've never seen anything like that before. Where did you get it?” he asked.

“I don't know! If I knew where I got it from, I'd know what it is!” Markus sat down, covering his face and moaning.

“Come Markus, it's nothing that bad I'm sure. Besides, we have important things to attend to; your mother appears to have something she'd like to say.” Markus sprung back up.

“Very well, please leave, both of you.” He was hasty in pushing his two guests outside. He when quickly dressed himself fully, putting on just his grey top. He could hear the noises of a massing crowd outside, feet trampling and mouths gossiping. When he came back out, he saw the crowd a short distance away, focusing their attention on one person. Dyarl squeezed passed the group, vanishing from Markus' sight on the other side. When he finally joined him at the centre of the crowd, Markus realised that it was Lirina who had gathered them. She and Dyarl were talking.

“What is this about, Milady?” Dyarl asked.

“I shall wait no longer to announce this. Please trust me on this matter, it's for the best.”

“Very well. But this is rather haphazard, don't you think?” She ignored that question, delighted when she was greeted by Markus.

“Dear, I apologise if you were preoccupied.”

“Worry not, I'd gladly come to your aid. Now then, what did you want to speak with my about?” He glanced around at the people waiting. “Though I suppose you intend to tell them as well now.” Lirina nodded. She turned her attention to the crowd, many of who were eager, others who were impatient.

“Beloved people of Searan in absence, I gave gathered you here to announce a decision of great importance.” She spoke in a loud voice, stern and unshaken. “It is with grief that we must go without the guidance of His Majesty.” The people took a moment to refresh their thoughts, their voices were full to concern and fear. Dyarl came to a realisation over what she was doing.

“Milady, are you sure about this?” he asked. Lirina smiled and nodded.

“As His Majesty's wife and trusted other, I call upon your support for my seeking of the throne, as Searan's steward regnant.” The crowd lowered their tone, whispering to one another. Every inch of her face was carefully picked apart by them. Markus was frozen, unable to even look up. The crowd broke out in many faces; some clapped and cheered, others were skeptical. Lirina was pleased by the reception she got.

“Mother!” Markus was still in shock, acting as calm as possible. “We need to talk, in private.” He pointed to a tent not far behind them, his arm quaked. The crowd was puzzled when they saw the centre of their commotion being hurried away.

Inside, Markus paced around, gathering his thoughts. Lirina watched him in silence.

“So tell me, is this just by chance, or did you realise,” said Markus.

“He might be good, by Dyarl can have a loose tongue sometimes.”

“Of course he'd be the one to mess things up. You couldn't keep him quiet if you nailed his lips down.” He paced around some more, stomping his feet.

“Dear, I didn't mean for you to be hurt.”

“I know, I know. You just don't think I could do it, right?”

“It's nothing like that!” she shouted. “I just-”

“Spare me!”

“I'm sorry, dear.” She tried to put her hand around him, but Markus reject any offer of kind gesture.

“It's obvious that you want me to be sorry. Just admit it!” He was so tense, he could not move an inch until she replied. Lirina stared blank at him, unsure of what he wanted and not prepared to bend. “Just say it will you!” Markus exploded with rage, kicking a stood out of his way. Lirina remained unwavering.

“Markus, did you really think that taking the position in such privacy meant anything? Vows are worthless unless people accept your right to the stand. How can you be a leader without letting people know?”

“Don't give me excuses.” Markus pouted, quivering his lower lip. “You just don't want me to try.”

“And, what you like me to say?”

“If I was Rythia, then you wouldn't have any problem.” They both fell into silence for a moment. Lirina sighed, unfazed by his accusation.

“You can't honestly believe that.”

“You're not denying it!” Markus pointed, sour with victory. When Lirina tried to answer he yelled at her. “If you're not going to admit it, don't bother!”

“Fine,” Lirina said, still calm. She walked to the exit, much to Markus' surprise.

“Wait, you're just going to go!?”

“You're a grown man. If you can't handle not having things your way, there is no point trying to convince you. I'm sorry, dear.”

Outside, Lirina quickly ran into Dyarl, who's face was washed with guilt. With one look into his eyes she took a guess as to what was wrong.

“Milady, I beseech you to forgive my foolishness. I was the one who lead Markus to-”

“Please don't dwell so badly, I am not offended.” She smiled at him, lessening some of his pains. “But I must ask you one thing: do you believe I'm doing the right thing?”

“Perhaps you are, perhaps not, Milady. I also believed that His Highness could have done it... with the right help, though recently there have been problems with that.” He made small indications to Elissa in the distance. “How has he taken it?”

“He'll get over it. Now then, I believe that I have some things that need attending to.” She took bow and left, meeting with prominent figures in the still stirring crowd.

Dyarl was greeted by someone else. Gerald came racing towards him, breathing heavily. After a short recovery, he straightened up

“Mister Dyarl, you wanted to see me?” He chuckled.

“Yes, I have decided to assist you... though judging by your face you already guested that.” Gerald's burst out into ever louder laughter. Dyarl felt confused, with a nagging voice calling him a fool. “Well then, when should we prepare?” he asked, simply to distract himself.

“I was hoping soon!” Dyarl soon spotted something; Elissa heading out of the camp.

“Actually, I've had a better idea,” he said. “I will go to the Mount alone, and in exchange for helping you, you can do a little something for me.” Gerald smirked, raising he eyebrows. His laughing became more subtle.

“You're shrewder than you look, Mister Dyarl. So, explain.”

“I know someone who might be able to help us, and I'll have no problems by myself... but I have a little concern of my own you see. An untrustworthy person walks among us, you know who I mean?” Gerald nodded, turning his head to see Elissa.

“I know what you're askin' for. You want me to keep an eye on the lass?”

“Yes please. I'm sure I can make good progress in helping your wife. I shall make preparations right away, assuming that you are... equally eager in your task.” Dyarl winked, expressing a renewed confidence. Gerald slapped him over the back with a grin on this face, sealing their deal. They parted, each going to attend to their business.

~

Elissa crept through the woods, snapping branches with each step. When she heard a similar snapping in the distance she whipped around, but seeing nothing she continued onwards. After a few minutes more she was disturbed again. She inspected the area rigorously with her eyes, but the jagged trees concealed the majority of her view. She sidestepped behind the nearest tree.

In the distance, Gerald was also hiding himself, struggling to find trees large enough for his body. He peeked his head around, but found that the woman he was stalking had vanished. He panted the quietest he could, recovering from the running it took to catch up. His break was cut when he heard the crunching sounds of the forest floor. He looked round again, but though the noises were persistent, he could not see her. He snuck forwards, following the sounds that lead him deeper and deeper into the woods. A cramped feeling came over Gerald, but it did not bother him; the howling winds among the branches was a different story. The crow calling shook his spine. When he looked up, the sky-reaching branched seemed to spin round.

Gerald snapped back to reality, finding himself lost among the dead trees. Every direction would lead to the same place, and there was little difference between any scenery. The sound of footsteps breaking the floor could still be heard, faintly. He began walking again, without clues as to where he was going.

After an uncountable amount of time, Gerald finally stumbled upon something. In a small clearing stood a dilapidated shack. There was no one else around, and he was curious. He came up to the door, resisting the urge to turn from the foul smell. He opened by a few inches, enough to let some light in. Gerald looked inside, seeing the the pillar of light fall across a man gagged and bounded to a chair. At that sight, he barged in, announcing to the captive of his arrival.

“You there! Need help!?” he asked. The young man shuffled around, desperate to be set free. Gerald went round behind the chair and inspected the robes that tied the man's hands together. The knot was tight and Gerald struggled to loosen it free. After much effort, the knot was undone, and the man leaped up in what little energy he had. He removed the gagging cloth around his mouth himself, gratitude flowing from his free lips.

“Thank you, thank you.” His voice was wheezy and starved. Gerald was flattered when the young man threw himself to his feet, spewing praise like water.

“Come on now, lad! This is all nice, but-”

“S-sorry!” He sprang up, almost bursting into tears. “It's jus... it just... I thought I would die.”

“Calm down, lad. Have you eaten?”

“She keep me alive, just.”

Gerald took particular note of his kidnapper being a woman. He led the man outside, holding his hand to guide his frail body. When the young man stepped into the light, Gerald got a clearer view of him. He was thin and dark skinned, with black hair forming two tails that lay over his shoulders. He was wearing a tattered vest and pants. Gerald was surprise to see him fully.

“So, who are you? Rineran I'm guessing.”

“Jaeri Yapdism, Kaejiean under Pitara Nion. I am an Ambassador and-”

“A peace-keeper, no?”

“Yes! Yes! Surely they've-”

“They've been looking for you, lad.” Jaeri wound up into a frenzy of panic.

“Oh no, this is bad. I need to-”

“You need to nothing. I doubt you could go anywhere right now.” Ignoring what he said, Jaeri tried to walk away, only to collapse among the trees. Gerald offered to carry him to the camp, but was refused many times. Eventually, he took him by force, carrying him over the shoulder. Jaeri tried to resist, but was becoming evermore faint. “Relax boy, you'll be fine,” said Gerald.

As he left the scene, he was being watched from behind the trees. Elissa was irritated, but no more than tensing up. She gripped a dagger in her right hand, deciding to make a move on them. When she stepped out she snapped more twigs. Realising the impaired stealth, she returned to hiding. After the two men had vanished from sight, she set off again, hoping to intercept them at the edge of the woods. With haste, she ran through a different path to them.

Gerald had in fact heard her movements on the way out, keeping a careful watch over his over shoulder. His feelings of nervousness lessened when he could not hear anyone follow, but sweat still began to run down his face.

“Uh... what is it?” Jaeri asked. Gerald did not answer. He tried to hurry up, but his continuous bumping into the trees made the journey painful. When the fields were in sight past the trees, he kept looking to both sides. His heart jumped when a figure stepped out in front of him.

“She's behind you,” said Shinzou. Gerald froze in his tracks, suspicious of the Northerners' appearance. “You stupid!?” Shinzou shouted, running past him. When Gerald looked back, he saw the two Northerners entangled; Elissa trying to attack, Shinzou laughing at her.

“I knew it! I knew it! You were doin' somethin' here!”

“You worm!” Elissa scowled.

“And you're dead... when they find out.” He sniggered, trying to squeeze the dagger out of her hand. Gerald was confused, by did not hesitate to escape, rushing to the camp.

“Well, aren't you happy.”

“Yeah! What fun it'll be!” He let go of her, backing off enough to avoid being slashed.

“Don't you have other people you could be getting in the way of? Even that wimp came to his senses. I mean really, how did he stand you in the first place?” She continued to agitate, so long as Shinzou boiled with rage.

“Not like it bloody matters! He got away and now you're gonna die!” he cried.

“Who are talking about now? Hmph, not like it matters.” She charged at him, thrusting her dagger. Shinzou's side was pierced. He punched her around face, knocking her grip off the dagger. As he pulled it from the wound, he made his escape as well. Blood leaked onto his legs, and pangs of agony rattled his nerves. Elissa made chase, but when confronted by her own weapon she retreated to woods.

Shinzou ran back to camp as fast as he could, panting. He covered the injury with his hands; the blood still flowed. He slipped in the mud many times, his legs weakening. On the camp outskirts, he passed out from his wounds, he struggled to the end.

Hallucinations came to visit him. One took the shape of a little brunette girl in a poncho. She approached him with curiosity, prodding him on the forehead.

“He's dead, Shin,” she said.

“I ain't... I'm not... not yet.”

~

Markus paced in his tent, rambling, moaning and fiddling with his fingers. He sat down onto his bedroll, trying to calm down. There was a commotion building up outside that began to weight on his patience. When he stepped out to see what was going on, he was greeted by the sight of Gerald, carrying Jaeri over his shoulder.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“You'll never guess who I found, Mister Markus.”

“Enlighten me.”

“He's some foreign lad, an ambassador he says.” Markus was stunned at the realisation.

“What! What is he doing here?” Markus tried to keep a façade up.

“I found him in the wood, he needs help.”

“O... of course, this way.” He lead Gerald to a tent on the other side of the camp. Inside were four bedrolls, one of which Jaeri was laid down on. Markus and Gerald stood next to him, contemplating. “Well don't just stand there, do something.”

“Alright, lets see then!” Gerald bit his lower lip, hoping for an instruction to come to him. Markus sighed.

“You sort this out, I don't have the time.” As he stormed out, Gerald spoke again, grimacing.

“Mister Markus, you'd best keep an eye out for those Northerners, 'specially that lass. That Dyarl won't take this well.”

“Hmph, I doubt he'd by that upset over it.” He left the tent, continuing his speech to himself. “Though it would be nice to watch him stew in the mess he made.” He walked with a tense respire, desperately searching. To his right, a small, concerned group surrounded his mother. Their questions seemed endless.

“Milady, for how long must we remain here?” asked one man.

“Jistine is struggling, but they strive to help us find a way.”

“But Milady, the people do not believe that. They believe that we are broken, without hope or ally.” The others made the agreement clear. Markus stood behind them, as a spectator.

“How can you say that with a straight face? There is plenty to be done, and plenty that can be done. I do not believe that you yourselves have done enough to deem our place hopeless.” Lirina stared at the man.

“But-”

“But nothing. The potential of this convey is wasted by your doom speaking. Now tell me, good Sir; do you wish for the best to come from our efforts?”

“Of course, we all do.”

“Then stop wasting your time! If you wish, then you haven't being doing enough!” The man looked away, mumbling. “I shall not allow you to speak so hopelessly about this time, for it is not the time.” She paused, looking around; the faces were not pleased.

“Good Sir, tell me your name.”

“I am Edward Peters, raised in Ser Wain.”

“Sir Peters, you are trusted by the people, and is a most honest man in front of me. Would you please grant me your assistance, as the voice of one who is not my friend?” Edward was suspicious, but calm.

“Milady, do you expect me to accept this offer?”

“You intend to reject it not matter what answer I give you, correct?”

“Indeed, Milady.” None of them seemed to be bothered by the responses of the other. “I shall take my leave now. Farewell, Milady.” Edward walked away, the other peasants followed behind him. Lirina realised that Markus had been watching, and took note of his apathetic face.

“There is no reason to worry, dear. This is not the last time he'll reject my offer,” she said. Markus was still unimpressed. “Forgive me, you are still not ready to accept this?” Markus said nothing for a while, staring at her. Lirina became disheartened by his behaviour.

“I really don't have time for this,” he said, rolling his eyes in a most impolite manner. Lirina felt even more let down by this. She could not even find words to describe her disappointment with him. “Don't bother lecturing me, mother. You've said everything you needed to say.” Lirina concluded by ignoring him. Markus turned tail and left, infuriated.

As he continued, he stopped a figure in the corner of his eye. It was Elissa, approaching from the distance. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then he began pointing directions to her. They were to meet on the outskirts on the other side of the camp.

She skulked to the location that was away from sight. Tried and bruised, she rested on the ground. Markus appeared soon after, careful to make sure he was not followed. His face was livid.

“So... you've seen our problem to,” she said.

“Our problem?”

“Uh hmm. If they come for me, I'll lead them to you.”

“And who would believe you?” Markus snorted, sure in this safety.

“He might.”

“Jason, he wouldn't figure it out if it slap him across the face.”

“Oh dear, it looks like I'm done for.” Elissa burst into laughter. Markus ordered her to stop, but she could not contain herself. After she relaxed again, she continued. “You wouldn't really get rid of me so easily, would you. Have you forgotten already? No one else here will give you what you need from me, there's no easy way other than to do things my way.”

“Pah! Well you can't stay here, whatever the case may be. You're just a liability to me now.”

“I'll just have hide somewhere... nearby.” She grinned, oddly joyous. “But don't worry, we're far from over yet.”

“Speak for yourself! I needed that plan to work, and thanks to you, it failed.”

“Ooooh dear me again. Looks like-”

“Keep your mouth shut! How else can I weaken Garollen, I doubt you have any clue, annoying woman.” As he scorned her, there was a clattering noise that grabbed their attention. “What was that?” Markus asked.

“It might have been a naughty person, listening in on us.” Elissa giggled.

“What! Don't laugh like that! Do you have any idea what'll happen to us!?”

“Us? I can just scoot away, no hassle, any time I want to. By 'us', you mean you.” She stretched out, calm and leisurely. “If I was 'us', we'd find who it was and... silence them.”

“Well obviously!” Markus patrolled the surrounding area, looking in every cranny; there was no one else around. Markus returned to Elissa, anxious and on edge.

“Don't worry, if there's no there, it probably just happened by itself.”

“It's easy for you to say!” He ran off again, searching under every blade of grass. Elissa fell over, bursting with laughter. “Silence! I mean it! None of this is funny!”

“Oh calm down. Maybe a lesson might take your mind off things.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked. Elissa stood back up, spreading her arms out. “This nonsense again!?”

“It'll be fun. Just have a go.” She closed her eyes, smiling. Markus refused at first, rolling his eyes at the thought. It did not take long for him to liven up to the offer, a chance to relive his frustration. He balled up his fist, aiming for her stomach. He charged forwards pulling back for he blow. Elissa did not move an inch, until the last second. She dodged him, tripping him face first. Markus hit the ground with a thud.

“Damn it!” he cried, with a face full of mud. Elissa offered him a hand getting up, which he reluctantly accepted. “I've had enough of this annoying game!”

“Aww, try again.”

“No! You're only doing to laugh at me. If I were you, I'd be more worried about what I would do... now they they'll be after you.” Elissa was uninterested in his ramblings. “Do you even care!?”

“Aren't you worrying a bit too much? I'll just go hide somewhere and meet up, like I said.”

“Goodness sake, can you do anything without putting me in hot water?” Markus stomped his foot

“Eh? Well... hmm... I'll see you later, Markus.” She began to leave the camp, Markus cursing her.

“I swear, you're bloody useless!” He sighed, sitting down on the grass. It did not take long for Elissa to vanish from sight; good riddance he thought.

~

Jaeri sat on the bedroll, eating some bread with meek swallows. Gerald was not with him, but his large shadow could be seen through the tent walls, keeping watch. His head was pounding, his tongue barely able to gather saliva.

Another shadow scurried along with tent wall, thinner than the other. Jaeri could not make out the words, but Gerald was giving directions to which the other left in the hurry. Gerald poked his head inside.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, I'm alright... I think.” Jaeri took a moment to remember the right words. “The man who helped. Where is he?”

“Er... you mean that Northerner lad? He was helping us?” Gerald pondered for a moment, scratching his beard. “I guess he did. I'll have to keep an eye out for him.”

“Eye... out?” He was puzzled at the strange image it gave him.

“I'll look for him... you'll be good?” Jaeri nodded, picking up the cup of water next to him.

Gerald took a few steps away from the tent, looking around. The first thought that came to him was to try the forest, but he was hesitant to go there alone. Procrastinating on the idea, he glanced around again. Edward came by his way, with the same group as before trailing behind. Gerald took the time to spot him.

“Tell me, have you seen any Northerners about?” he asked. The group muttered and whispered to each other.

“Wish I could say I haven't; that wimpy one is wandering around the south side.”

“Well, if you see any of the others, come and find me.” Gerald left.

“Wait!” Edward groaned, irritated by the desertion. At first, he resisted the urge to go after him, but curiosity got the better of him.

Gerald came to a dead end of tents. All manner of objects were scattered on the sides of his path. Aside from the odd woman and child, there was no one else. Gerald felt weary and slow, looking for a place to sit down. Edward approached him, quickly, but still walking.

“That lad, was around this morning. Where the heck did he get to?” Gerald said, not even noticing Edward.

“Ahem!” Gerald was slow to react.

“Oh, you again...” He looked behind Edward, seeing that his followers were not with him. “What can I do for you?”

“I was simply wondering what all of this was about.”

“It's nothing at all. I'm sure a bloke like you has plenty to be doing.”

“Yes, and right now what I am doing is asking you.” Gerald mumbled and twiddled his fingers, looking for a way to escape.

“Uhm... excuse me,” said a quiet voice behind them. When they turned round, Mahlo shot back, shy. “Are you looking for me?”

“Aha!” Gerald slapped him around the back, causing him to fall forwards. “Have you seen your friend about?” Mahlo lowered his head, not answering. Gerald grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “C'mon lad, I need some help here.”

“Did you try the woods?” Mahlo asked. Gerald released him, groaning. “Is... there something...” He bit his lip. Gerald left to look somewhere else, Edward and Mahlo followed loosely behind. The idea of going back to the woods sent shivers down his spine, left by his escape from a bird of prey. He swallowed his fears and marched there.

The mud his feet splashed in was the least of his worries, though his companions were becoming more hesitant to keep going. His mind was so one-tracked, he passed the lying body of Shinzou without a second glance.

“Hold it! Fool!” Edward's yelling was enough to choke him. He spun back with a forced grin on his face, finally taking notice of the lifeless body.

“Is he dead?” asked Edward, insensitive to Mahlo's fright. Shinzou was rolled onto his back by Gerald. He scratched his head, trying to remember what to do. Placing his hand on Shinzou's chest reviled a faint beating.

“He's still alive!” he shouted. He lifted him into his arms and began to carry him back to the camp. “Hold on, you horrible boy.” Mahlo was suffocating, barely keeping himself together. He shivered and chirped like a desperate bird.

“Get a grip, boy.” Edward sound unsympathetic at best, though Mahlo was deaf to all but his own cries. Gerald passed him, in too much of a hurry to give any comfort.

When Gerald headed into the same tent where Jaeri was resting. He too was shocked to see Shinzou close to death.

“He's been stabbed!” he said. Gerald placed the dying Northerner on another bedroll. His hands were covered in blood and dirt. Looking around, he found a thin blanket in the corner. Taking it, he wrapped it around Shinzou, covering the wound on his side. Gerald stayed by his side, applying pressure on his wound.

“Ahem,” came a voice from the entrance. Gerald looked up to find Edward. “Is everything under control?”

“Err... should be alright now. Where did Mahlo get to?”

“I wouldn't know, he just disappeared. An odd one, but so long as he ain't causing trouble.” Edward left. Jaeri tried to keep his mind of the dying man next to him, but could not keep his eyes away from the blood. His dark skin became paler each moment he stared.

“Get some rest, lad,” Gerald said, to busy to turn to him.

“Is he-”

“He'll be fine... I mean, I'm sure he's got out of worse.” Jaeri rolled over in his bed, his back against the bloody scene.

~

Night came, but the moon was hidden by thick clouds. The camp had mostly gone to rest, only a few insomnia struck men sat around a small fire outside. Edward was among them, content with the peacefulness.

Some distance from the camp, a group of observers stood in wait. They were all dressed in light armour, with metal plates on their shoulders and hips. Among the band, three of them wielded large rectangular shields, the fronts of which were covered with spikes. They each had brunette hair.

“So, are you ready?” Asked the man at the front. He had long brunette hair, tied in a tail. He scratched his fuzzy chin, smirking.

“Of course, brother,” replied the left shield man. The rest of the band raised their spirits, cheering and laughing.

“Great! Shall shall get a move on then. Follow my lead.” The apparent leader of the band began making his way to the camp, gripping the sword on his belt.

“Hold on!” said a man, standing in the distance. The leader stopped, turning to look at him. He was tall, dressed in cloth with a long skirt and short sleeves. His dark hair ran down his back, and the features of his face were all narrow and sharp.

“Oh? So you want to come along after all? Ho ho indeed.”

“Brant, how long do you intend to chide me?”

“Well, why do you want to come all of the sudden?”

“I've heard a few things about these people. I want to go ahead and see for myself.” The man approached the rest of the group, his eyes fixed on what was in front. The rest of band talked among themselves, giving the man glares of mistrust. Despite his mockery, Brant seemed more than happy.

“Fine by me. We'll give you some time, but don't squander it.”

As the man left them behind, the rest stuff muttered to each other.

“Brother, are you sure about him?” asked the middle shield man. “He's a Northerner, and he's just like the rest of them.”

“You three saw it for yourself, didn't you?” All three nodded together. “Well then, better keep your mouth shut... that is, if you don't want to offend him. Just follow my orders.”

“Right, boss!” the whole group replied. Brant relaxed himself, sitting down on the grass.

The Northerner found himself skulking around the camp. He remained unnoticed by anyone still awake. With silent movements, he peeped his eye into each tent he came by; he was disappointed each time. When he heard someone heading his way, he slipped behind the nearest tent and kept watch. He leaped out like a tiger, drawing his sword to the neck of his victim. The victim tried to gasp, but his mouth was covered. The Northerner inspected his victim; his thin body, his blue hair and thin clothes. It was Mahlo.

“Tell me, are there any others like you here?” The attacker released his mouth.

“Uh... two others,” he replied.

“Get yourself, and them far away from here, or else you will die.” Mahlo twisted his head, getting a small glimpse of the man behind him.

“It's not that simple. One is hurt, and I can't find the other one”

“Then leave yourself, the others will die.” He lowered his sword from Mahlo neck, fulling revealing himself to him. A speechless Mahlo backed away in fear, unable to take his eyes of the man. “Well scram already. And don't speak a word to anyone,” said the man. Mahlo continued to back away, too scared to turn around. Eventually, he was able to disappear from the man's sight, following the the command of silence. The man put his sword away, running to spy upon the men around the fire. No one had noticed a thing, chatting among themselves.

He left the camp, Brant's band gave him their unwanted eyes. Brant himself was grinning.

“So, unlucky?” he asked.

“We'll see. You're welcome to the rest of them now.”

“Just us? Are you sure?”

“What's with you tonight?”

“What do you mean? At your price I need to get all the usage I can get.” Brant chuckled, much to the irritation of the other man. “C'mon, it was just a joke,” said Brant, but still the man saw no comedy in it.

“Have it your way then, I'll come.” He took out his sword again, holding it vertically by his side.

“Great! Come on boys, time to get going.” Brant pointed his sword to the camp, and his men followed it, trying to keep their fanfare as quiet as possible. Their armour clanked and their feet squished in the mud. The Northerner came behind with Brant. The camp was still calm in resting, unaware of what was coming.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Twelve: Star of the North.

The hour was late when Markus had finally gotten to sleep. A potent country stench filled his tent, accompanied by bugs buzzing outside. He turned over, mumbling in bliss. A series of loud crashes failed to awaken him. Cries of terror arose from the camp, followed by the trampling of boots. Markus finally got up, still half asleep. The noises reached his ear now, opening his eyes and earning his ire. He lunged out of bed, putting on his clothes. He poked his head out of the tent, his vision still blurred.

“Just what is goin-” The sight he received came as a shock. Rogue men were charging around, gathering the peasants like sheep. He retreated before being spotted, reaching for his armour and spear on the floor.

He could hear the flaps of his tent being rustled. He span around, shielding himself with his spear. It met with a falling axe. The attacking rogue was surprised.

“Rats! Just come out to play like the rest will ye.” They clashed again, in deadlock. The pole of Markus' spear was denting in the middle. Then the man raised his axe, Markus back away. He parried the next blows with ease, scratching the tent wall with his spear head. Deadlocked again, Markus sidestepped, letting the axe blade run down the pole. The attacker stumbled forward. Markus pierced his side, drawing blood on the spearhead. The man swung back, building to a frenzy. Markus was knocked over, clutching his spear. The rogue had become weary from blood loss, swaying from side to side like metronome. He tried to swing his axe, but it was easy for him to be pushed aside. Markus struck him down, smiling with the thrill of victory.

He finished strapping on his armour before going back outside. The screaming had ended, and the scene right outside his tent was calmer. Worried moans still haunted the camp, but the source was unseen. As he took a few steps further, a pair of men appeared nearby, wielding their swords above their heads.

“Hey!” one shouted, upon seeing Markus. “Get yourself with the others, now!” He stomped his way up to Markus, halting at the sight of his weapon. “Come on, drop it.” Markus refused, gripping his spear tight. The man turned to signal his partner. He was shaken to see him with a sword through his guts, blooding gushing from the wound. He tried to face Markus again, only to be gored by his spear.

“Now then, where are the others?” asked Markus, pushing his spear further through. The man opened his mouth, coughing forth his fluids. The other man had collapsed, his sword stood in the ground. Markus ripped his spear free, splatting the mess across this clothes. His victim dropped his sword and shield. He made his way to where the other had fallen, unable to see his helped behind the tent.

He heard light footsteps from behind. Turning round, he was greeted by the sword. Leaping back, he dodged the attacked. The Northerner drew back his blade. Markus reached for the nearby shield, wooden and round. With it in his left hand, he blocked the next swing. Each strike came quickly and without pause. Markus was being pushed back, unable to counter. The Northerner thrust his sword, penetrating the shield, but missing Markus by a hair. The man tried to pull his sword free, but it jammed. He pushed Markus away before he had a chance to mount an attack.

“May I have my sword back?” asked the Northerner, with a sincere expression. Markus was blank for a moment, before succumbing to a snigger fit. He doubled over, his stomach pounding. The Northerner charged up and swiped the shield from his weak grasp. Markus was late to react, gasping and falling back. “Thank you.” He pulled his sword out, throwing the shield away. They clashed again, striking their weapons and stepping around each other. The Northerner, with a surprise kick, separated Markus from his spear. With his other leg he tripped him over. Markus rolled on to his back, encountering a sword point blank at his neck.

“I give, I give.” Markus groaned.

Hidden behind a tent, Elissa was watching the battle. Her mouth gapped open and her body trembled from head to toe. Her chest cramped, choking her throat. Then it came to her that the Northerner's back was turned, and she became ecstatic, her heart racing. She drew the sword out of the corpse by her side. She crept up on him, shaking her finger across the blade, lusting for blood. As she rose her sword, a vile grin grew on her face along with an angry tear in her eye. The Northerner span around, smashing the sword from her hand. With her breath swept away, Elissa collapsed on her knees. She clutched her face, wailing.

“Hmph, nice try.” The Northerner looked down on her. When she glared back with her single eye, he came to a sudden realisation. “What a surprise.”

“D-d-damn you... damn you! Why can't you just die, Garazzu!” The Northerner said nothing. “Why did you have to be here!”

“Probably for the same reason you're here; just leaving that place behind. But, I could spare some time for old friend, I'm sure I could make the rest of your face match.” He pointed his sword at her eye. Elissa scurried back, but his blade followed, like a hound not letting up on the hunt. She slipped over, pinned on the ground with Garazzu standing tall above her. She sealed her eye like a coffin, too frightened to even move.

Time seemed to pass forever while she waited. Her breath was all that echoed in her ears, until it was interrupted by the sound of metal scratching. She winched her eye open, shielding herself with her arms. Markus and Garazzu were blurred by her tears. Markus was on the defence not long after his first swing. With her mind full of haze, she continued to back away, silently as possible. Markus was beaten down again, with cuts on his legs.

“You're quite the annoying,” said Garazzu.

“Another Northerner? Pah!” Markus coughed, holding his chest in pain.

“If you must.” He raised his sword, ready to kill. The wind began to pick up and built into a gale. It climbed in power, until they were surrounded by a whirlwind. Ignoring it, Garazzu moved to finish the fight. His sword bounced off a pillow of air between them. Unscathed by his failure, he turned around to a distorted figure outside of the storm. He walked up, trying to thrust his sword at the figure. Just as it seemed to be breaking through, the force blew it out of his hand, feeding it to the whirl. Markus charged at him from behind, his spear firm in his grip. Without even turning around, Garazzu sidestepped the attack. He grabbed the spear, trying to force it off Markus. Their struggle lasted for a while, neither one backing down. They shuffled around, scraping their feet in the mud.

“Just let go!” Markus had to shout, the wind was too loud.

“Fine!” Garazzu let go, kicking him in the stomach. He pushed Markus into the wall of air, losing sight of him in the thick gust. He could cursing coming from all around as the win threw Markus' voice.

The wind began to die down, and the figure on the other side became clearer. Garazzu burst through, gripping his hand around Mahlo's neck. He squeezed until his face turned purple, throwing him onto the ground afterwards.

“You worm.” He looked around for his sword, which stood point down in the dirt a couple feet away. It picked up, cleaning the mud off with his fingers. In the corner of his eye he spotted the tenacious Markus running towards him. He held his spear in one hand, clutching his stomach with the other. With one slash, Garazzu cut into both his legs. Markus collapsed, breathless and broken. Garazzu was about to perform the final blow, when another rogue rushed to the scene.

“Hold on, north rat!” he shouted. Garazzu lowered his sword, but refusing to take his eyes of Markus. “Everyone's to be taken to Brant.” They both grabbed Markus by his arms and forced him on his stinging feet. The rogue prodded him in the back with his axe, moving him along like a cattle. Mahlo, upon catching his breath, crawled back up. In time to save Markus, he began to chant a spell, but his mouth was gagged shut by Garazzu from behind.

“Say one word, and you're dead.” He shuffled him toward the edge of the camp, keeping his hand tight around Mahlo's lips.

The whole camp had been gathered up into a circle. Surrounded by armed men, they feared to even move. With a last great shove, Markus was tossed into the ring. Looking around, he saw many were tending to wounds; cuts, gashes, bruises and even the odd broken bone. They moaned like dying animals. He limped his way around them, avoiding any contact. He approached one of his captors like a bleeding lion.

“Where'd your master?” He clenched his fists, but the man was not taken.

“Brant's busy, lad.” The man pushed him back with both hands, Markus slipped into the mud. He stumbled back up.

“Brant? Langule?” he asked.

“It's none of your business, boy. Now shut or be buried!” Markus moved along, beginning to feel weary. Not until a voice shouted out to him, did he snap out of his tiredness.

“Halt!” He looked around, searching for its' origins. Among all the faces, the first he recognized was from the antagonizers. One of the three shield men came up to him, his smile was oddly warming. “Your Highness, is that you?” Markus stared at him, the name escaped him.

“Erm... Alan?”

“No, I'm Edgar.” Markus pulled back his fist. Edgar held up his shield. Markus missed the spikes, but his knuckles cracked upon the metal face. “Your Highness... are you alright?” Markus recoiled, comforting his hand.

“Alright! You come here and attack us, and then you act like nothin' happened!”

“We thought you were dead.” Edgar chuckled.

“Well I almost was, when you came here!” He try to grab him with his other hand, but he doubled over from the pain in his legs.

“Maybe Brant would help you out.” He scratched the back of his head.

“By leaving, I hope.” He began to cough, Edgar turned into a blur. Falling onto the ground, he blacked out. Veins of blood covered his body.

~

Brant watched as the moon reached for the stars, distant from the rest of the action. Escorted by two of his men, Lirina approached him.

“Brant Langule, what is the meaning of this!?” Unleashed, she was almost set to strangle him.

“All in good time, My Lady. But first, I'd like to ask you a question, if I might be so arrogant.” He stroked his chin, smugly keeping the lady waiting.

“Well, go ahead,” she said, restraining her own hands.

“Lord Lingbury wouldn't happen to be with you?”

“Of course not, he was at the battle. Now, explain yourself.”

“That old moron...” Brant sighed. Lirina gave him a curious look, raising her eye brow. He chuckled, expecting her to ask something. “I just assumed that rock would be with our diamond.” He winked.

“Will you just get to the point, please.”

“Fine, fine. Just as you desire, I'll tell my story.” He sighed again, looking off over the hills. “We were just up to our usual... stuff in Arrgonte, when all of the sudden, we were attacked. They put our heads on a block and told us to follow their commands, or else. It was quite a generous offer, seeing as how I have this thing about dying... I try not to. A very bossy lady told me to bring her a certain present in exchange for our freedom... but I hope to get something more.”

“And you'd betray us so easily?”

“A shame, isn't it? You see, as much as I'd love to join you this little hole, I also have this thing about winning... I like to win. Amazing and wicked, true but villainous indeed. Though I hope you won't think too badly of me for it.” He laughed, turning away.

“That's simply vile of you. His Majesty bestowed you with great rank. In turn you spit at him. Be done with your treachery and leave my sight.”

“How heartless of you, My Lady. But surely I can get what I came for and merrily be on my way. No harm done.”

“And what do you want.”

“Erm... your sons head. Like I said, no harm done there.” He scratched the back of head, with a sheepish look on his face.

“What!? You can't do that!” In an outburst she tried to grab him, but was held back by his men.

“I know, it's tragic. The man who my little brothers knew and trained with, but that's just the way it is.” His feigned pity insulted Lirina. “But don't worry, I'll be quick about it.” He began to walk past her, signaling his men to keep her there. Lirina struggled, tears breaking through. Even his men were surprised with her persistence, pulling back to avoided being dragged.

“Anything! I'll give you anything!” Brant moved back, grinning.

“You're a diamond, but you're a bit old for me.” He stroked her chin, repulsing her with his stares. He pushed her back, laughing with a wicked streak. The sword on his belt was drawn, mirroring the moonlight with an eerie sensation for Lirina. Brant wandered away, swinging his sword and humming a joyful tune.

When he reached the captive people, the moon was hidden behind thick black clouds. One of his men nearby approached him.

“Brant, what do ye what us to do now?”

“Well, if you've rounded them all up, I'll be fine on my own.” He went by, still humming. He looked through the human cage at the worrying hostages. Not a single face matched the one he wanted, it broke down his smile bit by bit.

“Brother, brother!” Shouted Edgar, carrying an unconscious Markus by his side. Brant beamed, running up to him.

“Brilliant, Edgar, just the man I was looking for!” The slapped Edgar over the shoulder, congratulating him. “Now then, lets put him down and be done with the deed.”

“What do you mean, brother?” Markus began to wake up, groggily like a beached whale.

“Oh, about that. I just need his head, no real loss for him.” Edgar was shocked at the plan, more so by his merry face. “Come on now, brother. Gotta do this. If you did want somethin' like this to happen, then you should of talked me out of it before we came.” Edgar said nothing, choosing to stare at him with sorrow filled eyes. “Aww come on! You trained with him a few times, is it so hard to say 'bye bye'!”

“But brother, are we really going to take their orders over His Majesty?” Brant dropped his head and sighed. “I just don't think this is right. I'll vouch that Alan and Warren would agree.”

Markus opened his eyes, looking up at the puzzled Brant, his image still blurry.

“B-Brant... uhh...”

“Sleep tight, little Prince.” Brant raised his sword up, but Markus was too weak to lift his head to see.

“Hold on!” He tried to stand on his own two feet, but Edgar insisted on helping him. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, just a favour for... someone I met. Tall and pretty, how could I refuse?”

“So that's how it is.” Markus smirked to the curiosity of the other two. “How... how about we go about this my way.” Brant laughed and patted him on the head. Markus growled, struggling to lift his arms.

“C'mon, boy. My methods are faster, and are better for people who matter.”

“You could bargain. You could have anything you want.” Brant pondered for a moment while Markus continued to explain. “Elbenor would give anything to kill me. You're a fool for selling yourself short.”

“And I would would care because?”

“Because we could pull the wool over her eyes... we'd win.” Markus grinned reassuringly. Brant signalled to Edgar for a private talk. Markus was left wobbling on his own while the others distanced themselves.

“Isn't this great, brother?”

“Yeah... anything we want, and we have to do is trick them that woman and this moron,” whispered Brant. Edgar raised his eyebrow, chiding of his brother's plotting. “C'mon now, we could walk away with everything.”

“But are you sure it'll even work.”

“Of course it'll work. These people won't know what hit 'em.” He slapped Edgar on the back, grinning. “Now go get Alan and Warren, and make sure they'll go along with us.”

“Uh... I'll get going then.” Edgar was nervous, but he left without any more questions. Brant went back to Markus.

“So, shall we get a move on, boy.”

“Well, I'm having some trouble walking.” He pointed to his bloodied legs. “I think I need medical attention.”

“Yes, but I'm bit tired, so we'll be leaving soon as possible.” He stretched his arms out, yawning. Markus groaned, begging for a rest. Brant began searching, strolling around and mumbling. Near the edge of the ring, Garazzu still had Mahlo in his grasp. On sight of his leader, he knocked him unconscious and lay him on the ground. He came face to face with Brant, who looked rather please.

“It's nice to see a Northerner having good, clean fun.”

“Are we almost finished here?”

“Just gotta round everyone up and-” There was an outburst from Markus, limping up to the stage.

“So, he's with you!”

“Ah ha! Let me introduce you.” He wrapped his arm around Garazzu's shoulder. “This is Garazzu Ga... Gur...” He collected saliva in his mouth, then swallowed it. “This is a guy we hired. He's got a sword drenched in blood, and a heart of gold... cold, heavy and hard to find.” He laughed, shaking Garazzu.

“He tried to kill me!”

“You tried to kill me,” Garazzu replied, pushing Brant away. Markus sputtered, stumped on trying to further his case.

“Yeah well, why would someone hire a Northerner!?” He thrust his gaze upon Brant, who avoided eye contact. “Where did you unearth this guy; why!?”

“Oh dear, how hostile... I guess this plan just can't work if you're gonna be so cruel. He's just a poor, lowly man who's looking for work, why must you do this to our inferior neighbours?” Brant watered his eyes, begging for compassion from Markus. Both him and Garazzu were irked.

“Alright, alright! Let's just hurry up!” Markus suppressed the pain from his cuts and injuries, anything to end the ramblings of the irritating man.

“Oh Markus, your enthusiasm lights up my heart! It's wonderful!”

“We should leave, now,” said Garazzu.

“Good idea! You take Markus ahead, and I'll gather everyone up.” Garazzu began to leave, Markus reluctantly followed.

Brant chuckled, playing with the tail of his hair. He went of the nearest man under his command, and patted him on the shoulder. The man, who stood a few inches taller, glance down at him.

“Oi! Can I leave you in charge?”

“I don't think the other's will do what I tell 'em, Brant.”

“Oh don't worry, I'm sure the other can behave well when I'm not a round. As a matter of fact, you'll be better off without my bad influence.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I'll be back in a week or so... help yourself to whatever you want.”

“Don't you think you're being a bit lax on his?”

“Now now, I've not the time to worry about that!” Brant hurried away.

~

In a room of wooden walls, surrounded by rolled up scrolls and red covered books, Ursula sat at her desk. With a fine quill, she scribbled words onto a cream sheet. The candle light flashed on her glasses. There was a knock on the door.

“Lady Fell, you have a visitor waiting.”

“I'm busy, send them away,” she replied.

“Forgive me, but they will not leave.” Ursula shoved a pile aside, scowling. With tired, rusty movements, she opened the door. The guard straightened his posture, saluting the displeased lady. “He's waiting at the entrance.”

Down a corridor, after two turns left, she reached a spacious room, filled the cold nightime air. Looking out of an open window, Dyarl was unaware of her arrival.

“Jason?” Upon the calling of his name, he turned his head slightly, seeing her in the corner of his eye.

“Ah! I was wondering then-” He was interrupted when she slapped him over the head.

“Didn't the guard tell you I was working!” She pulled him by the hair. Dyarl chuckled, pulling back. “Don't you have anyone else to bother?” With a tug, Dyarl winched in pain. After minute of torture, she realised him, wiping whatever she pulled out off her hands.

“That hurt!”

“Brilliant. So, why are you here?”

“Oh... can we walk?” She agreed, proceeding to leave him behind. Down the hallway, Dyarl explained to her why he had come. Ursula gave half her attention to the matter, averting her eyes. A name spoken prickled her ears.

“Galvin you say?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I've not heard from him in a long time actually. He'd better hope I don't get my hands on him... anyway, what do you need me for?”

“Well, I really don't want her to be under arrest for lo-”

“No.” Ursula glared at him, fixing her glasses. Dyarl was saddened, pained by her rejection. “Don't give me that, Jason. I could free that woman, but from how it sounds, it seems that's where she belongs. Not to mention Galvin will get his punishment.”

“How can you say that?” Ursula did not reply. Dyarl continued, trying anything to convince her to his cause. “Surely there is something I could do to be worthy of your help.”

“It's a crime to bribe Councillors. Unless you want to join your friend, you should think ahead.”

“Stop this! You're just being petty!” Dyarl became uptight, but Ursula was burning with anger.

“Me!? You're the one who's try to exploit me.”

“It's just one favour!”

“That I won't do.”

“What's your problem!?” Dyarl shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.

“My problem!? Did you think you could take advantage of me like that?”

“Well you're no better!” Ursula froze solid. She glared at him, preparing to strike back, but Dyarl was building momentum. “Oh, you forgot?”

“Of course not, you're just stating it wrong. This is completely different.”

“Is it? Your little rebellion wasn't the quest for justice you thought is was. You were a fool to even think that I would have joined such treachery. You broke the law, and you expected me to help you.”

“Nonsense! That was for a good cause, not that you'd know one of them. Not that this even matters, since I won't be helping your friend in any case.”

“And just look at what your 'good cause' did!” Dyarl gripped her shoulders, searching for any understanding in her eyes. Ursula stared blanking at him, waiting for him to answer himself. “You hurt a lot of people.”

“And you didn't? All kings lust for control, and despise those that take it away. They love their dogs, but hate their wolves. You're just a dog, no will has ever belonged solely to you.”

“And you're just an unruly crook! You've got no sense of loyalty, and you only went along with this nonsense for your own gain!”

“Well, if that's what you think, when why bother asking me for help?” Dyarl turned away, snuffing her. “Come on then, if you're so hurt, then tell me about it.” There was no reply, Dyarl tried hard not to show his face. Without another word, he began to walk away. Ursula rolled her eyes. “You can't just turn away from things you don't like! Maybe we'd see eye to eye then!” She brushed the thought away, returning to her office.

Dyarl stepped out into the cold night. The build was stood high on Jistine's Mount, and the rest of the city was sleeping below. He wiped the tears off his cheek that froze in the wind. He leaned against the wall. He was quickly filled with puzzled thoughts, stumped on what he was to do.

Another person approached, curious. Dyarl looked up and down his masking robes.

“A nice night for brooding, wouldn't you agree?” he asked, in a deep, raspy voice.

“I suppose.”

“What's you're name, good Sir?” He extended his hand in welcome, but the gesture was refused.

“Jason Dyarl, Former Third General of Searan.”

“Ah... how fortunate, then you must be with the Prince.” Dyarl nodded his head. “I feel for you, poor, poor man. Perhaps your Prince would praise my aid.”

“And that would be?” Dyarl inspected him again, suspicious of his odd attitude.

“Mutual benefit! His Highness and I could be like water in a cup, sword and shield, Lance and Arhen. It's shall be glorious!”

“Forgive me, but might I as of your name.”

“Ulysses, your forgiveness if I appear overeager.”

“I've no problem there... though I hope you are understanding of my suspicions.”

“Absolutely. To you, I have the appearance of a stalking shadow.” Ulysses sighed, though he was reading Dyarl mind.

“And what assistance would you lend?”

“Ah... best to keep that to myself for now, but I shall assure you that your rabble will be far more useful than my last.”

Dyarl was unnerved by the dark figure. “No thank you, Ulysses. Nothing personal, but we've got enough trouble off strangers as it is.” He called an end to their encounter, leaving Ulysses with a small wave farewell, though he was not in mood. As the distance between them grew, Dyarl still felt as if he was just as close as ever.

“Name me one deed,” said Ulysses, “And it shall be done.” There was no reply as Dyarl disappeared into the night. Disappointed as he was, Ulysses did not follow.

An hour later, Dyarl reached the guard tower where Henrietta was being held. Light escaped through the gaps around the door. He knocked twice, igniting a clattering from inside. The door was flung open by the guardsman on watch. The light shined off Dyarl's armour, it was almost blinding.

“You look important, can I help you?” asked the guard, shielding his eyes.

“Yes, might I speak with you inside?” The guard stepped aside, inviting him into the room. “I'd like to speak with you about one of the people you are keeping here. Lady Henrietta.” The guard went over to the table, flicking through the pages of a large book that sat in the middle.

“Ah yeah. Quiet as mouse that one. So, what about her?”

“Might I speak with her?”

“At this hour, of course not.” He slammed the book shut, sitting down on the chair. Dyarl frowned, agitating the guard. “The hour is late, what were you expecting? Come back tomorrow, understand?”

“Perhaps I could convince you otherwise?”

“I'll be blunt. It's Orihal, or no visit tonight.” Dyarl pulled out a small bag, counting the coins inside. The guard raised to pang of metal. Seven coins were dropped into his cupped hands, Dyarl was peeved. “Give me a break, they don't pay to repairs around here. Just go down them stairs.” He pointed towards them.

Dyarl came into the basement where the cells could be found. Lit up by candles few and far between, grim seemed to ooze from out of the stonework. Five barred cells were lined up on the other side of the room. The one in the middled housed a sleeping man, it was too dark to fully investigate his bloodied mess of a face. The cells to the left were empty, so Dyarl checked to the right. To his surprise, they were also barren of life.

He rushed back up the stair, giving the guard a fright calling out to him.

“Excuse me! Are you sure she is being held here?”

“Of course I'm sure!” He got off his chair, heading for the stairs. “Are you blind or something? I'll show you.” As he descended the steps, he tripped on something unseen. His armour made monstrous music as he rolled down to the bottom. Dyarl was about to follow, albeit without the role, but the bottom was full of black mist. He looked over his shoulder, feeling a familiar presence from behind.

“You!” Dyarl was shocked to see Ulysses, who was sitting on the chair. He had come without a stir. “What's going on?”

“Oh, I just had to dispose of him for a while. Now then, you've probably realised it by now; I am the one who made your little friend vanish.” He was relaxed, regardless of the face that Dyarl hand his hand over his sword hilt.

“What have you done with her!?”

“Oh, she is fine... for now at least.” It was the final straw for Dyarl. He drew his sword and held it to the shadowy man's head.

“Return her, now!”

“Now now, don't be hasty. I promise her safe return, but at a condition that you should be aware of.”

“You want to use us to-”

“I want to help you. I told you that it was for mutual benefit, we have so good to offer one another.” Dyarl did not trust a single word that slid from out of the robes. The wind blew a gust from the window, killing the candle flames. It was not frosty and dark, but the air between them was fiery and intense. “So what do you say?”

“Fine, I shall take you to His Highness.”

“You had best do more than that... unless of course, you have not qualms in risking her.”

“You monster! Return her now, or perish!”

“Now now, I wasn't going to kill her, after all, she's a Te- ” He the interrupted by Dyarl's sword swinging. He caught in his hand, flaying the wrapping and ushering blood. With his other hand, he began to draw a rune.

Rip apart,

Pierce heart.

Volley of woe,

Killing the foe.

Twenty Six: Arrowtide.

A crystal beam shot from his finger tips and flew through Dyarl's left leg. There was no blood, nor markings, but he collapsed to his knees, clutching his leg for relief. Ulysses aimed his fingers at his chest, still holding the sword blade in his other hand. Dyarl had spaced out, taken be storm by his spell.

“Now then, let go of your sword,” said Ulysses. After a while, Dyarl complied, and the sword was thrown to the other side of the room. He looked at his blood stained hand, checking how deep the cut was. “Pah! If this keeps happening, it might just drop off.” He then looked down at Dyarl. “I have made you a generous offer... why must you keep rejecting me? Rest assure that my next blow will be swift and painless.”

“I... I'll do what I can!” Dyarl was still straining for breath, though the pain was beginning to fade away.

“Wonderful! Simply magical. I personally cannot wait to see the fruits of our labour.” He relaxed his hands, waiting for his new partner to stand up again.

~

As they walked across the damp field away, an anxious boredom came over Markus. The Northerner was silent, moving with precise steps. They were some distance from the camp now, alone. Enduring his wounds, Markus kept his eye on his companion, or more importantly, his sword.

“So... just out of curiosity, you know Elissa?” asked Markus.

“Yes.”

“I wonder, did you carve out a good friendship?” He chuckled.

“I suppose you could say it like that.”

“How interesting, and surprising. No wonder she crawled away like that.” Markus stretched out, deprived of sleep.

“Odd you'd say it like that.” Garazzu could not help but be draw to Markus' expression; it was pondering, not a single laugh was a happy one. “We wait here now.” He stopped, sitting on the wet grass.

After some time, the clattering of metal came from behind them. Brant in the lead, with two of his brother carrying their shields on their backs.

“Are you two the best of friends yet?” Brant slapped Markus over the make, making cough specks of blood. He seemed to enjoy watching he prince suffer. “ I sent Alan ahead to the meeting place.”

“Which is?” asked Markus.

“Ah... Good ol' Arrgonte of course, good and close to the border. Little lady will there in person, aren't we lucky.”

“Very...” Markus felt grim, he could shake the heavy feeling that seemed to pull him down. Something was not right though. “Where are the rest of your men?”

“Oh, I left them incharge of your little group.” Markus grabbed him at the collar.

“What! I thought-”

“Well I had to make sure we wouldn't be followed. A wouldn't want a little diamond glimmering in the corner of my eye.”

“You... you tricked me!”

“I never said they would be coming with us... did I?” Brant grinned, pushing Markus away. “Besides, aren't you excited?”

“Hmm... I love nothing more to bring a whip down on her, like the dog she is.” Brant looked away, covering his jittering mouth, his face was red. It was a peculiar kind of laughter he leaked.

“Beside, I'm sure we won't be gone too long anyway.” He looked over his shoulder at his brothers, pointing for them to drag Markus away. He each took him by one arm and pulled him away, resisting his struggles. Garazzu came beside Brant, daunted by his antics. “Well, I won't be gone too long at least.” Garazzu scowled, though he would not say how deplorable he found it. “Oh don't be like that.”

“Are you even sure this'll work?”

“What? Fooling that hag and his whelp well be easier than the city whore.” He burst into laughter, though it merely baffled the Northerner. “But don't worry, I value the opinion of a man who sleeps with his sword.”

“Don't be so-”

“Don't be such a bring down. Just remember who's paying here.” He lead the way, followed by the disgruntled Garazzu. Markus' crying could be heard overhead.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Thirteen: Rest Upon the Bed of Thorns.

The lady of Elbenor paced around the well decorated room. The red tapestries of war did not distract her eye from the window, which gave her a view to the grey morning and the silent town her men patrolled. She wore her white mint dress with a gold necklace, but her armour was laid out on the table. Sometimes she would sit down on the bed, though she was too tense to stay put for long.

The was a sudden burst through the door when Arhen stumbled in. Ignoring his superior's presence, he threw himself upon the bed, sinking in with deep relief. He rolled around until he was comfortable. He opened his eyes and looked up at Elbenor, who had her arms crossed.

“O' why didn't you tell me you'd be all the way out here? That lengthened journey almost spelt my end.”

“Goodness sake, this is private business, Arhen.” She tried to drag him off the bed, but there was yet more racket. Arhen's companion stuck his head in the room.

“Hey, Arh' Grimfold Sah, why'd you bring us up here?” he asked, completely oblivious to Elbenor. “Am I gonna meet his guy or what?”

“How dare you interrupt me!” Elbenor pointed for him to leave, her tension had been sprung. Haukea, like a naive rabbit, walked furthering into the wolf's jaw.

“Calm down, lady. Didn't mean to disturb you, but my friend is a little old and tired.”

“I don't care! You have to leave now! I'm sure this moron can meet you somewhere else!”

“How dare you say such a thing of our Seb' Elbenor Diah. A moody little woman like you, for shame.” Elbenor tried to silence him, but his ignorance was a great shield. He continued his lecture. “Why, where I come from, you'd be punished for speaking foul of a great figure. After all, great people shouldn't be belittled by the likes of you! But I suppose women around here are not just soft around the hips.” Elbenor turned to Arhen, who was still catching his breath on the bed.

“Please do not tell me he's the person you picked.”

“Yeah... he's the one. I heard good things about him, and he seems nice.”

“Did I ask for someone nice?” She lent over him, casting a dark shadow. “Never shall his man be of any rank. In fact, I shall see to it that he spends the rest of his life scrubbing toilets.” Haukea's face slumped, turning pale as snow.

“Just who the heck do you think you are!?” There was yet another intruder in her room. He was one of her infantry.

“House Lord, they've arrived,” he said. Elbenor picked up her sword for the table, requesting that he escort her to the meeting place. The door was slammed shut.

“You... you never told me that she Elbenor Diah.” Haukea prodded the old man until his finger was sore. Arhen was too snug to care, he just kept on napping.

“I believe I did... oh well.”

~

Elbenor came out into the open air, the wind blowing her hair to the side. The garden around her was overgrown yet dull, covered with stingy grass. It was something that was displeasing to her. She passed the manor gates into the town. Many of the buildings were crumbling away, ruined after a battle.

Approaching alone from the other end of the road was Brant, waving his arm with glee. They soon stood face to face, but at the same time their expressions were worlds part. Brant opened up for a handshake, but was denied.

“Have it your way then.” He then sighed.

“I would, though you seem content to alter my orders.”

“I thought you'd enjoy this more... c'mon.”

“Enjoy? I beg your pardon. I've already got a mouthy fool on my hands, so please.”

“Fine, fine. Right this way.” He began to lead back down the road. He went at pace faster than her, distancing himself from the cold aura. Elbenor was shaky with anticipation, but she remained strong.

She was lead into a stone sentry tower near the outskirts of the town. Brant had shut the door on his way in, but her escort was more than willing to open it on her behalf. Immediately, her eyes came upon the wayward Prince, Markus. Surrounded by the three brothers of Langule, he was tied to a wooden chair and gagged with cloth. In his eyes, Elbenor could see deep pools of disgust and a longing to place his hands around her neck. She stepped inside, bringing a heavy air with her. Without a moments thought, she drew her sword and raised it above her head. Markus struggled, looking over at Brant, waiting for him to stop her. However, Brant appeared amused by the spectacle. It was not until she was about to strike that he came in.

“Hold on,” he said, putting his arm between them. “It's not that simple.”

“No waiting! He dies now!” Elbenor was desperate to get at him.

“But we need to work out what I get in return.”

“You can join him if you want.”

“Charming... but if I can't have what I want, you don't get what you want.” He clicked his fingers, and Garazzu came out of nowhere. He took Markus and the chair and dragged them away, disappearing into another room. Elbenor lowered her sword, weary, as though she was hungover.

“Fine, what do you want?”

“Oh goodness, so hard to choose. First of all, I'd like my land back, with good protection. Second of all, I'd like to be paid, handsomely.” He waited for an answer, which was taking its' time to arrive.

“I think not. You can have your freedom, but nothing else.”

“Pffft! I could could have run away if I had just wanted that.” He turned his back, heading for the other room. “I guess I'll take my new friend away and-”

“You can have it! You can have whatever you want!”

“That's nice, but you've kind of soured me on the whole idea now.”

“Just take it! Take it! Take it! Take it! Just stop these games!” Brant sniggered to himself, this scene was more valuable than anything else he was after.

“Oh alright then.” He faked every inch of his pity. “Garazzu, bring him back in will you!” Sometime they waited before Brant decided to call again. “Bring him back in now!” Yet still there was no return.

Just as Brant left to check out the other room, Garazzu came back in through the front door alone. Everyone stared at him, puzzled.

“Forgive me, there was something I needed to think about.” He was meet with suspicion from all sides of the room. Brant came back in with Markus, who had been released from the chair with his hands still tied behind his back.

“So, together again,” said Markus. His smirk was an instant give-away to Elbenor.

“What sort of trap is this?” She gripped her sword, stepping backwards to keep everyone in her scope.

“What's with this all of the sudden?” asked Brant. No matter how hard he tried to be sincere, he could not pin up the curtain.

“Markus is the most contemptible worm I know, he wouldn't be so smug if was in any real danger. Last time we meet he was a miserable coward who was broken by the air I breath. He begged like a child, pathetic yet appropriate.”

“Oh you're just being paranoid.” Brant chuckled. Elbenor went back outside to ask her escort a favour.

“Do you have a whistle?”

“Yes, House Lord.” He put his hand into his pocket, taking out a slim metal whistle. “Standard Sergeants signal.”

“Thank you,” said Elbenor, taking the whistle from him. She blew into it five times; two long notes, one short note, another long note and finally a short one. The pitch was deafeningly high. Unfortunately for Markus, he was the only one without the privilege of covering his ears.

Scores of Garollen soldiers came to her, with swords and shields. They stood to attention, keeping their wits sharp. Even Arhen and Haukea heeled to the call, though Arhen was the only one to approach her.

“What is the meaning of this, My Lady.” He got no answer from her, but taking a peek inside the tower told him all. He took a long groan before he spoke again. “Don't tell you-”

“All of you, form a circle now!” They did so, not even questioning why. Elbenor directed them to leave an opening where she could lead the others into the middle.

Markus was no longer so confident. His legs started to shiver and his breathes became shorter. He turned to Brant.

“Erm... I think now might be the best time to untie me, don't you think?”

“Don't worry, it's all going to plan,” said Brant, prodding Markus along. They, and Brant's brothers entered the circle. Garazzu however, was nowhere to be seen. No matter how big the smile on Brant's face was, Markus could not be assured. When Elbenor readied her sword, he sweated rivers.

“Perhaps now.” He tapped Brant with his foot, desperately wanting him to reconsider.

“Do you mind, you reek of sweat!”

“Hey... you don't plan on... well, letting me die... do you?” He got no answer, instead, Brant continued to prod him towards Elbenor. “You... you scum!” Markus tried to divert his path, but he was surrounded on all sides, and Brant kept a grip on him. “Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!” He sealed his eyes and dug his feet into the mud. Elbenor pulled back her blade, ready to tear him apart.

“End this madness!” Arhen lunged himself in front of Elbenor, infuriated. He slapped her across the face, and though light it was it was enough to make her flinch. “Aye, goodness sake girl. Do you want to end up like Nolman?”

“This is completely different!”

“His Majesty wouldn't think so, nor would your father.” He tapped his foot. Elbenor took a deep breath before stammering onwards.

“You... you wouldn't say anything...”

“Oh wouldn't I?” When he looked at her, he was unable to resist her vacant face. It was like staring into the eyes of a puppy. “Come on now... just send him to Barlent with the rest, I'm sure he'll be dealt with in time.”

“Alright... I mean, if you say so...” She turned her attention back to Markus, who was rolling his eyes. She took him by the throat and held him close. “I swear I'll see you dead.” She threw him into her men. Brant was less than impressed.

“Now hold on! You're flipping just cause an old man said so?” He haggled her to get his way.

“Take them away, all of them!”

“What!? Why you-” A pair of guards crossed their sword at his neck. He saw that his brothers had been surrounded. Arhen was quick to take a jab.

“Not so smug without them to shield you... oh ho.” He smirked, without a care for how obvious he appeared.

“You crusty fool!” Brant made an attempt to grab a hold of him, but his captors thrust their fists into his stomach. He fell on his knees, gasping.

~

Markus sat against the wall of his cell. Striped of his armour and bindings he had only the clothes on his back. The only light he had was whatever could come through the cracks in the wall. He could hear another set of metal doors sliding open, accompanied by a foul tongue.

“Hands off me, you cunt,” shouted Brant.

“Yeah yeah, big man. Just keep your mouth shut,” said the guard. “I don't want another word from you.” There was a quick scuffle that ended with Brant being push over into his cell. Markus began to laugh, raising Brant to kick at the wall dividing them.

“Shut it, you useless moron!”

“I can't believe you blew it so easily.”

“Sh... well it was your idea! That old relic is gonna get it!” There was a thunderous clash of a sword against the bars of Brant's cell.

“I thought I told you to keep quiet!” After that, there was silence. Markus tilted his head up, think of how unpleasant the ceiling was. Every so often the guard would pass his cell, giving him a glance. Just as he expected, the ceiling began to drip all over, it seemed to be raining outside.

An eternity he waited, yet no end to the rain. Not a scrap of food nor drop of clean water was given. There was a commotion outside, but no of the voices could be made out. Three more men came into the building, wearing the bronze armour of Garollen.

“We're under attack, the prisoners require extra attention. Let none of them enter.” Markus pressed against the bars, listening carefully.

“Who's attacking?” asked the guard on duty.

“It's just a small rabble, but if they realise their Prince is here there might be trouble, so keep your sword ready.” They spotted Markus eavesdropping and gave the bars a good kicking. “Don't get your hopes up! You forget who's leading us.”

A fourth soldier came in, wearing a closed helmet with a single slot to see through. He was a clumsy man, who bumped into the door frame on his way in. His voice was even more ridiculous.

“Hey, they want you back to searching now.” The others huddled up, whispering to each other.

“Who says?”

“Are you questioning orders from the House Lord herself?” They broke out of their circle and stood against the newcomer, but before they had a chance to interrogate, they were called to by someone outside.

“What's keeping you!? Get out here now!” The others, more convinced, took their blades in hand and reported for duty, leaving the guard and the unknown man behind. The guard kept a close eye on the other, despite their attempt to lose his attention by wandering around. No one could take their eyes of the spectacle that was this man knocking everything he touched. He stumbled towards the guard, falling into his arms.

“Have you been drinking?” Without warning, a dagger had been shoved into his neck. He gargled, dripping blood from between his teeth before dropping dead. Markus and Brant were eager to ask for help.

“Ah ha! You must be a spy... be a friend and help me out,” said Brant, waving his arm through the bars.

“He's a filthy traitor! Just get me out of here!”

“Oh, great way to beg.” Brant sniggered.

“You won't be so cheery when I leave without you. I'm sure you and your brothers will be just fine.”

The soldier, having took the keys from the guard, opened up the door on Markus' cell. He began to removing his helmet, revealing that he was in fact a she. Elissa was bruised on her left cheek and her hair was plastered by sweat. She had disorientated by her constant crashes, she struggle to keep her eye straight. Markus was surprised, if not a little smug.

“Well aren't you in a sorry state. What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like... I saw you being taken off, so I followed.”

“I'm impressed. I thought you'd still be crying in the corner after what happened back there.” He put his hand on her shoulder. Elissa was stunned by how he poked fun.

“Maybe I'll just leave you here!”

“What about the other one? He'll help me.”

“What other one?”

“The one who helped!” He pointed at the exit.

“I didn't bring anyone with me, that was probably just luck.” They both glanced at the exit, equally baffled. “Just forget about it and come on.” She dragged Markus off his feet. They were just about to leave when Brant called out to them, not content to stick around.

“Hey! Aren't you forgetting someone!?” He stuck his arms through the bars again, his face was desperate. Markus grinned, taking the key off Elissa.

“You want this?” He span the key around his finger. Brant reached out as Markus approached him, but in a heel turn, the key was flung to the other side of the room. Brant's cupped palms moulded into a flurry of claws. “A fair price for trying to sell out your Prince.” Markus laughed his lungs empty, until his cheek were starved with joy. Brant gripped tight onto the bar as he watched Markus run out.

“You bastaaaaaaard! You think you can make a fool of me!”

Markus and Elissa were showered upon by the grey clouds as they came out into the open. A horrific sight welcomed them. The corpses of the three soldier lying before them, with the right side of faces carved up in blood. Elissa fell into panic, trembling as she searched around. Finally, her eye met with him, standing on the flat roof of the prison not too high up. Garazzu had his sword drawn, dipping the blood of his last fight. He was wet from head to toe, weighted down by his rain drenched hair.

“You're the one who called them up?” asked Markus. Garazzu leaped down, landing in front of Markus and shoving him to the ground.

“What... what are you up to?” Elissa stepped back, with her only eye fixed on his sword.

“Just helping a tribesmen in need... even if they're foul.” Just as he was about to sheath his sword, he looked over his shoulder at Markus. “Although, I do take to this thing they call Justice, or at least, I care for Elbenor's plea. One thing I am sure of is that people will always die in the middle of battle, and a battle is heading right this way. It's the only place a warrior's justice can be done.”

Markus was quick to pick up one of the three swords that belonged to the dead. He lunged himself the moment he was on two feet. Garazzu parried his attack, felling him again. He was not to stay around for a fight, walking away from the pair. No matter how much the cuts from his last fight hindered him, or how many times he was pushed back down, Markus kept on giving chase.

“Just stop!” Elissa yelled, wrapping himself around his right arm. “He'll kill you, just give up!”

“Release me, I've no intention of dying.” By the time Markus had shrugged her off, Garazzu had already vanished. They were not alone however; the sound the marching reached their ears, growing louder and louder. Elissa dragged Markus into a dark narrow space in between two building.

The feet belonged to ten soldiers, lead by Elbenor and Arhen at the front.

“They shall be coming this way soon, get in formation! We'll charge on sight!” Elbenor drew her sword while her men shuffled around, forming a solid line. Elbenor looked down on Arhen. “You should leave.”

“Oh come on, you're not going to be angry with me forever? Oh, for the sake of their spirits.” She said nothing in return. “I was just doing the right thing. You'll thank me... one day.”

“No, I mean you should leave, unless your going to fight. They're in high numbers, even if they are just a pathetic resistance.”

“Well you've had any problem with dragging me into a battle before, eh. Say what you will, I can read your face like a book, girl. If you need me, I'll be at the manor, sleeping.” He wandered through the line, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

After some time waiting, the attackers came. They were a large, unruly charge of all sorts, some were even wielding pitch forks and spades. Few of them appeared to be professional soldiers and scouts. Elbenor was out numbered by at least double her own force, but raising her shield she and her men were not scared. When the two group met, the victor was clear from the first blows. The attackers were smashed to pieces. Those that tried to run were stabbed in the back, those that stood and fought stood no chance. The path was stained with their blood. Markus watched, with much despair written on his face.

“So much for them helping us.”

“Let's just sneak away,” said Elissa. They moved out from the space they were hiding in. Moving with light steps, they kept to the left of the street. As the distance between them and Elbenor was promising, they were spotted by a Garollen soldier.

“House Lord! Over there!” He pointed at the pair trying to escape. Elbenor turned livid when she saw for herself.

“Stop them! Kill them if you have to!” She and her men ran to collect them, chasing Markus and Elissa through the town. As they came to a crossroad, Elbenor found that another mob of Searans was charging at her from the left. Taken by surprise, they had no choice but to stand their ground yet struggled to do so. Markus picked up the pace, desperate to spend his luck wisely.

Being unfamiliar with the place, it was not long until he was lost in a labyrinth of stonework and thatch, with a tall fortress wall was to their right. The road before him and Elissa forked off in two opposite directions. They could hear someone approaching from behind. Taking the left course, they found themselves on the road leading to the manor. At first, it seemed calm, but the clashing of metal could be heard all around. The manor was heavily protected.

From the other side came the reckless antagonisers. In one hand they carried all kinds of things as weapons, and in the other they held stones. Once fearful and imprisoned peasants came out of their houses to join them in battle. Archers from the roof released their volley, taking scores of men. The men at the gate were pelted by the raining stones, denting their helmets and bashing their shields. More men from within the manor ran out to join the fray. Among them was their new toilet cleaner, Haukea. They broke the attackers like twigs. Markus watched as even this larger mass were unable to break through the defences.

“This is just terrible. Can't they do anything right?”

“A pebble can't stop a wave.” A sword was locked around his neck. “How foolish that you wandered out here, only to be killed in the middle of the fight.” Markus could only see the emerald gauntlet. Elissa had disappeared, though she had been right in front him not long ago.

“How did you-” He raised his head when the sword inched nearer. It halted just as it began cutting his skin. He could recognise Elissa's voice coming from behind.

“Go ahead, and I'll finish you.” She had her knife around Elbenor's neck, having come out of the shadows to ambush her. Elbenor, with her free hand, took a hold on the knife blade at her throat and tried to push it away. In the moment of distraction, Markus grabbed her sword arm and too tried to distance it from himself. The struggle lasted for a while. Elbenor let go of Markus and bashed her sword into Elissa's side. Though protected by her armour, she was flung to the ground by the blow, dropping the knife. Markus knelt down, wiping away the blood of his shallow cut. He took his sword and charged towards her. With a single blow, Elbenor forced the sword out of his hand, knocking him down with her strength. When she set herself up for the next strike her arm was snagged. Elissa held her back with all the might she could muster. She was kicked, and kicked again until she collapsed.

“I'll rid myself of his pet first.”

“Please stop!” Garazzu walked in. “The Prince is where your grudge lies, there is no need to hurt one my people.”

“Fine! But your people had best keep well away.” Garazzu knelt down and placed his hand on the collar of Elissa's armour.

“I shall keep watch over her and release her out of the way. You should go after him.” Elbenor turned back Markus, who was making his getaway. Though tired from battle and weighted down by her suit, Markus was also made slower by his injuries. All he could was slip through the gaps between the houses and hope Elbenor's armour would not permit her to follow. He came through the other end into a foul alleyway, crawling with rats and swamped with black water. Without looking back, he kept on running under the roof of vile smells. He could hear the sound of many feet echoing off the walls.

“Halt!” shouted a man. Markus turned around, finding a group of bowmen who had been sneaking around. They surrounded him and held him at knife-point. The leader of the pack, a middle aged man with short black hair and a beard, spoke. “Don't make a sound.”

“Please, let me explain. I am Prince Markus-”

“That's ridiculous!”

“It's ridiculously true as well. But surely one among you could recognise me.”

“We'll hand you over to the General, he knows the royal family.” Another member of their group came rushing through the alley. He was younger, with shoulder length brown hair. His speak was flustered with panic.

“We've got trouble. The others are dead, and they know we're here.”

“Then we have to fall back.” As they prepared themselves to retreat they were meet by their foe.

“Not so fast, old man!” said Haukea, backed up by many soldiers. “I was in the middle of a fight, and I could still hear you a whole league away. I'm surprised you haven't deafened yourselves yet!”

“And I'm surprised you could hear anything with that big mouth.” Markus swaggered forward.

“Why you... You're that guy who Elbenor Diah wants dead. Great, I'll take your head, then I'll get my due.” He pointed his sword. “Go ahead boys, leave non standing.”

The Searans pulled back their bows and let loose a line of arrows. They were blocked by metal square shields. Throwing their bows away, the Searan drew blades and clashed against the steel wall. They were battered against the wood and stone, with splatters of blood and ripped clothes flying all around. Markus tried to run away, keeping a sword close, but he had been singled out by Haukea. They struck metal to metal, pushing against each other. Markus was overpowered, his legs were caving in. A quickly as he had backed off, Haukea thrust forward again. The blow gored Markus' right arm. When Haukea pull his sword out, Markus fell on his side, grasping the wound with his left hand.

“Come on, grass trotter, you can better than that!” Haukea bent over and picked Markus up by the throat. He felt a pang as something hit the back of his armour. The Searan leader had made a desperate strike, to little effect. Haukea threw his catch away and began delivering the blows to the man. Once to each arm and another thrust through his stomach. Markus crawled away with his intact arm, inching in pain. He managed to slip into another gap on the opposite side to which he had entered the alley. Once the coast was clear, he hooked his fingers between a pair of stones above and slowly dragged himself back up.

Leaving the narrow spaces, the edge of the town was in plain sight, as where the rolling hills and shrubs. He limbed as far as he could, not even bothering to check if was being followed. Blood ran down in trickles down his arm, dripping onto the grass. He sank to his knees, losing his vision to a blurred mess. He looked down at his hands, they were a mess of blood and gross waters. A voice called to him.

“Markus! ...Markus!” He could feel someone supporting him, holding him around the chest. Before he could turn to see them, his eye lids fell like curtains, and he entered a deep sleep.

~

An orange sky greeted him upon his awakening while the setting sun shone on his face. His mouth was sore, and his head felt the strain of seemed to be a hammer blow. When he tried to stroke his forehead, he saw that his right arms was now a dead weight. It hung motionless, like meat at a butchers shop. The blood had been cleaned off, and his wound was dressed with a stretch of cloth, held tightly by an old wrapping, stained with blood that was too dried in to be his own. Arrgonte was in the distant north, where a smoke cloud was rising.

“Good to see you finally came to.” Markus looked over his shoulder to find Elissa. She no longer wore armour, but instead her usual garments which had fresh splatters of blood on the brown skirt. What was most distracting was they way she covered the right side of her face with her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“No need to thank me.” Elissa sighed, turning her head away.

“Ugh... my arm, it won't-”

“You'll be fine, just don't irritate it. You won't be using it for a while.”

“What! How am I meant to do anything with just one hand!” He stood up and closed in on Elissa. She tried to back away, but Markus tugged on the arm she was covering her face with. “Come on now! Stop being such a child!”

“Stop it!” Markus forced her hand away; she could cover it no more. It smacked Markus straight in the face. The monstrous scar that ran down her face, from forehead to cheek. One brave glance at the blood sealed eye lids could tell that there was nothing behind them. Scabby shades of red coloured each line and feature. Surely as the moment he laid eyes on her was the moment the shivered violently. He could not bare to look, yet he possessed to.

“Good grief! Cover that... thing!”

“I would, but you're wearing my bandages!” Markus was stunned. He felt over his right arm, running his fingers over the wrappings. “I think you should keep your trap shut, especially since you left me with that man!” Markus relaxed, still holding his arm.

“Well, he did let you go, so he couldn't of been that bad to you.”

“It's not that! It's just...” She ran a finger down her scar. “Just be glad you're alive.”

“It's more than that, I've got what I need now... but damn what a price.” He smiled, though it was half-hearted. “We need to hurry back to the camp.” His eyes were still being drawn to her face. Elissa would scowl when she catch him peeping, she could almost slap him and give him a mangled face of his own.

Markus was still weary, and before his journey had even began he was wavering. Elissa put her arm around him and helped him along.

“We need to find somewhere safe for the night,” said Markus. “She be searching everywhere for us.” He stared at Elissa, who wore a sombre frown. Her scar was still garish, inescapable from his mind. “Thank you.”

“Eh?”

“You've save my backside, again. I can't believe I was overpowered so easily.”

“Stop your whimpering. It should of knocked my practice into your head already.”

“Uhh... that nonsense again?” Elissa elbowed him in the chest, pushing the wind right out of his lungs. “Gosh! I've had enough of your oddities.”

“Well maybe if you weren't such a clod, you'd have your home back already.”

“And you'd be rich, am I right?” Elissa shifted her eyes away, avoiding his jabbing. “Oh now, don't act like it's not clear as day. What over reason would a savage have for doing all this. However, for you there shall be no such rewards. Why would I ever credit someone like you after all?” He smirked, as if to rub it in. This sudden betrayal did not bother Elissa.

~

The soldiers stood in a long line, several were clutching minor wounds. Elbenor marched up and down, throwing her tantrum in their faces.

“You pathetic, useless, weakling... da... uh... You idiots! It's because of you that the prisoners escaped! Now tell me; what are you!?”

“We are Pathetic, House Lord! Useless and weak!” they chanted, all together. Arhen step in, sighing with groggy movements.

“Don't you think you're taking this a bit heavy handed?” Elbenor came face to face with him, digging into his shoulders and water rising in her eyes.

“This is all your fault!”

“Now now, simmer down. It won't be the last time we'll see him.” Elbenor backed off, sinking into a sad state. A shadow was cast on her, and when she turned around she found Garazzu holding a grim face. He knelt down onto his knees and lowered his head.

“Forgive me. Your suffering is my fault. I knew that keeping my people from harm would be risking your goals not being realised. I can only hope that I can make up for my foolish pride.” Elbenor however, was far from sympathetic.

“Save it!” she yelled. Arhen was busy backtracking. He came across something interesting when looking through the things he said.

“Now hold on, I've think I've come up with a plan.” Elbenor growled at him.

“I'm the one in charge around here, remember?”

“My Lady, please. My only wish is to serve.” Elbenor was still unconvinced, crossing her arms and pouting. “I assure you, I have this worked out. I know what Markus intends to do, and I am just one step ahead.” His eyes seemed different. They were filled with a long lost sense of adventure that swept Elbenor off her feet at the sight of them.

“Are you sure about what you're doing?”

“Have some faith, girl. Your father and I never lost a battle. The young Prince will be bowing his head before you take it from him. But I shall require one favour.”

“Which is?”

“I made a promise, and it would be great if I could keep it.”

“This is ridiculous! First my scribe usurps me, and now I'm expect to give a position to that bafoon!” She clenched her fists at the soldiers who were still stood in a line. “What are looking at!? Back to work! Now!” They scurried away, bashing into each other.

“Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Fine! But I won't forget this! I want things done!” She stormed off, leaving a trail of woe in her wake. Arhen was then approached by Haukea, who was rather excited by what he had just seen.

“Arh' Grimfold Sah, you're on fire! Does this mean I'm back up?”

“Of course, but I'll have to whip into shape before hand. Trust me, boy, I know this system inside out.”

“Hur hur hur... but what about him? Is he gonna do somethin'?” He pointed at Garazzu, who looked lost in a world of his own.

“Not to worry, looks like I've got a lot to work with, and much to do.” He took a roll of parchment from his belt and a quill. “I'm going inside, I need to write a message to Lord Farner. Can I rely on you to keep things safe around here?”

“Of course, sah.” He slapped Arhen over the back, thrusting him forwards a bit further than he meant to. “Oh, sorry!”

“Aye. Just keep an eye out for trouble.” Arhen followed the path that Elbenor had taken earlier, taking this equipment to go write down his plots.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Fourteen: Shadow of the Lunatic.

The camp still lay under siege. Brutish men loitered around, throwing the waste of their meals on the grass. The captive treaded with fear, trying their best not to draw attention to themselves. Many of the men had been beaten by Brant's thugs, with black eyes and bruises on their faces. Lirina and Edward were nowhere to be seen. From his vantage point in the distance it seemed hopeless to Dyarl. He was weary from the restless journey back, fighting against the numbing pain in this legs.

“This is not a good day.”

“Looks like your foe have been fighting dirty,” said his new companion, the enigmatic Ulysses. The torn ends of his robe flapped in the breeze like flames. His wrapped arms were crossed together, expressing some irritation or impatience. “They will have probably taken anyone important under strict guard.”

“I can't let this continue.”

“Worry not, I shall rid of these trespassers.” Dyarl was not thankful for the offer. He sighed and averted his eyes of the shadowy man.

“An irony I assure you.”

“Thinking nothing of it. Once I am done you shall embellish me with your trust and admiration.” For all his grandness in his voice, he was still unconvincing and odd. Ulysses was more than aware of Dyarl's feelings, but ignored them out right. Taking his first steps towards the camp he was meet with outrage.

“What are doing?” asked Dyarl. “You can't just walk and-”

“Of course I can. Only one man can imped me.” He went on down to the camp where he was immediately spotted. He was approached by two of the captors, who were sniggering and pointing fun at the shrouded man. They patted on the shoulders while grinning, a friendly attempt to strike fear in his heart.

“Well there, did the circus lose you or something?”

“I shan't abide your nonsense. Bring your cohorts here so that might form mountains of their bodies. A fine solution!” The two men were gormless, bursting into laughter that Ulysses found unbearable. He spread out his hand and began preparing a spell.

Take this power and burn brightly,

and burst into the air frightfully.

Twenty five, Incendia cannon.

The man on the left was caught in a fierce blaze. His embers were thrown the wind along with a hallow scream. The remaining man was inspired with fear.

“Now then,” said Ulysses, “That should bring the others here.” As foreseen, the area became flooded with the rest of Brant's soldiers. Ulysses walked away from the camp, leading the men along with him.

“Who the heck are you!?” asked a burly, bearded man, who wore metal plates around both shoulders. “You dumb or something!?”

“No, I simply do not enjoy the company of peons.” The enraged man drew his large sword and flailed it about. As he aimed his weapon, his side was pierced by another sword. Dyarl pushed him over after retaining the end of his blade. “Ah ha! Thank you very much. Now if would keep the rest busy while I get ready.”

“For wha- now hold on, you can't expec-” The furious horde charged on Dyarl, taking their swords to gut him. A crowd was forming some distance away back at the camp. Curious to see what the commotion was, the Searans quickly came to worry for Dyarl's life. He was battered around as he blocked the flurry of metal. Their skills were lacking, but with numbers they wore Dyarl down in a matter of seconds. With a desperate stroke, he cut a diagonal gash down one attacking from the left.

The earth beneath them began to shake and stir. Their balance was faltering and their knees bent over. The ground jolted and sprang in the form of stone swords. They sliced Brant's men apart and flung their entrails down their solid slops. Dyarl lived, no stone seemed to point in his direction.

“You could have killed me with that!” he yelled.

“But I didn't.”

“That wasn't the point!” He looked over to where the watching crowd were, only to see that they were scattering. Their cries were filled with terror. “See what your showing off has done.”

“Of course! They would be suspicious of me anyway, but now I've struck them with the resin of my might. I was worried that they would do away with me because of their foolishness. Hopefully now they'll stay away.” He stroked the end of robe as though it were fine silk. Wandering to the camp itself, the people backed off, glaring with disgusted eyes. All signs showed that Ulysses enjoyed his tyrannical image. It tickled his toes and lit up what could seen of his face. Dyarl on the other hand, was agitated by the ill air that now surrounded them. “Are you having regrets about this?” asked Ulysses.

“Please, just focus. We have to find His Majesty and Lady Lirina.” Keeping a vigilant watch, he found a warm face among the sea of sorrow. Gerald waved to him, with a ridiculous grin to catch attention.

“Mister Dyarl! Over here!” They met up, leaving Ulysses to his delusions. “Goodness, I though you'd gone missing as well. I don't where to start.”

“Where's Lady Lirina?”

“She's probably under guard somewhere. I don't even if she's here any more; they took Mister Markus away. And that's not all...”

“O, I dread!”

“That woman was up to something foul. She kidnapped an ambassador of sorts. He has to go as soon as, but they wouldn't let anyone out.” Ulysses was pulled from his fantasies at the mention of his former goals.

“He's here you say? Oh ho, these peasants have been more useful than I expected. Might I have a kind word with him?” Gerald was far from smitten with him.

“Who's that nice fellow?” he asked. Dyarl began whispering in his ear, keeping Ulysses out. When he was done, Gerald nodded his head and feel into silence. From then on, he kept an eye on the odd man.

“Perhaps you should take me to meet this captive,” said Ulysses, aware that they were against him. Dyarl lead the way, his destination was clearly different than Ulysses'.

“We have to find Lady Lirina first, understand?”

“Fine, fine, fine. Waste precious time, I'll jus-” He was clobbered over the head with something hard. He rolled onto his back, watching as the clouds mixed and spin. Two darkening figures towered over him.

~

He could feel the grains of sand rubbing on his back as he awoke. He shook about, finding his hand and feet were tied together. What was most distressing was that he could not feel the warmth of cloak around his head. His pale skin could feel the sunlight of the clearing afternoon skies. The dust in his short blue hair was being blown away by a salty breeze and the short hairs around his chin and upper lip were growing cold.

“It's about time you woke up, sleepy head,” said Gerald, approaching him with the ocean waves crashing in distance behind. Ulysses snapped his jaws and slithered like a snake.

“You dare uncover my face!”

“Oh, but you're so handsome.” He leaned over and grabbed Ulysses, propping him on his bound feet while supporting him at the shoulders.

“You think these simple ropes can best me? I can still cast.” He stretched his index fingers together and started to hum an ominous tune. Gerald took them both and bent them on their backs. Crack and snap each broke. His song ended with a wood curling sheik. “What have you done!”

“Oh don't worry, we're about to have some fun 'ere.” Gerald dragged him through the sand, leaving a trail. Before long they were in the sea, with the rough waves passing between their legs. Ulysses was shocked by the sudden chill. “Now then, tell me where she is.”

“And if I don't?” Gerald griped his hair and plunged his head deep into the waves. Ulysses struggled to resurface, but it was in vein. It was a whole minute before Gerald pulled him back out. His hair was drenched with salt water and his lungs gasped for air.

“Unless you can grow gills, it would be best if you talked.”

“You travesty of a man. If I die, you'll lose too.” He choked on the water locked down his throat. “Don't you find it wasteful anyway? You know what I mean.”

“I do, do I? I wonder how you seem to be such a little know-it-all.” Gerald appeared rather grim when he spoke. “Some wise man you are, flapping your gums like that. Maybe it would be easier to just to rid of you.” He drowned Ulysses again, pushing him down further until his face touched the undersea sands. Gerald whistled away as he pondered on whether to keep him down there. He pulled him back up one last time and told him; “Unless of course, you have something to say.” Ulysses' face was purple with starvation.

“Fine! I'll talk. I'll tell that she was never taken from her holding place at the Mount, though I certainly had no troubles in creating the illusion. The ironic thing about being so untrustworthy is that you can convince anyone to your apparent misdeeds. Go to the tower basement and you shall fine her save and unaware.”

“Now there's a good boy.” Gerald dragged him away from the sea, searching around for a place to sit down and rest. He travelled towards the cliff face, where piles of smooth, round rocks lay in many earthy colours. He rested Ulysses behind the larger rocks, taking out a stretch of cloth from his pocket to gag him with. He looked out across the water, a soothing aura surrounded him. “Don't you just love that saltly air? The tide is gonna be real high tomorrow evening... so the way I see it; if you're being honest I'll come back and get you, otherwise I hope you really do grow gills, lad.”

He walked away leisurely, taking the coastal scene in. Ulysses could not enjoy the fresh atmosphere while he tried to worm his way around. The bonds were strong and the rocks were coated with slimy green weeds. Any attempt to escape seemed hopeless.

~

Her captors had been slain, and their bodies dragged outside of the tent. Yet Lirina still found a reason to remain in silence. Dyarl came back inside, avoiding the trails of blood on the grass.

“Milady, are you well? What did they do why they kept you?”

“Nothing of importance... but they took...” She could only bare to hold herself together.

“Please, don't strain yourself. I've heard of what happened to him.”

“It was Brant. He's serving the empire.”

“Sir Brant?” Dyarl tensed up. “Why would he go against us like this?”

“Maybe he just did the smarter thing. But... they're going to kill Markus.” Warm tears ran down her cheeks. “I... I can't believe Sebannah would be so desperate.”

“What do wish to do, Milady? We can't just wait around to see what happens next, and His Highness will probably-” He halted, seeing that she just gasped with dread. “Forgive me.” He could think of no other words to go on.

Their forlorn silence was interrupted when Edward entered the tent. His right eye was blackened. He looked around; what he saw did not cheer him up one bit. Dyarl eyed him, peeved by his unwanted intrusion.

“Can I help you?” Dyarl asked.

“The last of those lot are fleeing. When do you intend to move? I've already begun to spread the word, hopefully the people who remain calm.”

“I beg your pardon, this is not the best time.”

“For who I ask, who? Fear is rife among the people, we have to retreat to safety. If we take this to Jistine, they might be more motivated to help us.” He glanced at Lirina, who's head was sunken. She did not even listen to a word that came from his mouth. “I wonder. Did they take all the brains with them, leaving Searan with a load of do-nothing nobles.”

“Alright, alright, I think you better go now, don't you?” Dyarl pushed him by the shoulders, pressuring him to leave.

“Now Jason, you're smarter than this. Tangled in their nonsense; your father's ways never fell deaf on your ears before.”

“Perhaps a blacksmith should stick to being a blacksmith.” Dyarl was almost keen to kick him out face first. He sat down, stroking his temples, trying to push the insufferable man's words from his mind.

“You should go. He is right... we can't stay here, you've got work to be doing.” She looked up, disappointed that Dyarl did not budge. “Sir Dyarl, please leave me. I need some time on my own.” He went onto his knees and replied.

“Milady, if you require anything at all, you need only ask.”

Immediately outside, he was confronted by a number of people. It was bothersome and obvious that they had been waiting for him to come out. They pestered him with their questions and concerns; where would they go? Is this and that true? We can't take those or them. Leave the Northerners behind. The list seemed to go on forever.

“People! People! Remain calm!” he shouted. “Pack only essentials! Food will be given out during the journey! We shall begin our course to Saint Jistine's Mount over the next few days!” The people groaned and grumbled, some even cried in frustration.

One man in particular stood out to Dyarl. He was short with dark skin, wearing the dirtiest of rags. He shuffled to the front of the crowd. He tried to raise his soft voice above the crowds anguish. Dyarl saw him, not that he could not notice him.

“We have business, you and I.” Dyarl tried to lead him away from the crowd, but they were tenacious in their thirst for answers. His attempts to get away ended in vein when the crowd began circling the two. They closed in on them, moaning and clutching with their fingers.

“Quit you're yammering!” The crowd fell silent, all twisting their heads to find who called to them. Edward pushed his way through, placing himself at the centre of attention. The people calmed and reorganised, forming an opening where Dyarl and Jaeri could escape.

Standing in the fresh air on the outskirts of the camp, Dyarl awaited for Jaeri to begin.

“I need to know when I will be able to go on with my quest. I'm meant to be in Garollen, but those men would not let me leave.”

“I wonder; why did you not simply go directly to Garollen?”

“I planned to, but my ship was taken off course. It was rather unusual, the weather on the trip seemed uneventful.” Dyarl pondered on his story, there was only one thing that stuck.

“So the ship diverted it's journey to a place where a group were waiting to snatch you. Who was the shipmaster?”

“I don't know. Do you think he might have been with those who tried to kidnap me? And that woman as well... but she was wearing clothes like that man was. Oh I'm a lost little piece of driftwood, she took my feather cap and everything.” He patted the top of his head with both hands, whimpering.

“Is that important? Anyway, I'm sure you can go on without it.”

“That's easy for you to say. That thing's been sat on my head since I got this position, I'm a nothing without it. I don't get anything else for doing this.”

“Alright, enough of your hat. We'll be going to the Mount, I'm sure you'll be able to make your way from there.” Jaeri would not cease his worry, muttering and staggering nonsensical about his head dress. Dyarl was befuddled over how such a frail man could be given the kind of task handed over. “Goodness, relax. There are more important things than your feathers.”

Jaeri still sobbed, though lessening. His breathing was a heavy battle to regain his composure.

“I could talk to Sir Jistine for you. I'll tell him that you saved me death. This is true, no?” Now it was Dyarl who was not listening, rubbing his temples again. “Problem?”

“Ugh... Brant, you dastard.” He sighed, looking out to the clouds as though he expected an answer.

~

Markus and Elissa were hidden under a large patch of shrubs. The land was plagued with winged shadows, five in total. Tail wind took the anwyrms far across the sky without fault or tiredness. They landed, digging into the soil with their claws. On the command of the armoured riders, the beasts began rearing their heads into possible hiding places; in bushes, under rocks, a large hole or two.

“They'll find us,” Markus whispered. “Any ideas, Scar face?”

“We only have this sword, we couldn't possible fight them off. We can't move as fast as them either.” Markus was daunted by that assessment.

“We could scare them off with your face.”

“Oh shut up!” Elissa yelled. The anwyrms turned their heads to where the two were concealed. “Now looked what you've done.” She punched Markus on his injured arm. He sprang up, shrieking. The riders had him surrounded in the blink of an eye.

“Surrender yourself!” They commanded. Markus twisted his head around, noticing that Elissa was still hiding.

“Fine, you've caught me.” He placed his left arm behind his back, waiting to be tied up. Two riders dismounted to apprehend him. They drew short swords from their belts and held his neck at there points. Markus moved from out of the bush.

One of the anwyrms suddenly roared in agony. Without its rider, it built into a rage and thrashed around. It bashed into the other dismounted beast to its right. They flashed fangs to each other and whipped their tails. The other three tried to calm them down, but their fight was already blazing. They head butted one another, and tried to grasp their jaws around the other's neck. Unable to be contained, even the tamed anwyrms were losing their cool.

“Stop! Enough!” The dismounted and dismayed riders found it impossible to settle their storm. The others took out their lances and tried to beat the renegades into submission. The angry beasts struck back, biting the poles that smacked them. Their eyes were drawn to the front legs of the first clamouring wyrm, which was gushing blood.

“This is your doing!” Markus found the blades closer than ever when the riders had an outburst of stress. “You're not getting away!”

Elissa snuck out from under the shadows of the bush with sword in hand. Taking the one on Markus' right, she sealed her hand over his mouth and slit his throat. Before the other could react, Markus rammed him down. Elissa came and gave him a few swift stabs. Each took a sword that had belonged to the soldiers.

“Just get them from behind,” Elissa whispered, pointing to the riders still trying to subdue the quarrel.

“Are you mad? I can't fight left handed. We should just run.” There was a quake beneath them when a steed was thrown onto it back. The rider had been crushed under the weight, squeezed blood trickled from underneath.

“Right, right.” Elissa dropped the blade in her left hand and legged it without even waiting for Markus. The later trailed behind, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. The land under his feet was riddled with obstacles, all hidden by wild grass. He tripped over devious little rocks and tangling weeds.

He managed to follow Elissa to a new spot to rest. They sat together by a large, rough rock which the ground was growing over and filled the cracks with greenery. They panted and mopped the sweat with their sleeves.

“That should... give us some time,” said Elissa, straining to the words together.

“Well bloody thanks for waiting.” Markus looked upwards, the gathering clouds were troubling.

“Ha, maybe if you actually ran.” She suppressed her laughing, but she could not resist handing over a light slap on the head. Markus was no less playful.

“You seem to run fast, no surprise there. I wonder how they might catch up with you.” He took a breather and relaxed. “Speaking of which, are the coming this way?” Elissa looked back around the rock. The surviving riders were following them, the anwyrms sniffing out their tracks.

“They're onto your smell.”

“My smell? Don't speak such-” Elissa was already making her move, sneaking through the grass. “Wait this time!”

They were bogged down by a sudden downpour, with rabid winds that burnt their eyes in one blow. They guarded their faces and pressed on as strong as they could, moving from each hiding place that nature could provide. Markus was soon at the front, seeing that Elissa found it hard to navigate.

“This way!” he shouted, raising his voice over the gales. He put his left arm around her and guided her along, though his face now took the brunt of the weather. A glanced back told him that the riders were also hindered. Their wings were hard to flap, unable to lift their heavy bodies against the treacherous wind.

Though he held her close with stern sureness, even Markus struggled to see what was ahead. He was blind to the down slope and they both screamed when the slid through the mud to the bottom. They lay motionless, bruised and dirty. The chasing riders were out of sight and it would take them long to climb down, which gave them both reason enough to keep going.

The weather began to soften, but it had already beaten them. Collapsing onto the grass, they did not even know what direction they had been travelling in any more. On their backs they could see the sun emerging from the breaking clouds. Rain still pattered their faces.

“Oh goodness.” Markus winched with pain, his legs battered and his clothes saturated.

“Did we lose them?” Elissa closed her eye, tempted to fall asleep.

“A while back I think.” Markus sat up, looking around at the surrounding area. There was dirt path to his right, but the destination was not visible. Patches of woodland grew all around, wild and lustrous evergreens. “We'll need to go... they might have men patrolling these roads.”

They inched their way down the road, keeping an eye out for anyone else. With empty stomachs they groaned with hollow cries. Elissa stuck her tongue out, catching rain drops to sooth her throat. They heard a noise coming from behind them; a rickety old cart made of wood, drawn by one horse. Markus and Elissa threw themselves off the path, hiding in the nearest bush. The wagon came to halt beside them, the horse stomping its legs.

“Get out of there and show yourselves!” shouted the man riding at the front. He appeared rather old, with greying hair and shallow wrinkles on his face with bristles on his chin. His body was in fit condition, dressed in a brown jacket and a white shirt. The pair arose from the bush with shifty eyes. “And what would you youngster's be doing in a place like this?”

“We're just passing through,” said Markus.

“I don't like the look of you two. You tramps plan on raiding me?”

“No! I really don't want anything you've got!” The man was still wary. “Listen, can you tell us where we are?”

“Eh... This is the road to Inverbles, an hour by horse on a clear day I suppose.”

“Might you take us there?”

“Ho ho, of course not. You're disgusting.” The man laughed. Markus steamed, but Elissa dug it in further.

“You hear what he said about you!”

“Oh? Me? I believe he meant you.”

“Well actually you're both rather foul. I'll take my leave now, don't follow to closely now.” The man whipped the straps and got the horse on its way again. The pair were left dazed and confused, but worst of all they were left stuck with a long road ahead. They continued, starving, feeble and dying.

“That was odd,” said Elissa, dragging her feet across the dirt.

“Yeah, but Inverbles is in Jistine, we're close. At least we shouldn't have any more trouble.”

“Great, I'd rather have birds pick apart my body anyway.”

~

After a drawn three hours walking, they reached the village. It was quiet and muddy, with faint signs of life that walked about. Inverbles was far smaller than any map had implied to Markus. It was nothing more than a couple of buildings placed on either side of the road, which itself had not changed. There was baker, which the cart they saw earlier was parked by, and a lonely tavern.

“People down south really enjoy those places.”

“It's what nobodies do when they've nothing to do.”

“Oh, so we're all familiar then?” Elissa giggled.

“...Yes. I'll get us a room, while you find something to eat.” They parted without a farewell. Markus entered the tavern, puzzled to find it almost empty. The smell was soothing, as though the wooden beams and boards still kept the forest scent. A stone fireplace gave warmth to the room, cackling and flailing sparks. He approached the aged barkeeper and seated himself on a stool. He tried to speak, but the barkeeper was half asleep and did not hear him.

“Any rooms spare?” he asked. “C'mon, there's practically no one else here.”

“Yeah, lots of important types must live around here.” A man sat next to him was downing his drink. He sniggered after his comment, one that made Markus smile, even if just a little. It was the same guy from before, and Markus was indignant when he realised. He pushed him aside and yelled.

“You, old man! You're gonna get it now!” He thrust him by the collar of the his shirt, and threw him into a table. “You'll regret not helping me out back there.” A key fell out of the man's pocket. A wooden tag attached bore a carved symbol of a barrel. Picking it up, Markus could read the “room one” and kept it for himself.

“Oi!”

“Consider this your apology. Now why would I return it?”

“But... how can you do this to your real father?” Markus was stunned, and the man swiped his key back. “Haw! I ain't really your father, but if I was I would have done away with you.”

“Why you, senile old man!” Markus ringed his neck with his one working arm, threatening to strangle.

“It's Michael, lad. You don't want to fool with me.” Markus let him, pouting and grumbling. He went back to his stood to brood. Michael chuckled while comforting the grazes on his back. “Haw haw! A bad day?”

“Hmm.” Markus nodded, though he was more focused on being served.

“Aww. It's a double bed, so maybe I could share.” Michael slapped him on the back. Markus shuddered, the thoughts it put in his head were terrifying.

“Let's just say that your not the worst person I might end up in that bed with.”

“Haw! That's what my wife said. So you and her...”

“She has a face only a mother could love. If it weren't for troubles she got me out of I wouldn't drag her around with me. She's just some Northerner who's got something I want.” Tankards were placed at their hands, full to the brim with cheap liquor. Michael took a huge gulp, gasping with refreshment.

“That's frosty, lad. Real frosty.”

“Don't give me that. I've got big things on my mind, and every move I make is a losing one.”

“Well, to us talentless nobodies!” Michael raised his drink and then swallowed it whole.

“Yeah! A toast to you!” He looked around to make sure no one was watching. The barkeeper had left for a moment, and they appeared to be alone. A hand grasped his right shoulder, causing him to squirm. In her other arm, Elissa held a small grey sack. “Ah ah ah ah ah! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I'm trying to have drink.”

“O'! I'll wait. You clearly worked so hard to find us a room, you deserve a break.”

“Well, that guy took the room. But he paid for this round.” He took a mouthful and swallowed.

“Fantastical! You two can sleep in a ditch tonight.” She went over to Michael. The tag of the key was hanging out of pocket, so she took it with her sticky fingers. Michael did not notice a thing, swilling his drink around. She grinned, taking Markus' arm once more. “We're going now. Quickly, before he figures it out.”

“Ow! Alright! Just stop doing that!”

Elissa dragged him from the stool, taking him upstairs. Their room was at the end of short corridor. It was small and cosy, with a single window and a double bed, just as Michael had described. Markus flung himself onto the bed, falling asleep on impact. Elissa locked the door behind her and opened the sack. She tossed on loaf of bread at Markus and took another for herself.

“Eat up. It was all I could take before they would catch me.”

“Ugh...” The door rumbled as a pair of fists pounded. Elissa backed against it, keeping it on its hinges.

“I know you're in there!” shouted Michael. “I know you took my key, and you stole off my cart! Open up or else I break this door down!” Markus got up, scratching his aching head.

“What did you do now?” He took a bite of his loaf, which was hard with a rough texture.

“I took that bread from his cart. It was only fair after the way he left us like that.”

“A fair point, but I won't be putting up with that all night.”

“Then let's give it to him.” Elissa unlocked the door and carefully opened it. Michael burst in, his cheeks were red and eyes were crossed. He reached for the sack under Elissa's arm, but ended up tripping over himself when he glanced a her face. He groaned like a beached whale, too drunk to stand. Markus took him by the feet and dragged him out.

“He can sleep in the corridor,” he said. Markus felt nostalgic when he looked at Michael sleeping. “Funny; I remember when I caught Jason out cold by his dorm at the academy.”

“O' what a coincidence, I don't like either of them.”

“Jason? I know he can annoying, but is he that bad?” Elissa move in close and wrapped her arms around him. She breathed warmth down his neck and spoke into his ear.

“You tell me. He hands you a vital job, then gives up on you when you don't do it the way he wants. He doesn't care about you, so long as someone does thing this way.”

“Well aren't you just using me as well for your big reward?” He smirked, thinking that he had her cornered. Elissa held tighter.

“Yeah. But who else puts that kind of faith in you? Not even that mother of yours.” Markus slouched, sighing. “Who among them have been right here for you? They care more for your dead sister than you. They won't even let you try, they put no hope in you, not like I do.”

“Now come on. You've just been taking advantage of me.” He tried to nudge his way out of her bind, but she was willed to keep a fixed hold on him. The air around his neck made him uncomfortable and hot.

“And aren't you?” she asked. Markus thought for a moment; she was right. “There's no need to be all grim about it. I'm glad you found me so useful. Where I come from, useless things get thrown out.”

“That explains a lot. Now if you don't mind,” he said, as he freed himself from her snake wrap, “I'm still hungry.” He took his meal and went to the other side of the room with haste. He dared not look at her for the rest of the evening. Elissa left, looking disheartened. She stepped over the drunken old man outside and disappeared from sight. Markus relaxed as he sat down on the bed, resting his weary legs.

Later into the night Markus had taken off his shirt, which was quite a struggle with a limp arm. The room was lit by a single candle on a small round table beside the bed. There was a mirror on the west wall of the room which Markus was preoccupied with. The marking on his back glared at him from the reflection. He tried again to rub it away, but it was as tough as the day he first found it. He clenched his jaw and tried even harder, but to no avail. The door opened, but he was too busy to check.

“You still have that thing?” Elissa asked, locking the door behind her.

“Of course I sill have it! I can't rid of the damn thing!” He loosened up, giving up on the task of cleaning his back. When he finally stood up straight he took the chance to give Elissa a passing glance. Something caught his eye. She wore her hair in long streaks down the right side of her face, hiding her scar. Markus could at least bare to stare at her now, which is exactly what he did.

“You like it?”

“You really know who to sweep things under the rug.” Markus slipped into bed, with his back turned to her. He became more relaxed for a while, it was the softest bed he had slept in for some time. It lulled him into a quiet rest, the warm blanket hugged his skin. A sudden freezing sensation cracked his spine. A hand held his shoulder.

“Does your blood run that cold!?” he yelled. Elissa drew closer. He could feel her naked breasts press against him. He tossed over and stared her in the eye. Her hands warmed up, and the chill down Markus' back was washed away, though it still irked him. “Can you...”

“Oh!” She let go, smiling and shuffling. Markus had lost his motivation for sleeping, and his heart beat so forcefully his lung were bruising. “You don't look too good.” Elissa rushed back to him through the sheets. She knew he wasn't ill or injured, but it was fun to play oblivious. She put her around him and whispered in his ears. Markus burned red, his face glowed. She kissed the back of his neck, her hair meshed with his. Markus resisted, or so he tried. He did not know why his body refused to turn away. He was caught in a jungle, wrapped with vines that choked the sense out of him. What was disturbed him most of all was that in spite of outward appearances, he was anything but horrified. Her meddling went on for a while; exploring, marking out what was now hers. Their lips sealed together and they clung on to each other.

The candle burnt out, but they were still wide awake and active. The blanket moulded to their changing shapes. They groaned and twitched, Markus would cry in pain when his arm was caught up in their tangle.

They died down. As those their journey had not worn them down already they fell asleep.

~

Markus slid his eyes open, letting the cool morning light enter. He rolled over in a daze. Elissa had vanished, though it did not matter to him; he could hardly remember what had gone on that night. The blanket was swept away and his body could feel the tingle of the air. His discarded clothes were thrown upon him, and someone was really getting on his nerves.

“Wakey wakey!” Elissa called. She was fully dressed, and looked as though she had been up for sometime. “It's time to go!”

“Ugh, now?” The door was being bashed. Someone was after them.

“I know your in there! Come on out! You're gonna get it!” and so on. When Markus got up to put his clothes on, he saw that Elissa had then stripped the bed of all its sheets, and was knotting them together into a rope. She tossed one end out of the window, and tied the other to a leg of the bed. After checking it was secure, she climbed out on it. Markus followed, still half asleep. It was a challenge to go down with only one arm, but he managed by sliding down, slow as a snail.

People on the street stared at them as they descended, but none of them did anything. The pair heard the door break open just as their feet were on the ground.

“If I remember right, the others should be east of here,” said Markus, running down with Elissa. They looked over their shoulders back at the window where Michael was throwing his weight around. A hangover was not enough to ease his rage.

They kept on moving until the were some distance away from the village. They sat down on a grassy hill for a pause.

“Goodness, woman, why'd you have to cause so much trouble.” Elissa jumped him.

“You don't seem to mind. It's well worth it.” As she laughed in his ear, the whole night flashed back to Markus. He was stricken with shame and embarrassment. “I won't tell, promise.”

“I scared to trust that.” He lowered his head into his hands, wiping the sweat away. “Listen; just because you move like hawk it doesn't mean you can brag.”

“You certainly weren't trying to stop me.”

“I was tired. If you ever speak of it again, I'll make you pay for it.” He turned away, but she persisted to pester. His face went red and his jaw was clenched, he failed to keep it out of his mind.

“So you're just going to forget about?”

“I can always hope.” He got up and began to walk away. “I've had enough of his. I know you intend to torment me with my faltering but we've no time to play.” Elissa followed, pleased with herself. She tailed Markus, like a lingering odour. He could not rid himself of sickness in the pit of his stomach.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Fifteen: Sun and Moon.

Markus was speechless when he saw the abandoned camp site. Standing in the middle of the sloppy, mud drenched field all he could see was trampled land and scorch marks where fires had been lit. He ran up into the centre of where the tents used to be.

“Damn it! Where'd they go!?” He sunk to his knees, panting. Elissa followed him, she was perky with a smirk on her face.

“If you yell loud enough they might hear you and come back.” She bit her lip, just waiting for his back talk.

“Must you?” Markus stood up, looking around for anything that might lend a clue. “How could they just up and vanish like this? What happened to Brant's lot?”

After more tedious searching they came across a odd heap. A mountain of bodies which were disfigured and charred. Tens of ghastly faces stared back at them, with twisted teeth and empty eyes.

“Well, that answers one question,” said Elissa, poking the heap with a strange sense of fascination. “Although... there might be a few more in here than we can see.” For a while neither said anything, just watching the corpses as though something might leap out. The smell rose the vomit in their throats.

“Wha-what do you mean by that!?” He ran around the pile, checking each face in case he recognised one. “I don't see anything familiar.”

“Of course not, they've been burnt.”

“What! You're j-just trying to scare me.” He began to sweat. No matter how much he told himself it was nonsense the image was still burning in his head. “Listen, will you be serious.”

“I am,” she said, posing a stone cold frown. Markus' jaw dropped and an awkward moment came between them. He was begging to be put out of his misery. “I didn't mean it you know.”

“Well obviously!” Markus flustered, pushing the moment down in his gut. Elissa snapped off an arm from the heap and turned it on many angles. Markus was curious. “You're not going to do what I think you are?”

“I was just looking.” She tossed it aside and rubbed the ashes off her fingers.

“Right, I'll-”

They were interrupted by the sound of feet squishing through the mud. They searched franticly for the source that was approaching them. They were both disturbed by what they saw, so much so that they closed together.

Ulysses staggered around. His robes had been squeezed dry, it was full of creases. His ramblings were an incoherent cesspool of hatred. His shivers could be felt by Markus and Elissa, who were anxious to speak out.

“Is he cold?” asked Markus.

“Looks like it.” They whispered to one another, glancing back at Ulysses every so often to make sure he was not listening.

“Should we help him?” Though he did not take to the idea himself Markus acted unsure.

“No, I don't trust him. Just look that that cloak, he's hiding something.”

“Should we leave him?”

“That might be a good idea.” When they looked over again they were startled to find Ulysses was stood right beside them. They leapt back, with all three eyes wide open. Nothing happened, but they were both suspicious and vigilant.

“Hmph! I am not as cold as I am boiling with rage. Thank you for your concern though.” He oozed a thick dark aura as he struggled to contain his anger. “R-rest assure that you're in no immediate danger... but... but that fat old man on the other hand... he'll be... I'll make him wish he was never born. As for that dog, he'll learn the cost of betrayal.” His rage was out of control, quaking and sputtering. The others backed away in fear of his wrath. Just as they were about to escape, Ulysses addressed them once more. “Tell me where they went!”

“I'm afraid you're out of luck. I've not idea where they are and if did I wouldn't be so quick to tell you.” Ulysses began to calm, to Markus' surprise.

“Fine! My vengeance can wait; my business with you is more important. I believe that you shall be most accepting of my assistance.”

“No thank you, I already a stooge.” He introduced Elissa, pleasantries he would rather not have to do. Her polite hello was overpowered by her sniggering.

“You misunderstand me. I've no intention of being subservient, but you and I can be great benefit to each other.”

“What could you offer me?”

“If I am not mistaken, you still bear the rune on your back. I could-” Markus barged into him, furious and desperate.

“How did you know that!?” He was almost spiting venom. “I order you to tell me right this instant.”

“It's a rune spell, placed on by an associate of mine when you died.” Markus did not reply straight away, his face slumped into the most ridiculous expression of confusion.

“That's nonsense!”

“That's life... well except for you, where it's death. But you have nothing to worry about; she failed to do it properly, not surprisingly. The final rune isn't fully connected. Such an incredible spell, wasted on her.”

“Alright, I'm tired of this! Just go back to whoever she is and get help from her. Your gibberish is not rubbing off on me.”

“That doesn't matter. I can remove that marking and more.”

“Fine, you have my attention,” said Markus, letting off a sigh of weariness. Elissa, however, was not about to give in.

“Just who do think you are? Why should we take help from a creep like you?”

“A fine question, dear, fine indeed. Markus and I are very similar, brothers you might say.” That comment made Markus shake his head. “We've never met before, but I am sure he will understand who I am.” Ulysses pulled down his hood. By his blue hair Markus recognised his lineage, though it took a while to sink in.

“He's an anriblood,” Elissa said, fiddling with her own green hair. “But blue, that's a rare sight.”

“I suspect you've never had to chance to meet another. There is only one family widely recognised for such appearances.”

“This is utter, utter nonsense!” shouted Markus. “I spend quite some time with the Vincent's during the civil war, and I've never seen you before.”

“I was long gone at that time. The name Kenneth is not one lightly spoken, but you may call me Ulysses. And... if you think that I am a fool to reveal all of this to you then please to don't speak of it. My ties to them are just about over, and I merely tell you this so that you might come to trust me.”

“I trust you as far as I could throw you right now. Someone as crazy as you belongs behind bars, clearly. You're a prince and I'm a dead man, funny. Hilarious!” Markus was not laughing. “Come, woman, we're leaving.” He walked passed Ulysses, not giving a second glance. Elissa lent a smug smile to her farewell. Ulysses was not defeated.

“Crazy you say? Not long ago, the idea of coming close to a Northerner was crazy to you.” Markus was stopped, his face turning a shade paler. He stomped his foot, channelling his rage into the mud.

“If you're such a damn genius maybe you could tell me where they went!”

“Surely your friend can find their tracks.” Ulysses and Markus turned their attention Elissa. She was uneasy. “Well, get sniffing, girl.”

“No, I can't do that!” she cried. “That idiot Shinzou can, but he's just an animal.”

“Then you have a common ground.” Ulysses chuckled. Elissa grumbled, brushing him off. He kept laughing, unaware that she was close to throwing a punch. Markus was busy trying to work out their next move. By the time he came back to them, they were trading a flurry or mockery.

“You're just some wash up!”

“You know what the word 'wash' means, dear?”

“You smell like sludge.”

“Will you two knock it off! Let's just think where they would go to.” They calmed down and began putting their heads together.

“I know where one of them might be,” said Ulysses, “But I wouldn't interest in seeing him alive any longer.” Markus found it odd, but it was not like he was about to get answers from anywhere else.

“That's good enough. You'll lead the way, and we'll keep an eye on you.” Now it was Ulysses who was sighing. He drew up his hood again, hiding his face. Getting on the move he could not help but mumble plenty.

“So much to do, so little time.”

Somewhere down the line, Markus and Elissa found themselves talking to one another.

“So... we're gonna go with this guy?” asked Elissa, keeping her gaze fixed on the shadow up front. She was scowling, driven up the walls by his pompous walking.

“Jealous.” Markus smirked. He found it a pleasure to watch her squirm for a change. “But don't worry, I've no intention of working too long with him. Our relationship is that of king and servant.”

“Incorrect!” Ulysses had heard everything. “On some days, you might witness the setting sun and rising moon at the same time. This is you and I.”

“Do you sing poetry with that mouth?” Markus was ignored.

“I'm not worried,” said Elissa. “No matter what he does, he hasn't seen your wonderful spear.” Markus raised an eye brow, puzzled by her blush and victorious laughter.

~

Dyarl, Jaeri and Edward were stood near to the very top of the mount. Looking on at the councillor building, Jaeri was flushed. The others were concerned over something else; over in a nearby alley, Shinzou was hiding. Under his clothes he still wore bandages around his wound, but he had returned to his same old self, almost. Edward whispered something into Dyarl's ear, which he agreed with.

“Mister Shinzou, perhaps you'd be best off staying,” Dyarl said.

“Fine! I only came here to get away from them idiots.”

“Listen, boy!” Edward was sick of tip-toeing. “We're better off without you following!” Jaeri tried to grab their attention by waving his hands.

“Please, please, please! He's my guest!”

“You can't honestly expect that to look good on our part! He's a Northerner.” Edward would have lectured him some more, but the look on Jaeri's was all he needed to see to know it was pointless. A pair of guardsmen approached them.

“We're sorry to have kept you waiting. Please, follow us inside.” Jaeri glanced back to Shinzou. He shook his head, he really did not care to go in with the rest. Jaeri frowned, though there was no time to convince the Northerner otherwise.

As the others entered the building through a large set of wooden doors, Dyarl came back and spoke to Shinzou.

“If I were you, I'd not be replacing my friends. Sir Jaeri is to be leaving soon, and it seem that you'll be stuck so long as you intend to be like this. However-”

“Well I don't see princey anywhere!” There was a pause when Dyarl suppressed a flicker of annoyance.

“However, I've yet to give you my thanks.” It was an awkward moment, thanking a man who smelled of rancid horse droppings. “I hate to admit it, but I might-”

“Don't mention it. You want me to help you find Elissa and give what's she got coming to her.” He put on the signature smile that always made Dyarl cringe.

“That's one way of putting it. I shall speak more on this later. Please keep yourself out of trouble.” Shinzou snarled, playing the dog who hates his leash. Dyarl paid no notice as he went to catch up with the rest of the group.

It was busy day on the inside. Each path was full of guards escorting people around. The white stone walls reflected the sun light, bringing a rich glow all around. Debating voices filled every inch of the air. Jaeri was intimidated by the size of it all. Edward was impressed by the prosperity; the halls of Searan's greatest did not compare. By the time Dyarl returned, it took a moment for Edward to chide him.

“What took you? We've got business to do, remember?” The unending criticisms were nerve wracking, but Dyarl endured. Down the corridors they came to the doors right outside the meeting halls. The voices were louder than ever, and their words could be understood. There was talk of the city guard, and shelters that need watching.

“When shall we see them?” asked Jaeri.

“For you, Sir Yapdism, we shall try and summon someone to speak to you.” The guards went inside, and everything fell silent. A commotion arose; hands slamming and men calling for order. Jaeri was trembling. The guards returned, escorting the one person who had remained composed. He dressed in a beige shirt and black trousers, posing a face gushed friendliness and relief.

“Nicholas!” Jaeri gleamed with delight.

“Sir Jistine.” Dyarl was surprised by the appearance of someone so important.

“Why, is that you, Jason? I barely recognised you.” He turned to Jaeri and bowed. “Words cannot expressed how glad am I see you are well.”

“Always the nice guy, eh, Nicholas.” Edward averted his eyes, the scene was too cheesy for him to handle.

“Hmm, still bitter. Old age suits you well.” Nicholas extended a hand shake towards him.

“You too,” said Edward, taking him hand and greeting. They grinned, both somewhat ferocious, and squeezing the others hand. “It's an absolute... thrilling... pleasure to see you again.” Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. The tension struck Dyarl and Jaeri with terror. Nicholas pried his free.

“So... what brings you fine men, and Edward, here?” He slapped himself over the forehead. “Of course, you're here to return Sir Yapdism. We'll gladly take care of that.”

“There is something else we needed to talk about,” said Dyarl.

“Well go right ahead. Nothing is too much for a hero like yourself.” That piece of praise brought a tiny blush to Dyarl cheeks.

“You see, our people were attacked recently. It was repelled after sometime, but we cannot possibly stay in the location you provided. I want to discuss the idea of being sheltered closer to here.”

“Except that.”

“But... all them buildings outside the city!”

“Are for the victims from Rephall. It's cramped as it is without a whole other bunch coming in at once.” The group were struck with sudden depression. Jaeri clung on to Nicholas.

“But Nicholas, these people saved me. You're not really going to throw them out?”

“Of course not, but-”

“Well it's going to be tough luck!” Edward was tired of waiting. “We had to move the camp down here. We ain't going anywhere.”

“There is nothing I can do, you'll simply have to go back.”

“We shall not!” People walking by jumped at Dyarl's sudden shouts. “This wasn't just a few pests, it was an organized raid.”

“That's terrible, but our army is already stretched thin just protecting the cities. I'm sorry, but I would not say these things if I did not mean them.” Nicholas turned away, asking the guards to open the doors for him. He invited Jaeri under his wing. It was accepted with much reluctance, but Jaeri gave them one last look as the doors closed behind him, a silent apology.

Dyarl and Edward were abandoned, posing faces of defeat. In truth, Dyarl was uncertain about letting the frail boy out of his protection. The only thing he was sure of was that it would not be the last time he would hear of him. Edward's lower lip was quivering; he could almost break that door down and drag the old man out by the teeth. Without saying anything they accompanied each other through the building, following the red carpet leading to the entrance. Dyarl kept his wits about him, constantly looking around. Soon, they were outside in the fresh air, where they did not even bother to check whether Shinzou was about. It was not long until they were reminded of their dreadful guest.

Down the slopes they spotting him being dragged by the arms by two guard. Dyarl and Edward gave chase, calling the guards to stop.

“What's going on?” Dyarl asked.

“We caught this rat stealing from an old ladies stall. Is he with you?” Shinzou was struggling to break free. One of the guards even whacked him over the head, making sure to clean off whatever filth his hand contracted by touching that hair.

“They're lying I tell ye! No one's believin' me, just 'cause I'm from up there! But...but you know better...right.”

“You're right; no one's believing you.” Edward gave a single, jarring laugh.

“To be honest, I don't think I do know better.” Dyarl then began addressing his captors. “Please, this boy is my responsibility, so simply hand him over to me and he'll be out of your hair.”

“Oh no you don't! We've got a witness who says someone wearing the same kinda clothes was behind the death of two guardsmen. He isn't leaving!”

“Now see here; I'm sure there are real criminals you could be dealing with, but this boy is just child's play. I could not think of anything less worth the time.” Shinzou was enraged. He tried to claw his way towards Dyarl.

“Bastard! Bastard! Who'd side are you on!?” he yelled. The left guard punched his stomach, putting Shinzou out. People in the area were stopping and staring, which as beginning to agitate Edward. As Shinzou was been taken away, the other two followed.

After a long walk down hill they came to the nearest guard tower, a place Dyarl hesitated to enter; the unpleasantness of his last visit was something he would rather forget. Inside, Shinzou was forced to bend over the table, he was still unconscious. Edward and Dyarl were curious as to why there was a large pile of dusty old books in one of the room's corners. One the guards let go of the prisoner and went to fetch a heavy book from a shelf. From the stairs to the basement arose a familiar figure.

“Gerald?” Dyarl arched his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“Who the heck let you in?” The guard slammed the book down and drew his sword.

“I was just visiting my wife while she's here, nothing to be alarmed about.”

“But... but... but...” Dyarl was feeling weak, so much so he had to sit down. He rubbed his temples. “Didn't... this is madness.”

“I think he might have played a trick on you, Mister Dyarl. She's right down there, and feeling much better for a matter of fact.” He grinned and scratched the back of his head, turning a tone less cheerful when he saw Shinzou being detained.

“He tricked me? Goodness, is this whole world turning upside down.” Everyone was silent, fazed by his overreaction.

In the middle of the melodrama Shinzou awoke, though he was sure to be quiet about it. As the rest were distracted, he broke free. After shoving the guard down he slid over the table and reached the empty chair, taking it as his weapon. All eyes were upon him, as were the blades of his captors. From each side they came, backing him against the wall. His flailing kept them at bay, but the chair legs were splintering from their clashes. The attacker on his right had the whole thing smashed over his helmet, dropping his sword. Shinzou kicked him down and out, taking his blade as his own. Just as he was about to finish the guard off Gerald held him back.

“That's enough, boy!” Shinzou squirmed, swinging the sword around. “You really know how to act innocent.”

“Pah! Their just after me! Let me go!” He elbowed Gerald in the stomach. “You fat...! Damn you!” The other guard, desperate and wary, declared them all under arrest. The others were becoming more and more disgruntled.

“We don't the time for this nonsense!” Shouted Edward.

“No! You're all with this Northerner, so you're all suspects! You'll line up against the wall, now!” Gerald released Shinzou, making sure to disarm him.

“You should quieten down, you'll upset my dearest.” When the guard refused he hit him across the helm with his fist. The force knocked him out cold. “The rest will do him good.”

“Grand! Thank you for getting us out of trouble.” Edward was just about ready to join Dyarl. Gerald searched the guard until he found a set of keys. “Don't tell me you're going to break her out?”

“Of course not. I'm going to let her out.” Gerald disappeared downstairs. One the guards began to awaken, only noticed by Shinzou. He took the sword laying on the floor and pierced the guard's neck. Blood drained from the mouth and from around the blade. Dyarl was dragged out of his breakdown with disgust.

“What are you doing!”

“Shut it!” Shinzou dug the sword in deeper, scoffing at the corpse. “Take this, and this, and this!” His pupils were focused and obsessive. Dyarl punched him, sending into the wall.

“Stay calm, Jason,” said Edward. Dyarl turned around, his eyes filled with indignation.

“Calm? I've been as 'calm' as I could, but I'm not like you or her; my heart is not made of stone. The whole world around me succumbs to insanity, and you expect me to be calm? His Majesty dubbed me a servant, and now my master has left us. Our position is a terrible one; creeping despair cannot lurk forever. Maybe... maybe, you're the one who needs and eye opener.”

“What a dog.”

“Yes, the dog, that's me! What's wrong with being reliable, trustworthy and good?” They were interrupted by the return of Gerald with Henrietta in tow. She was on edge, keeping an eye on everything. Her red dress was worn and cover with dried stains. Gerald threw the keys aside, taking no notice of the blood running across the floor. Shinzou vanished while everyone awaited Henrietta to talk.

“I'm... very sorry about this, but I don't want to make any more trouble.” Edward rolled his eyes.

“Well it looks like that rat made it a bit too late for going back. I'll head back to the others... looks like I'll have to give them the bad news,” he said, giving Dyarl a glare at the door. With him out of the way everyone could breath again.

“Dear,” said Gerald, “Could you wait outside, I'm gonna have a word with Mister Dyarl.” Henrietta left as ordered, but she was sullen. Gerald put his arm around Dyarl and spoke in a low voice.

“So, what should I about our friend?”

“Bring him back, I suppose. Don't untie him, I want to have a few words with him.”

“Right... though I might end up being too late.”

“It's no loss. Let's just head back to camp before anything else.”

“And Mister Shinzou?”

“A useful hassle is what he is. He'll be fine so long as we keep him away from anything sharp.” Dyarl wriggled out of Gerald's arm and pointed over at the corpse. Gerald took hold of it and began to drag it away. He hid it behind the seized mountain of books. “I have a feeling you and I will not get out of his cleanly.”

“Don't worry about it, I'll be sure to keep your name out.”

~

Shinzou raced through the open streets, making no attempt to conceal the blood on his hands and clothes. His blood pumped through his body boiling, it was long since he felt so alive. People fled when he came by, like a rabid hound was on the loose. He slipped into an alleyway before the guards saw him.

Deep in dark corners of the city he rested, his bloodied hand prints were scattered across the wall. His fingers were clutching, but they were empty. It drove him mad to feel the rough hilt of a blade again, wonderful and strong. The reflection was broken by the splash of feet.

“So far into the depths, this place shall be your grave,” called a hollow, cold voice that was familiar to Shinzou. Around the corner came Varon, looking down upon the Northerner with his usual contempt.

“You!” Shinzou balled his fists.

“What a fool you are. Do you really think I'd actually be here?” Varon laughed. Shinzou tried to grab him and choke the life out of him. A flash of light blinding him, bringing him face first into the puddles. When his vision returned Varon had vanished, replaced by a more heartless figure.

“Shinzou, I needed your help... won't you?” Annabel towered over him.

“That's... a stupid question.”

“I'm waiting,” she said, drifting away.

“You should leave. There is nothing for people like you here.” Mahlo knelt down in front of him, but his gaze was distant.

“Backstabber!” Shinzou crawled up, Mahlo faded away. A soft hand began stroking his hair. He burst into laughter, deluded and crazed.

“Shin', don' forget; white tops first, then...” The girl giggled, she could not remember the words.

“That's it! That's it!” Shinzou sat up, stretching his worn arms. He cackled even louder, enough to curl bark off trees.

~

The crowd was growing reckless. Panic was plentiful among them, their fears had come to light; Jistine had abandoned them. Shoving occurred and crowd was not about to cool down. Edward was bellowing over their roars, but even he was sweating over what to say. Dyarl shook his head as he watched the scene degrade. He noticed Mahlo further away, trying to avoid attention as usual. He jogged towards him.

“I need a word with you, Mahlo.”

“Right now? Do we have to?”

“Yes!” Mahlo had nowhere to run. “It's about your friend.”

“I don't know who you're talking about. Now please-”

“Enough! You have to say something, anything, to make him stop. It's not long until he does something terrible, and you'll regret not trying. So either you stop him, or I will.” He unsheathed his sword half way.

“Is that a final warning?” Mahlo squinted his eye from the reflected light of the blade.

“It's a final chance.”

“I can't make him do anything, he's a wild animal.”

“Fine, I'll slaughter him upon his return, like a wild animal. I'm in no mood to speak with deaf ears, nor will I risk more lives on your lunacy. Have a good afternoon, plenty of decision time.” Having said his piece, Dyarl focused again on the crowd. He glanced over his shoulder, Mahlo almost looked like he was floating away like a dead leaf.

Things were more out of control than before. The crowd broke into a riot of fighting. Each man and woman was pointing a finger. Dyarl tried to go around them, but they were ravenous for answers. They swarmed around him, picking away with their hands. He drew his sword and forced them to back away. Working his way through the crowd, he continued to point the blade at anyone who tried to harass him.

After escaping the tangle he headed for one of the small tent that had been set up. He stood outside the entrance and spoke.

“Milady, are you well?” No reply. He took a deep breath and barged in. Lirina was kneeling on the grass, writing something on paper with a quill. “Milady, thank goodness.”

“Forgive me, I was distracted.” Her eyes were mired in tears, with red sore bags. She stashed the letter away, careful not to smudge the ink. Her forced smile were a grievance to Dyarl.

“You need not apologise, I only wanted to make sure you're safe.” The screams outside had become even more fearsome. “Milady, perhaps you should leave.”

“Can nothing be done?”

“I do not know. Their days of uncertain fear have boiled, and now they lust for a scapegoat.”

“We have to convince Jistine to help us. There's no other way.” She winched.

“You're right, but they can't do anything.” Dyarl stroked his temples, the crowd was not the only thing a boiling point. “Or won't they...” There was a formal greeting from outside.

“Sir Jason Dyarl of Searan.” He opened the flap of the door, revealing three men wearing the armour of Jistine. Dyarl thought they had come to arrest him, but then he saw that more of them were circling the riot. “We have a message for you.” The man handed over an envelope with a wax seal. The seal was stamped with the head of a wolf.

“From the council.” He opened it and began reading the letter. At first he thought his eyes were being fooled. Not name had been signed, but the handwriting was familiar. “Tell me, who wrote this?”

“Forgive us, we were commanded not to reveal that. Also forgive us for intruding on your gathering; there was concern from a large number of civilians.”

“That'll be fine.” The guards took a bow and left. Dyarl closed the flap and skimmed the letter again. It did not ease his mind, but only pushed him into further uncertainty. Lirina was in dismay over the face he was pulling.

“What is it?”

“It's good news, Milady; They've agreed to send us aid.”

“Then why do you seem so ill over it?”

“Oh, think nothing of it, Milady. We should focus on what to do next.” They were silent for a moment. Neither one felt up to the task of collecting the help, the day had been rough on Dyarl. “We shall have Edward go in our steed,” he said.

“If you think that's a good idea.” Lirina's tone suggested her own doubts, but Dyarl took on notice. As he was leaving she took out the letter she was writing, her eyes began watering.

Dyarl still held the message given to him close in hand, reading it over and over again. He was fixated, begging for a distraction. There was hard whack against his back; his heart skipped a beat. He looked over his shoulder to find Gerald, grinning as though proud of Dyarl's fright.

“S-s-s-shouldn't you be with your wife?”

“You looked down, so I thought you might be up for someone cheer.”

“Thank you, but I'm in no-”

“Oh, boohoo! A good nights worth of drinking will put a smile back on that face.” Just as Dyarl was about to speak, Shinzou had returned; the perfect way to avoid the offer. Dyarl approached him, readying his sword arm. The Northerner was disorientated and distanced, lumbering like a dying animal. Dyarl griped his shoulders.

“Get a hold of yourself.” Shinzou said nothing, not even raising his head. “Now listen carefully; if you want to remain here with your life you'd be wise to control yourself. I won't tolerate your actions any more. Is this understood?” Shinzou began cackling, driving Dyarl further to end him. He drew his sword.

“Let it be, Mister Dyarl.”

“Let what be? The decision I've come to regret? These Northerners have been nothing but trouble. This has been my fault, and I'll fix it now.” He raised his arm, about to chop Shinzou's neck.

“Hey!” Yelled Gerald.

“Don't try to stop me, I have to do this while he's in this state.” Gerald shook him by the shoulder and pointed over to the distance. Not one to want his sword loosened, Dyarl took a moment to humour the request. His eyes followed across to where Gerald pointed until two figures came into view.

Markus approached, seeming not to notice either one of them staring. His clothes were in tatters and his face was ghastly and thin. Behind him was Ulysses who, by contrast, was looking right back at them through his shroud. Dyarl stepped forwards, convinced that his eyes really were fooling him. When he and Markus came face to face, he took the hand of his prince and felt how cold and real it was. Markus gave him a funny stare but his parched throat could not conjure words. Dyarl knelt down on one knee.

“Your Highness, you're alive.” Pulling his hand away, Markus finally managed to blurt out a reply.

“Of course I am.” His voice was coarse.

“Remember well; escape is not immunity,” said Ulysses. Dyarl raised his head and squinted his eyes at the him. He could not tell what Ulysses had planned but he had a feeling nothing good in store for either him or Gerald. Turning again to Markus he was distressed after seeing his arm limp. He tried to lead him to a resting place, but was rejected. Instead, Markus staggered passed him, only to collapse a few paces away. Ulysses laughed under his breath while Dyarl and Gerald scrambled to pick him up.

~

Markus awoke inside a small tent. His body felt like lead, his mouth was bone dry and his head was muddled. The wisp of the fresh breeze outside was overshadowed by snivelling. Lirina watched over him, tired and sickly looking but with a smile that welcomed his return. Markus sat up, something clicked inside him. His mother was kneeling right beside him yet he did not speak, he felt distant and alone. She wrapped his arms around him and embraced him. It was uncomfortable yet warm, Markus was dazed.

“Mother... please.” He wriggled his out, taking away Lirina's smile. He clasped his chest and began inhaling. “What's gotten into you?” he asked. Lirina remained silent, but she frowned and began to tear up. Markus was oblivious to what she was thinking. She stood up and left, hiding her face. Markus blew it off, too tired to wonder or care.

Just as he began to relax, Dyarl entered with eye brows crossed. He glanced over his shoulder, sighing. Markus' patients was being tested, he fiddled with his fingers just waiting to hear what he guest wanted to say.

“Markus, what was all that about?” asked Dyarl.

“What do you mean?” Markus' reply struck his nerves, though he suppressed his anger.

“It's... nothing. Might I ask; what happened?”

“Ugh! Brant tried to bargain with Elbenor, then I escaped and came back. None of that matters because I've got a plan.”

“You have?” Dyarl's gazed on focused on the right arm. It was itching in his mind, something was bugging him. “Tell me; surely with such injures you could not have survived alone, did someone aid you?” Markus knew full well that he could not tell him who had saved him, nor would Dyarl believe him if he claimed to have escaped singled handedly. He was stuck on the question for some time, scratching his chin just waiting for an answer to pop into his head.

“Well it was a lucky break, Brant wasn't all that bright after all. His brothers lent me a hand.”

“I see.” Dyarl was unsatisfied, that excuse did not add up. “Now, about this plan you have.”

“Ah ha, of course. Jason, you know about Barlent, don't you?”

“A fortress in the mountain borders of Searan and Garollen. Yes, I know that place well.”

“Well, Elbenor's mister reliable happened to slip his tongue over where we might find some of our captive men.”

“I understand what you're saying. Might I think it over?” Dyarl awaited an answer. Markus was not going to stop him, but neither did he dismiss him. “Markus, if you're thinking of going there, we need to be cautious. I doubt we can just walk in collect them. But any information is useful right about now.”

“With that man's magic, we might just be able to pull something off.” Markus pondered some more. Dyarl did not like the idea, but he had to admit that Ulysses could be of use.

“I'll speak with Lady Lirina about this,” said Dyarl, looking Markus' arm again. Something about it still got under his skin. “You should focus on resting for now, Markus. Forgive me for not saying earlier, but I'm grateful that you're back.” He turned around and left the tent. Markus leaned onto his back, staring at the roof. His nerves were full of aches and pains, forcing him to fall asleep.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Sixteen: Battle at Renew.

Morgan was lost in a canyon of books. Over on a distant mantle place was a single golden candle that stood taller than any other he had seen in the building, its light was powerful. His armour had removed, wearing only a mundane brown shirt and trousers. He looked over to his left where Varon was flicking though the pages of a large red covered book, his eyes taking in every single written word. On his rights side, playing by her self in the corner, was amber. She smiled at him while fiddling with anything she could get her hands on. Morgan, to say the least, was bored out of his mind; this was not the kind of mystery solving method he was used to. Varon, by contrast, never seemed happier. He too was smiling, though with more subtlety. Morgan rested his elbows on the table in front of him, desperate to stay awake.

The wooden door began to open. First came a metal tray which a pair of small metal cups and a cylinder container sat upon. Carrying the drinks was Yenallesa, she wore a plain grey dress and her hair had been cut short just above her shoulders. She looked depressed, keeping her eyes on the floor. She set the tray down on an empty edge of the table and began pouring a rich brown liquid from the container into the cups. Morgan took one cup and sipped from it. The taste made his tongue dance, it was just what he needed. Yenallesa took the next cup and walked over to where Varon was sitting. Her knees were trembling and the cup shuddered so much it was struggling to hold the drink, her lip quivered. Varon ignored her outright, continuing to read his book. When the cup was finally set next to him, Yenallesa backed up, as though she was escaping a snapping beast. She took the tray and fled. Morgan took another sip, savouring each sweet drop.

“This is the best. Good job with the servant, ho ho.”

“It's one thing for him to expect to continue dealing with his halfwit daughter, but I know he'd be infuriated if I actually dealt justice to her. However, I believe this solution works out decently.”

“How'd he take it?”

“Without nearly as much anger has should have. I do wish that brother could raise at least one heir who's not criminal. Honestly, I've met blind peasants of better character than her. At least Annabel knows how to hand over refreshments.” Morgan chuckled, but Varon's focused glare meant he was deadly serious.

“So... what have you found?”

“Well, I've been reading every book I could find on the matter. The knowledge is sparse, but I believe we can progress.” He put the book down and walked over to Amber, who quit fiddling and sat still. “Take it off,” said Varon. The others gave him blank reactions. “Your skin, take it off.”

“Now hold on there, that's unreasonable.”

“Shush, she might just do it.” They waited for Amber to do whatever it was Varon wanted. Minutes went by as she kept in her statue state and his patience was wearing thin. He gritted his teeth together and retreated back to his book. Morgan picked out a much smaller book. He came beside Amber and opened to the first page. She looked over his shoulder, curious about what he was holding. The scribbles were confusing even to Morgan, who relished for a picture to show her on the next page, but his hopes were soon dashed. He closed it and sighed, it seemed as though nothing was going to make this moment go by faster.

The candle had melted off by one quarter. By this time Morgan had fallen asleep, with a book opened under his chin. Varon stood over him, lamenting his lazy friend.

“Morgan, wake up,” he said, shaking his head. Morgan pried his lids apart, shrugging off his weariness. “Since you've already been a great help to me so far I thought I might ask one more favour of you. You shall take me to where you first found her.”

“Oh please, do we have to to?” He twisted his head up and met with Varon's stern eyes. “Alright, but this wasn't how I planning to spend Renew One. Damn you.” He lifted himself out of his seat. Varon was collecting a couple of books to take with him. Amber perked up with the sudden activity, her rush of energy put the joy back into Morgan's day. “Aww, you wanna go?” He pattered over the head. Varon was dumbfounded by his turn around, but he was determined to go as soon as possible.

As they left the room they met with another of Varon's servants in the corridor. She wore the same grey dress and wore her brown hair tied back.

“I going on another trip, I may be gone for some time. Annabel is no longer here so you'll all have to run this place between yourselves. If someone comes here looking for me, feed them whatever lie you believe they'll take.”

“Yes, Master Varon.”

“Also, do not hesitate to give our newest servant the harder tasks. Now dispense my commands.” The maid took a bow and left to fulfil his demands. Varon and his company continued down the corridor. It was a clear day outside and a warm sun shone through the row the windows, casting squares of light on the opposite wall. Morgan eyes focused on the array of lustrous paintings. Each one depicted scenes of heroics and inspiring figures.

“Oi, are thinks going to be alright around here... I mean, are you sure you should be leaving her unchecked?” asked Morgan.

“Hmph, I do wish that Annabel had not vanished. She was efficient to the letter, this place was like clockwork.”

“I'm surprise you let her get away so easily.” Morgan smirked.

“What do you mean by that? I'm not a bloody well of magic; all those techniques I used in Jistine wore me down to a nob.”

“Of course, there's no shame in using excuses.” Morgan wore his ridiculous grin that rubbed off against Varon.

“Enough. Besides, I thought I had her convinced. Perhaps I'd been overestimating the effects of the treatment she had.”

They left the manor, walking onto a flat path going around the front garden. The stems of flowers were peeking from the soil and the trees were beginning to outstretch their leaves. Morgan was wearing his armour and carrying his lance on his back. He took in the late morning air, revived by the serene setting. The manor sat in the foreground of pine covered hills where snow white clouds drifted with a relaxing pace. To Morgan, no day could ever be finer. He turned to Amber who wandered beside him.

“Isn't it lovely?” She gazed up to his warm face, puzzled, trying to form an answer of any sort.

“Mmmmm...” Morgan waited with tense anticipation as though it were the most important thing ever. “...ugh...” The excitement died off.

~

The day's kindness had extended far across the land. It was just what Dyarl needed to lift his spirit and but a blissful smile on his face, even if his mind was muddled. Markus however, did not concern himself with the weather, only with the journey. Both of them wore brown cloaks to hide their armour, something the rest of the group just did not get the hang of. Ulysses was as shady and oddly flamboyant as ever. Shinzou had gone topless, patterning his torso, arms and face with dead animal blood, or so they all hoped. Mahlo trailed behind, almost invisible. Finally, there was Gerald who carried a round shield on his back and wore a few plates of armour on his shoulders and chest. The short sword on his belt was enough to keep the rest at a distance.

“Why did you invite them along?” Markus made no attempt to mask his displeasure. “Mister Silver Tongue, fair enough, but when are you going to get it into your thick skulk that these people are crazy and useless. That guy's rolling in blood for crying out loud. No good shall come of bring them.”

“Nor would good come from leaving them. I'd sooner leave Lady Lirina in the company of the ravenous than of that Northerner.”

“Then just finish him already.”

“Better yet, let him fight to his death. Look at those eyes; before he was just wandering, but now he's out for blood. All we have to do is prod him in the right direction and heads are gonna roll.”

“Well once we find that resistance I told you about, bringing these lot will have been pointless. Besides, why'd we bring the other one? His arms would snap just lifting a sword, and Silver Tongue's already filled the position for the wizard.” Ulysses was quick to assert his reply at the mere mention of his existence.

“Quite right, my one-armed friend. I am all the aid you require, not that barbarian, or that weed, or these treacherous fools. Don't become lulled into thought that I shall forget.” The others tired of his grandiose, looking away to ignore him. Still he continued as if he really believed they hung on his every word. “Yet the weed infuriates me. It's bad enough that a Northerner believes he can be a wizard, but that he flaunts that hair of the most offensive colour. This was not what I had in mind when I offered my help.” No one answered, no one really cared. Everyone fell silent afterwards as Markus seemed more agitated than usual. A soft breeze began to flow between their hair and the wild grass danced to the side.

They stopped by a hill to rest their feet. They did not know where they were with no landmark or sign to guide them, hostile men could jump out from nowhere. Markus however, had gone separately over to some distant bushes to empty his bladder. When he arrived, now unseen to the others, he coughed twice. Elissa popped her up from under the greenery.

“Have you seen anything?” asked Markus, keeping his voice down.

“Uh hm.” Elissa shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

“Nonsense, you had to've found something, anything.” Markus' impatience was met with a smile, but he did not take it too kindly. “Well then keep looking. If you don't think something, then there'll be punishment.” Elissa's cheeks fired up. Her laughter was hard to contain.

“O' Markus!”

“Give it a rest. Just get back on it.” Markus dismissed her, walking away to avoid any more embarrassment. On his way he began to hear rustling. At first he assumed it had just been Elissa, but when it followed by the clamour of feet, at least three pairs, he began to speed up. He kept on looking around, now knowing he could not rely on Elissa to scout. He saw Dyarl running towards him.

“Get down!” he called. Markus threw himself to the ground and an arrow flew overhead. A group of four men were attacking, each dressed in light armour and leather, carrying a sword and bow. They drew their swords and charged for melee. In a flicker of golden light Ulysses appeared, chanting a spell.

Erover fusocin nox octisn,

Hid ex xpelleo recber.

Quamnun.

Umbraoctis.

The black mist poured out and enshrouded them. It filled their lungs and gave them coughing fits. As they escaped they were greeted with the end of Dyarl's sword. Swipe, chop, slash; they were cut down. All but one remained. He clashed with Dyarl, blocking blow for blow. He began losing ground, Dyarl swung with greater force. His sword was beaten out of his hand. Dyarl took him by the collar and held him still.

“Name the one who sent you and I'll spare you.”

“His name was Garra... Garazzu.”

“Garazzu who!?” Shinzou asked, shocked beamed from his eyes. The others diverted there attention to him. The captive wet his lips, trying to pronounce the full name.

“Zuul... something.”

“Sezazo's heir!” He burst with excitement, his pupils shrunk. The name rang like a bronze bell in his ear. “Where! Where!” The man said nothing, compelling Shinzou to drive his new sword through his stomach. The dying man was flung from Dyarl's grip, and was hacked to pieces. The others turned away aside from Ulysses, who was strangely interested in the dissection. Gerald took the other bodies to collect their weapons and provisions, asking if anyone knew archery. Markus was becoming frustrated, things were not going a quickly as he had hoped.

“Hey, scum! I heard you can track things. So why don't you be useful and get going.” Shinzou finished tearing off the right arm.

“Can't we eat first? Besides, I got this to do.” Markus and Dyarl were freaked when he held the severed arm up, their face soured up. “If he's gonna be there, I need strength.” If nothing else, he was vigorous. The others were disapproving, any tracks left would not be around for long. They persisted, but he was sure that a ritual was what mattered. He took out a small bottle and a sack in the palm of each hand, the limb was carried under his arm. He took off and disappeared. Markus was beginning to wonder if Dyarl was mad to bring him along. Mahlo appeared late on schedule, but everyone avoided contact, it was just too awkward to speak with him lately.

“Surely, Mister Dyarl, you might recognise something among the land,” said Gerald. Dyarl shook his head.

“I wonder what they were looking for? This place is deserted, it could only have once served as a battleground. I suspect that we've been off-course for sometime now.”

Shinzou returned a while later with the bottle and the sack half empty. The pungent scent of mixed blood slid from under the lid. He seemed proud of the abomination he had created. He clutched it in his red hand tight and stared at it's curved shape. He tied both the bottle and sack to the raggy sash around his waist.

“Find them now?” he asked, walking over to where the other bodies had first fallen. He knelt down and ran his fingers around the shallow groove of their footprints. “Oh, they're good. Won't get far with these.” He began to follow them either way, the testiness of the others was apparent to him. He would lead them gradually, getting down every so often to keep check. The scouts had been careful their route, Shinzou took them through bushes and around rocks. The tracks lead into a stream, their path drowned and Shinzou was of no more use. They followed upstream, keeping an eagle eye on the uneven and rough land.

A road appeared before them, crossing over the stream with a bridge made of planks. Up further ahead was a hamlet surrounding a stone tower, the path of water went left around the area. The group crouched in the stream when they saw the soldiers patrolling.

“A sentry outpost,” said Dyarl. Markus had also recognised it.

“You mean the one that did nothing to save us?” Dyarl turned his gaze to the top of the tower.

“No one's on lookout, that's strange.” They crawled under the bridge in single file, gripping wherever their weapons were held. Dyarl looked over his shoulder and whispered, “Ulysses, is there anything you can do?”

“What a foolish question.” He made no effort to be quiet. “I can have that run-down ditch buried, or set ablaze. I for one make no objections to the thought of an earth-splitting storm.” Dyarl rejected all offers. “Oh no, I insist on it. Just say the word and victory will be on me.”

“I've never thought about why there are so few wizards nowadays,” said Markus, “If they're all like you, then it's no riddle.” Dyarl put his finger on his lip and shushed them both. Ulysses moved to the back of the row. He lifted part of his robe over his head and doubled over, trying to conceal the glow of his spell casting.

Ruevr So.

Purple beams of light flew from under his garb, leaving him frozen. The others were in the dark, both anxious and bored. They watched the outpost, just waiting to see what wickedness Ulysses had planned for it. He returned from his state of inactivity.

“Their numbers are few,” he said, with disappointment. Dyarl let off a sigh of relief for more than one reason. Suddenly, they were spotted.

After a call for help more soldiers came marching forwards, no more than ten. Dyarl drew his sword as well as a small shield from under his cloak. After Gerald and Shinzou readied their weapons, the three leapt from out the stream and lead the foe away from the rest of the group. The soldiers surrounded them, closing in with their swords. Gerald lead the charge, crashing into the wall with his shield. He was followed by Dyarl and Shinzou who defended his sides, parrying and blocking the attackers. They broke free unwounded. The enemies were oddly defensive, pulling back after each swing. Shinzou set off a vicious assault, but his failed to even scratch their shields. They kept shuffling to prevent being circled again. Their legs were growing tired.

A flash of lightning jumped over and hit the soldiers from behind. It blew its victim forwards, passing on the surge to two more. Their insides were boiling over, smoke and bubbling blood came from their mouths. Their armour was a hot as a smith's forge. Three corpses lay on the ground, their flesh broke down into ashes. The remainders dispersed and fled. Shinzou caught one around the neck and pulled him down, but the rest escaped with their lives intact. Dyarl headed towards the tower, still read with his sword. Markus finally left the hiding place, mumbling his dissatisfaction; how he wished for his arm to recover.

~

Shinzou loitered outside the base of the tower, the fight had left him severely bored. The only others in view were Gerald and Mahlo. He did his best to ignore them both in spite of the nagging itch in the back of his head. It did not take long for him to snap when his former friend walked past.

“Just what are you doing? You're no use.” He pushed Mahlo back, snarling.

“I...and you?” asked Mahlo. Shinzou punched him hard in the stomach, bringing him to his knees.

“Ha! I'll take their heads. His'll be the peak of my mountain. They'll see how strong I am. When I look down on them, I'll not need them. I'll be all the hero Mezu needs. She won't cry over a worthless backstabber. You'll be gone.” He shoved Mahlo down with his foot and planted it on the side of his head. Though he held back from crushing him the point was made clear. Gerald forced them apart, proceeding to give a stern telling off.

“Get a hold of yourself, boy. We've gotta keep an eye on things; this place is gonna be overrun soon. So either keep it down or leave.” His words were mostly unheeded, though Shinzou seemed to enjoy the idea of another battle. Gerald offered a hand to Mahlo. The moment he was stood, Mahlo ran away sobbing. Shinzou turned his head away, but his eyes were begging to watch. Gerald sighed, coming between those two was a headache. He tried to change the subject. “You seen Mister Markus anywhere?”

“Naw. No use keepin' track of a broken body.” He sniggered even though he knew Dyarl was behind him. He ignored the rude comment and began addressing Gerald.

“If he head east from here the mountains will come into view. We need to gather everyone, there's not long,” he said. The buildings echoed a voice calling them out.

“We have you surrounded!” he shouted. “Come out unarmed and you'll live!” Dyarl recognised the voice, it sent shivers down his spine. He raced to the edge of the outpost to confirm his suspicions, Gerald and Shinzou followed, only half aware of the matter. Flanked by a legion of soldiers, Brant stood with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. He wore the armour of Garollen with a red cape flapping behind. On his right was Garazzu, posing in the same uniform, and on his left were his three brothers, carrying the shields on their backs. Dyarl and Brant came eye to eye, both shocked to find one another. They came together with their hands down their sides, promising not the draw swords yet. Brant had regained his composure, with his changed face he was not afraid show how happy he was. Dyarl by contrast was muddled. His tongue tried to slip out a question, but there were too many.

“Come now, surely you're not surprised?” Brant asked, chuckling.

“I'd heard things, but now I can see it for myself. Are you so low?” Dyarl received no answer. Instead, Brant headed back to his men, giving a simple hand signal to advance. Tremors began to wreck the ground, everyone was set off balance. Shards of rock shot up from underneath the feet of where the Langule brothers stood along with a bulk of soldiers. The spike were as high as ten feet and arose with a cloud of dust. Brant looked upon the deformed land with a gapping jaw. When veins of blood ran down he sank to his knees, forming a gibbering mess of a man. He punched the earth and cursed its treachery.

Garazzu took what was left of the men and lead the first attack. Dyarl was snapped out of his thoughts by Ulysses, who appeared from behind a nearby shack. They called for a retreat. Shinzou was deaf to their order, but he was dragged off before he could get some action.

Garazzu stopped his chase and turned around to one of his men. “Signal the others,” he said. He went over to Brant and waited for him to come to his sense. “We've work to do. Will you stand?” Brant had no answer, he was to absorbed in his whimpering. Garazzu closed his eyes, he could not conjure works of comfort. In reality, his own thoughts were elsewhere.

“Brother, what happened!?” came a voice from above. Brant stared upwards, catching the sun in his eyes.

“Threat not, brother; not even the elements themselves cannot break our wall!” said another. “But we seem to be stuck here! Go no without us!” Brant was confused, but overjoyed, his fears had been lain to rest. Brant stood up and finally drew his sword.

“Come, there's much to do.” His face was still covered in sweat, embarrassed by the show he caused.

~

Dyarl, Gerald, Ulysses and Shinzou had managed to get away for the time being. They could each hear the marching men closing in around them. Ulysses asked many time where Markus was, but nobody had an answer.

“We have to break free of them,” said Gerald. They took sword and shield and began to pick a direction. Gerald wanted to escape through the narrow gaps between the buildings on the east side, but Dyarl objected; that would get them boxed in. Then came Ulysses' turn. They huddled around him, hoping his magic would fish them out of the pool. He spread his arms out and began preparing a rune. The others knew little of magic, so they waited silently to see what he did. In the golden glow he chanted.

Break apart the flesh, and become as the spirits,

Be boundless and everywhere.

See the land of you desire and go find it,

None shall bar your path there.

Ride the lightning and winds through the sky,

Be anywhere your eye could stare.

Seventy Five, Pormatou's Wings.

He disappeared in a flash. Dyarl was speechless, the fury was scorching in his head and he had almost forgotten the situation they were still in. Shinzou had been oddly quiet, he was busy with his own preparations. He took the bottle from his waist and drank until it was half empty. A drop remained stained on his lower lip, bright red with a tiny chunk within. Dyarl wondered whether the concoction was actually safe, or whether Shinzou's own poison neutralised whatever he swallowed.

The first among the enemy arrived, a group of five wielding swords. Shinzou was eager, sparing no time to carve them up. He worked up into a frenzy, his speed could not be followed. He weaved through every strike made, hitting back twice each time. Everything came with a haunting giddy laugh coming from his even more twisted face. By the time Dyarl came to his senses two of the soldiers had already been cut down. What was left tried to flee, but Shinzou shoved his sword straight through one more. He died without any easing. Dyarl took Shinzou by the arm, stopping him from causing more havoc.

“Come, we must hurry!”

“Sha...shu..shatup, I ain' don' yet!” They struggled against each other, pulling in opposite directions. Gerald whacked Shinzou over the head, flooring him in one go. One problem was solved, but now their numbers where down by more. Others began crawling from the woodwork, too many to handle. Gerald took the Northerner over his shoulder and followed Dyarl. They ran through the narrow openings between the shacks, forcing the foe to proceed in single file. Gerald was moving slower than usual and the men behind where closing in. Dyarl squeezed past Gerald, getting back into a firm stance.

“You go on and leave, I'll keep them busy,” he said. Gerald was stunned. “Go! Before they block the other side!” Gerald was finally convinced to leave, but not before saying his farewell.

“Don't die, Jason.” Dyarl's face drooped, feeling awfully patronized. He halted the enemy advance with his shield held forwards. They could only take him on one at a time, and the close walls limited their movements. Dyarl would block their attack and respond with his own, it was child's play to him. They the bodies piled up, more soldiers arose to apprehend him. Dyarl was growing tired, stepping back as the wave after wave caused him to lose ground. The next struck his shield before being pierced through the hip. The soldier fell forwards, spilling blood over Dyarl's armour. The corpse was trampled as the new challenger approached. Dyarl's strokes became slower as each foe's vigour seemed greater than the last. Glancing over his shoulder he saw more coming from the other side. They did not appear as hostile though, holding shield before sword.

“Sir Jason Dyarl, surrender and by spared!” The men he had been fighting backed up and took a defensive position. Dyarl sheathed his sword and dropped it onto the ground. A man from each side approached him, picking up the sword and escorting him away. Dyarl was calm, unsurprised by their request. When he was free from the closing he was on a constant lookout, his allies were nowhere to be seen. It was both a breath of relief and an unnerving afterthought. The soldier at the front halted the party. He lifted the visor of his helmet and stared into Dyarl's eyes.

“Now tell us, where are the others?” he asked.

“I do not know, for I am a most terrible keeper.” Dyarl sighed. The soldier scowled, his self restraint around his sword was waning. Another one stopped him, shaking is head before speaking to Dyarl.

“Sir Langule assures that your cooperation will be met with decency.”

“Thank you, yet my answer was the honest truth.”

~

Markus had been away from the outpost the whole time, giving somewhat light blows to Elissa for her incompetence. They hid behind a large bush patch. He would hit over her head while he blamed with a quiet but angry voice.

“Ow, I said I was sorry.” She kept pleading for an end, but Markus had no mercy. They were interrupted by a noise in the distance. “What was that?” Elissa asked.

“It was nothing.” A gust of wind rushed through their hair. Markus got glimpse of her scar, turning his face a putrid green.

“Correction, Markus, it was nothing important.” Ulysses came from the source of the wind, lowering his hood. “As I speak, the two are doing as I would like, dying.” Markus was silent, his eyebrow raised. He become furious once he realised the meaning of he said, but Ulysses cut him off before his mouth opened. “Remember, you told me that I could not take my vengeance upon them, but you never said that I would have to assist them. Since I realised they knew not of where you were, they lost all usefulness. Also remember that Garollen is your enemy and not mine. However, if you order it now, I'd aid you.” Markus came up to him and with his one arm took a firm hold on his cloak. Elissa hung around with a dagger that was in a light grip.

“Can't you just be easy? Must I do it myself?” Markus cast him down. He looked over to the outpost where the sound of marching rampaged. He began to walk towards it, but his shoulder was snagged. Elissa's face was calming but serious.

“Your arm... you can't. Is it really worth getting killed, for them?”

“Of course not. If Ulysses is going to do as I say, then there is not risk.” Elissa let go, turning away with a cold shoulder. “Now wait here and stay out of trouble.” Markus and Ulysses took off together.

They kept their distance from the outpost, avoiding attention. They spotted a couple of soldier going into the shacks. Their approached however, was hampered by a loud mouth.

“Oi!” shouted Gerald, running towards them still carrying Shinzou. Markus lowered his head, groaning. While at first Gerald seemed benign he was quick to punch Ulysses in the face. The wizard crashed into the ground, screaming over the agony of his teeth. “Yeah! That'll teach ye some manners.” Markus' jaw dropped.

“What are you doing!? Keep it down!”

“Quieten down, Mister Markus.” He knelt over and laid Shinzou down. “Mister Dyarl's still back there.” The Northerner began to awaken, breathing heavily. He tried to speak but his throat was clogged with spit.

“Drop your weapons and surrender!” Soldiers were heading their way in great numbers and only Gerald had a chance to fight back. He threw his sword away just as asked. The men then came to take them away. Gerald obeyed without question and the dazed Shinzou hardly knew he was being dragged up. Ulysses arms were tied back and his mouth gagged, intensifying his pain. Markus resisted, thrashing about. His captors tripped him over, he landed face first in the mud before they picked him up again. They took him by both arms, ignoring his gasps and screams.

~

Markus was thrown into the shack, where the only light came from the cracks and gaps in the wooden walls. The door was slammed shut and a voice commanded them from the other side.

“Don't even think of breaking out! We'll kill you!” Markus lay on his front for a while, straining to breath. He looked up, finding only Gerald and Shinzou sitting around in silence. Markus rolled onto his back and sat up. He held his right arm, comforting the lingering sting.

“This is all your fault, you fat old clod.”

“Aye, aye, let's not point the finger.” Gerald was too worn to raise his voice any more, but even he, in silence, admitted that he had been the cause of their situation.

“No matter, I'll be out of this place in no time.” Markus relaxed, keeping a casual lookout for when a certain green haired trickster would appear. Time dragged on, and no sign of her coming. Nor was there Ulysses about to make them vanish under his cloak.

The door opened, unleashing a blinding light upon them. A figure stood in the doorway and called to Markus; “You are to be taken away.” Markus stood up as a pair of soldiers came in. This time he did not struggle, preferring to not hurt himself again. The figure walked over to Shinzou, bending over to get a close look, it was Garazzu. “A who are you?”

“Shinzou! Kurzang!” He grinned, flashing his rotten teeth in Garazzu's face.

“And what would bring someone of your tribe here? Those are patterns of the Lowza.”

“You'd know it well, huh, Sezazo's heir?” Shinzou cackled. Garazzu left him, not speaking another word. “Don't think these men can hold me! Should I bury you with them, or the others?” Garazzu slammed the door on the way out. On the outside, Markus was quick to smirk when he saw the pained look on Garazzu's face.

“Well, that didn't sound nice.”

“Enough. She will not come for you, more so as I am here. But don't worry, you'll be with your father soon. Then you'll both have the pleasure of bowing to kiss toes. You could never win obeying your enemy.” It wiped the smile right off Markus' face, who became lost in his words. Garazzu ordered the men to take him away, following behind them to guard them. A scout raced towards him.

“Sir! Sir! From the north, it's the remnants.” Ignoring Markus' eavesdropping Garazzu pondered for a moment.

“Where is Brant?”

“I don't know, Sir, he seems to be busy.”

“In that case, we must gather all the men we can.” He looked again at Markus. “There is no reason for you get excited. I've already got a plan to quash them.” He went with the scout, leaving Markus in the hands of his escorts. He was confused by his sudden take off, especially after what he told him before. The men shoved him, forcing him to continue moving. The air was filled with sound of a whistle that was familiar to Markus. The patrolling soldiers diverted their path and like dogs they were lured by the noise.

Ears were pricked with the sound of a swish. A man fell down a short distance from Markus, an arrow in his back. The escorts dragged Markus in a hurry, hiding behind the nearest building they could find. Others ran by, heading to warn Garazzu of the attack. The allies Markus had hoped for had come, but in the bind of his captors it was not going as smoothly as planned. He tried to break free, but the man on his right twisted his arm. The other drew his sword and held it at Markus' neck.

“We're told to kill prisoners who resist.” The man was shaken, the wrist could not stay steady. Arrows whizzed by, striking down more soldiers. The right man grabbed his partner by the sword arm and moved it away from Markus, shaking his head in disapproval. Before they could set off again, they were surrounded by five lightly armed ruffians. The soldiers threw Markus on ground and gained a stance, ready to protect their prize.

Edited October 18, 2009 by Shuuda