The Scars of Tascera: Searan's Emergency

[Shuuda]

Chapter Seventeen: A Worm's Despair.

Overlooking the outpost from the nearby hill on the north side, Brant eagerly awaited the arrival of his guest. When Dyarl approached, escorted by a pair of soldiers, he turned to the reporting scouted and looked busy. He showed little doubt in his confidence that Garollen would be victor in the battle, setbacks aside.

“I'm sure Garazzu can handle things down there, but you should call for reinforcements to be on standby.”

“Yes, Sir!” The scout left to fulfil orders. Brant turned to Dyarl, smiling as though he was oblivious to the glares he received. The left soldier handed over a sword that was stained with blood. Brant held it sideways in both hands, admiring the fine craftsmanship.

“You are dismissed, leave us now,” he said. The soldiers obeyed, leaving Brant alone with Dyarl. At first, neither spoke. Dyarl was stone cold while Brant was still inspecting the sword. “This is Alex's, isn't it?” Dyarl nodded his head. “Come on now, why so sullen?”

“If you must ask that, then perhaps you're too far gone.”

“Do not hate me so, Jason. You knew as well as I did, Searan was beyond saving long before the invasion. This is for the best, and surely you must see the better side of all this.”

“Maybe so, but here you stand, acting as though you've done no wrong. You serve those who hold His Majesty in their captive. Have you no sense of loyalty?” Brant was stricken with a frown. He drove the sword into the ground and released it from his grip.

“I do not have faith that he would do what is right for us. His plans would have had us on our knees.”

“We are on our knees,” said Dyarl, shaking his head.

“But our heads are still on our shoulders. You know why Garollen came here, the plot that His Majesty intended to see through.”

“You believe all of that?” Dyarl sounded his question with rings of disappointment.

“I know it to be true. His Majesty came to me with the plan, in secrecy. Perhaps he thought that my moral standards were low, that was quite an insult.” Brant chuckled, but Dyarl was in disgust, twisting his lips. He did not believe a single word of what he had been told. He reached for his sword, but Brant caught his arm before he attack. “It's a lot to swallow, I know. I would not lie to you, Jason.”

“But if what you're saying is true, then would that mean-”

“That I was the one who let slip.” Brant let go of Dyarl's arm and put his hands behind his back. Leaning forwards, inviting the inevitable. Wham! Dyarl ploughed his fist right into the traitor's face. Another punch to his left cheek. The pummelling went on, blackening and twisting Brant's once smug face. He made no attempts to resist. Dyarl ended the beating, too tired to continue, his fists still clenched hard like rocks. Brant endured, spiting out a bloodied front tooth, grinning. His right eye had turned red and both cheeks were swollen. “Ow! Fair enough. But you have to admit, Alex would have agreed with me.”

“You lie!” Dyarl gave him an uppercut to the chin. Brant stumbled back, staying on his feet.

“Jason, you're being a fool. You made the wrong choice, and now you're giving up your only chance to go back on it. Searan is gone, and now we should think of what really matters. Money and power are my fancy, I simply jumped with the first people to offer it. But I know that's not what you want. It was His Majesty who betrayed us, not the other way around.” Dyarl was on his knees, his face was blank and stiff like a corpse. Brant began to walk away, he had a battle to oversee. “Goodbye,” he said, “Don't try to stab me in the back now.” He chuckled, knowing the hypocrisy of his words. Dyarl did not move an inch.

~

Markus stayed back as he watched his captors defend themselves. So far, they held their ground against the surrounding offensive. A few bodies already lay at their feet and more were closing in. They were largely outnumbered, and were forced to step back to fend off their blows. Markus was on edge, just waiting them for them to die so he could be free. Just as his captors were about to fall, a volley of arrows flew by. The attackers were shot down.

“Are you alright!?” asked one of Brant's brothers. It was Alan; Markus could tell in the broad daylight because he looked older than the other two. His eyebrows were thicker and his hair was brushed back. He came with a troop of archers behind, trampling over the men they had just slaughtered. The two men he had saved took Markus once more and rushed to praise Alan. “No need to thank me. I'll be taking care things on this end, you should head out of here and make for the reinforcements, they'll protect you.” They dragged Markus away, not looking back to see what enemies were coming. Their breathing with becoming heavy, but they could not stop for rest. Arrows were flying overhead in many directions. Every so often, they would tug on Markus' arm. He winched in agony, but he was growing used to it. He was also growing impatient of waiting, there was still no sign of Elissa anywhere and he was beginning to think she had abandoned him. These thoughts were drowned out by the shock he received from another pull on his arm.

As they came to edge of the outpost, they saw to true extent of the fighting. In the distance, Garazzu and his troops were halting the advance of a large militia. These were more organised than the last Markus witnessed. Archers behind the front line were shooting them down by the tens, piercing their thin armour. However, even with their efficiency, they could not hold them back. The front line began to cut them down, but the swarm proved too much. Garazzu called for a retreat, but only he and the archers survived the flood to move in deeper into their territory.

A small fraction of the militia broke off from the body and charged towards Markus and his captors. They circled the three and pointed all manner of sword and spear at them. The soldiers threw down their weapons and surrendered. Their hands would bound behind their backs and they were taken away as prisoners. Next they came to Markus, ignorant of his identity they tried to subdue him. Before he could explain anything, his arm was twisted back. Tears squirted as he scream without hesitation.

“Let go! Let go! Get off!” he yelled. They did not listen, instead taking him away along with the others. His breath had been stolen and all that came from his mouth were grunts of pain. The crowd was thick, and he could not see where they were heading. They shoved him and called for him to be silent, his cries wore their nerves.

The men came to a halt, but Markus had no idea where, other than the fact they were probably some distance away from the outpost. The formation began to open up, letting a short man enter. The circle. The red armour and face was familiar to Markus, but the name escaped him.

“Your Highness!” The man joggled up to him with a fat grin below his moustache. He turned to a taller man on his left, ordering him to cut Markus' bonds. The man slapped him on the back, throwing him forward. “Haw haw! Your Highness, you look roughed up.”

“Thanks... Lingbury, that's it. You've been leading these people?”

“Of course. I'm His Majesty's oldest and finest general! A man like me can make a mighty force from the weakest of peasants! Searan's wave will break these rocks! Am I right?” Lingbury's laugh drowned out all other noise. Markus shared his enthusiasm.

“Yeah! This is perfect!”

“Where's Dyarl?” Lingbury asked, out of the blue. Markus was stumped and irritated by having his rare moment of joy crushed. He had not clue where or how Dyarl was doing, he answered with a shrug. “Well then... we've gotta find him!” He turned to his men and raised his sword, but before he could call them battle a messenger came.

“Sir! Sir! More are coming from behind.” The air became stuffy.

“Rats! We'll move into the outpost and defend it.” The men were full of worry. They looked at each other, but no face inspired confidence. Lingbury scoffed at their weariness. “Onwards! Get a move on!” His bellowing voice blew their frowns away and straightened their spines. They marched away, they almost resembled a real army.

~

Shinzou and Gerald still wallowed in their shack. They could hear the racket outside, it drove them madder and madder. Shinzou dug into the earth, trying to waste the extra energy, his head was pounding. The wall was pierced with arrows, giving them a shock as each splintered the wood. There was screaming outside, they figured that the guards had been killed. Shinzou went up to the door and shook it, but it was still locked. He kicked away at it, slowly breaking its hinges. Gerald got off his backside to help the escape by barging at the door. It burst open and the pair fell out, Gerald landing on top. Shinzou clawed out from under the heavy bulk, dusting himself off and mumbling. The bodies of Garollen soldiers were laying around, flesh filled with arrows. Shinzou took their swords.

“Looks like it's just you and me,” said Gerald, picking up the sword thrown at his feet. The hasty march of armoured soldiers rushed by, taking no notice in the escaped prisoners. One caught the eye of Shinzou. He licked his lips. Gerald also got a glimpse of the Northerner's obsession. “The measure of a warrior's worth is in the size of the beast he slays.” Shinzou did not listen to a word, choosing to chase his fancy.

He skid around the buildings, swinging his sword into the back of a soldier. He fell forwards, feeling Shinzou's blade dig through his cuirass. His screams called back his team-mates who banded together in an attempt to intimidate their foe. Shinzou bellowed in a twisted laughter, charging at all before they were all called to stop. Garazzu stepped up and confronted the beast.

“Go, meet up with Alan. I'll take care of this one.” His men marched away. Shinzou sniggered, smirking, just waiting. Garazzu took a small bottle out. “I know without this you've no chance to winning.”

“I've got enough of it in me for you!” In the blink of an eye they clashed together, forcing their swords against the other. Shinzou leapt back and span. He battered Garazzu's armour, knocking the bottle from his grip. He sidestepped Garazzu's swing, strike his thigh with his counter. Garazzu fell to his knees, dropping his sword. Shinzou grabbed him by the end of his hair.

“Urn sel, Ovna foe,” he said, face to face. A wad of dirt was thrown in his eyes. He threw Garazzu down and staggered away. As he wiped the clumps off he heard the sound of feet. He rolled forwards, collapsing halfway. He froze with the sting in his back. Garazzu kicked him over, greeting with a blade point against the neck. Shinzou snarled and barked, but he knew it was over; he was finished.

“Where's your little friend?” asked Garazzu. Shinzou's face scrunched up as he turned sour. “The wizard, where is he?” Shinzou took him by the ankle and pulled him down. He rolled on top and began to pry the sword from Garazzu's hand. He spat up when the wound his back was punched. All his limbs cramped and all he could feel was his body being lifted and slammed into the earth. He licked his teeth, washing away the blood. The sun blinded him, but he make out the silhouette standing over him.

“Damn it... Sezazo's heir...”

“If I were you, I'd consider a team-up.”

“Never! You're like him. Your eyes. Don't you think I'd get you in the back? It's all over that metal your wear.”

“You're no monster, more like-”

“Dirt.” Shinzou sniggered, thinking he had caught him out. As Garazzu moved his lips he was distracted. Shinzou twisted his head, following his foe's gaze. Gerald approached, threatening Garazzu with his sword. Garazzu turned his back and walked away calmly. By the time Shinzou scrambled to his feet, he had disappeared. Gerald bent over, grabbing the bottle on the ground. Shinzou was busy checking the wound on his back with his hands. It was shallow, but he could feel his blood dripping down his spine. He began to scour the area, desperate to find Garazzu again.

“Hey, do you see that?” Gerald pointed up at the lookout tower. There was a blue light upon the flat top. Shinzou took his sword and raced towards the tower, clenching his teeth. Arrows began flying overhead and a marching force could be heard seeping between the shacks.

Around the tower was a small clearing that was filled with fighting. But this did not hinder Shinzou's determination. He charged through, swinging his sword at anyone who was in his way. He barged through the door on the other side, panting. Members of Searan's militia followed him in. Shinzou parried their attacks and cut each one down. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it while he caught his breath. At the other side of the room was a ladder which he began to climb. The light shone through the cracks in the roof. He punched the hatch open and dragged himself outside.

The air was harsh and freezing cold. His breath turned to vapour right off the tongue. Runes surrounded him on all sides, showing patterns of waves engulfing trees and goat animals. Shinzou tilted his head, trying to make sense of it all. They blocked his view and the flickers kept catching his eyes. His ears caught wind of a swishing blade. He dodged it, barely, though it left a small cut on his cheek. When he looked around, he could not see who had attacked. A pair of fingers ran down his back, sending a chill through his wound. He span around, swinging his sword at the air, but no one was there.

Sixty Three: Gumiomucro.

Shinzou fell upon all four, an unbearable pain ran through his back. He could feel blood flowing out of his body. The patterns painted on his body were also torn from his skin. He bent his head upwards and saw it all converging in the hand of a black figure, forming a blade. It was a blurred vision, but another came to confront the shadow.

“Leave now. You're a lesser wizard and these runes are not yours.” The voice was unmistakably Garazzu's. The light outlined both men, giving them a ghostly aura. The foe charged, but his sword was smashed into shards in one blow. Garazzu was thrown back by an invisible force.

“You're too eager to stop this spell. But don't worry, I'll deal with the worm once he's done,” said the wizard. Shinzou turned his head to the right where he had glimpse of another hiding among the blinding lights. It was a thin shape that paid no attention to the fighting. He began to drag his battered body forwards. His hand was trampled upon by his attacker. “Like I'd let a piece of dirt like you rise up. Just stay where you belong.” Shinzou squirmed around, the lifted only to fall harder than before. Both came under a large shadow which pulled away the attacker and threw him aside.

“Need a hand?” asked Gerald, bending over Shinzou. There was no reply, but Gerald helped him to his feet regardless. Shinzou set his focus back on the hidden figure. He limbed through the runes that left streaks of burning skin when he past. The blurs became clearer and Shinzou could make out a pair of empty eyes that stared right through him. He balled up his fist and lunged into the boy's face.

“Damn you, Mahlo.” Shinzou dug his fist further, but Mahlo did not give an inch. A hollow hymn flowed from his lips, though it was drowned out by the gale force winds. Shinzou backed off, keeping his hair out of his eyes. The runes flared up, blinding him and Gerald. Mahlo gazed upwards and spoke his final lines.

These are our offerings to our lord, Vidum,

Under all your eyes, guide them.

Soma tu poto erod vidum vesous jerualatute?

Ninety Nine: First Tier Catastrophe.

The runes rose up into the sky and melted together into a ball of snow and ice. It swelled up and swirled around, blocking out the sun. The wind had vanished and everything was silent. Shinzou and Gerald glanced at each other, clueless. A thunderous rumble came from the gigantic ball in the sky. It exploded, sending down an avalanche upon the outpost. It fell around the tower, so the other only contested with the returning gusts. Gerald took Ulysses under his arm and ran for the ladder. Shinzou was lost between fleeing or finishing Mahlo off. Before the choice was made he was swept off his feet and blown away. He was caught by Garazzu, who had his sword planted into the floor for grip.

“You hesitated! You fool!” The walls of the snow kept on flowing with no end. Ice began to coat the top of the tower.

“Well, I've got nothin' to finish him with!”

“The dagger on my belt! And if you stab me, we'll both die!” Shinzou unsheathed the dagger and held it in his teeth. He dragged himself towards Mahlo, digging his fingers in the crevices of the stones. His face stiffened as his sweat froze and the wind blew on his wound, deepening his agony. When he reached his former friend he looked up, realising that he had not been noticed. He took the dagger from his mouth and jammed it into Mahlo's left foot. Blood leaked out, only to freeze after a short flow. There was a gasp of pain when Mahlo regained his lucidity. Shinzou drew the dagger back before losing his grip on it. He left his chest close up and his breathing became coarse and laboured. The blizzard began to thin into a mild snowfall. Mahlo fell to his knees, the reality of the situation hitting him. He saw Shinzou laying still and everything that clouded his mind vanished.

“Shinzou! Shinzou!” he cried, shaking him in hopes of a reaction. “Help! Someone! Anyone!” They were overshadowed by Garazzu who's face show nothing but indifference. He tore off his cape and threw it down on Shinzou as a blanket before walking past. Mahlo tightened it around him, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were doused with tears. Heavy footsteps alarmed as Gerald returned.

“Pull yourself together, boy. We've got to get him inside.” He took Shinzou under his arm now with Mahlo in tow. Inside there was a fire with Ulysses laying unconscious. Shinzou was place beside the fire for warmth along with Mahlo who spread his hands out to loosen them up. “Your foot, will you be alright?” asked Gerald, kneeling down to inspect the damage.

“I'm fine.” Mahlo looked down, but not to see if his foot was well.

“Well aren't you lucky. Just what the heck was all that?”

“O', the fighting was everywhere. I was trapped and I had to do something to save myself. My mind just blanked and I did whatever came to me first.” Gerald raised his eyebrow.

“And that's what came first!? Where did you learn that?”

“I've read most of the One to One Hundreds. I was over eager to learn them all, I though there was so little time. My body couldn't keep up and I lost more time than I could have imagined.” He slumped further. “Shinzou and I are brothers, and his sister is dear to me. They can drag me along all they want, but they have no place for a body like mine. They'd never accept it if I just old them.”

“I don't know what makes you more of a clod, that you didn't tell anyone, or that you spilled it so quick to me. Well I've got a feeling that's about to change.” Gerald put his arm around him, staring hard at him. Mahlo tried to shuffle out, looking away. “Now don't give me that, boy. You know I'm right.” Before Mahlo could respond, they were both distracted by Garazzu descending the ladder. Gerald kept an eye on him, grasping the sword on his belt.

“Your spell took mostly resistance members, I've no qualm with that. However, it seems you're stuck in here.” He sat down on the opposite side of the fire in a meditative state.

“No worries. You don't get lost at sea without learning how to tunnel through snow.” Gerald laughed, relaxing again while the other two looked at each other with some confusion. He walked over to the door, but a few forceful attempts it would not budge. “Well, I'm sure we could get down from the roof.”

Shinzou's eyes began to flicker, his body was trembling. The first thing he set his eyes on was Mahlo. He was filled was raged that launched him out of the blanket, pouncing onto his former friend. His hands wrapped around Mahlo's neck, no so much to choke but rather to break him in two. He was forced off by Gerald.

“He tried to kill us! Let go!” he shouted, trying to claw his way out. The sound of a battle could be heard outside, becoming more and more heated. Dust fell from the ceiling, something big had landed on the roof.

“That is my way out,” said Garazzu, making his way towards the ladder. “It was... odd to have met a pair of Lowza I didn't have to forgive. If I find a place for you, I'll surely tell you.” The hatch opened above him and he was greeted by one of his men.

Gerald was left to deal with the pair of Northerners, and worse, Ulysses whom could wake up at any moment. Mahlo back away from Shinzou's thrashing. He began chants and running his fingers through the air.

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.

“I hate that,” said Gerald as he watched Mahlo vanish into thin air. Shinzou wrestled free, rampaging up the ladder to seek his prey. Gerald threw himself onto his rear, groaning. “Well, at least they're all better.” His eye was caught by the sight of Ulysses rolling over. With haste he followed Shinzou up the ladder, silently closing the hatch on his way out. He found Shinzou peeking over the edge of the tower. The surface was still slippery, Gerald struggled to keep a safe footing. The snow around the base was thick and even under the returning sun it did not appear to be melting.

The shape of the battle had changed as well. Despite their losses, the militia had still manage to take the outpost. Garollen men were retreating south and the battled seemed to be won. However, when Gerald slid over to the other side he saw a large force marching towards them. “Get away from the edges, boy. They might fill you with arrows.” Shinzou did not heed his advice, as expected. Gerald sat himself on top of the hatch, hoping his weight would be enough to keep Ulysses from opening it.

~

Lingbury strode up to Markus, slapping him on the back. “Sure you'll be alright 'ere?” he asked, pointing at the formations of men ready to defend their ground. At the front was a line of men all shapes and sizes. Archers stood behind them. “His Highness would be better off staying back.” Markus sighed.

“Thank you for the offer, but I'll be fine.” In the distance the opposition came into view. They were simple footmen with swords and shields. “Well, that shouldn't be too hard to fend off,” said Markus, scanning the rows. The Garollen's stopped their march, staring down the defenders through their visors. Markus tapped his foot, wondering what they were waiting for. Arrows flew from hidden bows in the Garollen ranks. Lingbury and his men ran for cover, only few were shot down. When they reformed, the infantry was already charging at them.

“Volley!” shouted Lingbury. His archers pulled back their arrows and released them upon the approaching wave. Several fell with wounds, but it was a futile effort; the army kept on coming. The militia held their ground, clashing steel with their foe. Markus spotted Brant ordering the charge of his men, though his face was bruised and swollen.

“Shoot him!” He pointed, screaming at the archers. “Shoot him!” They directed their next arrows towards Brant. A tall shield came between them, and the arrows bounced off it's face. Markus scowled, almost hissing. “Kill him! Kill him!” Their line began to crack. Lingbury drew his sword, tackling the enemy who broke through.

“Damn it! Fall back!” he shouted. He and Markus lead the remaining forces through the shacks. A group of Garollen's chased them, with two more Langule brothers at the head of their advancements. “Nooow!” More archers burst out of the shacks and ambushed the Garollens. Edgar and Warren raised their shields, but the spread of arrows was too wide to contain. Lingbury and his men turned on their heels and attacked. The Langule brothers were backing up, calling for help. There was a second of stillness when the sun was blocked out. They looked up, finding the darkened figure of an anwyrm. By the time the archers were aiming for it, the beast glided into action. It twirled around and performed a u-turn, dodging arrows with ease. It swooped in and landed on top of an archer squad. Several were crushed under it's weigh, those behind it were smacked down by a tail and the remaining man in front was gored with a lance.

“Thank you,” said Garazzu to the rider as he leapt off. Lingbury attacked him the moment he was on his feet. They pushed their swords together trying to overpower the other. The anwyrm flashed it's teeth, leaning towards it's prey. Arrows swooshed by, forcing the beast into the flight again. Lingbury was on a strong offensive, push Garazzu back and smashing his sword. He stepped to his side and swiped. Garazzu blocked it, but he still thrown over.

“You look tired.” As soon as those words were spoken it became more visible. Garazzu's legs were shaking and his breathing was laboured. Lingbury approached him, bending his knees for his next strike.

“I'll show you where burdens are heaviest.” Garazzu swung his sword, cutting right into his foe's shoulder. The blow had only begun to dig into the armour. He froze, holding the sword in place. “So, I'm not the one after all.”

“That's right, a Northerner is nothing,” said Lingbury, raising his blade.

“Back off, old fart!” Brant intercepted the attack, protecting his partner.

“Bastard Brant!”

“That's Captain Brant to you.” He looked over his shoulder to Garazzu. “What a sight for sore eyes.” He grinned, though the bruises gave him a silly appearance.

“You're not so bad yourself, Captain traitor!” Dyarl came out from behind a shack with his sword drawn. “Surrender and you can keep your pitiful life.” Brant began to laugh, holding his ribs together. There was a crashing noise. The anwyrm had fallen from the sky, it's entire body was covered with arrows. Brant's smirk was wiped off his face as he saw his men retreating. He took a step back, only to find something sharp jabbing the back of his neck. He twisted his head and in the corner of his eye he could see Markus, holding a dagger in his left hand.

“Well, look who the little sneak is,” said Brant.

“Drop your sword, it's over.” Markus looked down on Garazzu, making sure he was not about to surprise him. Brant spun around and kicked Markus in the stomach. He put his arm around Garazzu and began their escape. Edgar and Warren protected them from the archers. Dyarl and Lingbury gave chase, but they blocked by three devoted Garollens. Dyarl cut them down without a second thought, but it was too late; Brant and Garazzu were too far away. The militia began cheering and raising their weapons, the outpost was theirs now. Markus, Dyarl and Lingbury stood together.

“Jason, you lucky pup, His Highness told me you were dead!” Lingbury hit Dyarl over the back, his face was beaming.

“I said nothing like that!” Markus shook his head. “But I'm surprised that you're doing so well.”

“Where are the others?” asked Dyarl. Markus stared blank for a moment before the names passed his lips. “And just where were you?”

“Ah yes... they were caught. I was busy while you were wasting time... checking the perimeter.” He turned away, trying to hide is lousy attempts to lie. “I found them, but then we were all captured that to that idiot and Silver Tongue. I don't know where they are now.” Dyarl's ears were pricked by the mention of Ulysses. He looked over at the piles of snow in the distance. It was irking him, but the others were too distracted by the battle to investigate it.

“If that wizard has any decency, he would not show his face up around here. I'm sure I'll find him.”

“Just follow the devastation, eh, Jason?” Markus laughed nervously. Lingbury butted in, trying to make sense of what they were talking about.

“You guys got yourselves a wizard!?”

“I wish that were not true.” Markus sunk his face into the palms of his hands and Dyarl was just a grim in his reaction. Lingbury raised his brows, left speechless by the answer that seemed backwards to him. Dyarl began to leave, waving farewell.

~

Evening fell up the land with an orange sky and pink rimmed clouds. Markus wandered around, checking behind bushes and trees, mumbling with discontent. He foot caught and he tripped over with a heavy thud. He looked to see what he fell over; a set of shed antlers. They were thick and pointed. Markus took them into his hand and inspected them, they were a captivating pair. Between the branches he spotted Dyarl jogging up to him.

“Ah, Your Highness,” he said, eyeing the antlers. “Say, where'd you find them? Those are good luck, Etustir's wings. Wait, wait! Just what are you doing out here?”

“I was just getting some space. Antler's are wing?”

“Listen, I have to tell you something. About His Majesty, well he- I think we should go somewhere private, because-”

“Just get on with it, Jason!” Markus scrapped his teeth, stomping his foot.

“His Majesty was plotting an assassination again Garollen.” Markus stood with a twisted face.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, dropping the antlers and moving closer to hear him better.

“Brant told me.” Markus did not respond, rather we waited, expecting more to be said. Eventually, he was compelled to speak.

“And... and that's it? You don't seriously trust that turncoat, do you?” Dyarl stare down. “He's just trying to mess with your head.”

“Of course, forgive me.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But still, perhaps we should look into this some more.”

“Utter nonsense, Jason. Since when is your job to say things like that!?” Markus' voice became louder. “I'll have you know that nothing Brant could have any meaning to me!” Dyarl stepped back, in the corner of his eye he could see something white on a the floor. “Oh, you dropped something.” He pointed to what he saw; a sealed envelope. Markus scrambled to retrieve it and stash it away under his cloak.

It's just something mother gave me, none of your concern. Listen, just go on ahead and I'll join you later.” Markus smiled, but it appeared far from sincere. Dyarl walked away, his eyes still fixed on the ground. “Damn it,” whispered Markus, punching the bark.

“That didn't sound good,” said a voice from beyond the trees. Elissa came out of the shade, chuckling under her breath.

“Shut up, woman. Where were you?”

“You told me to stay, didn't you?” Markus turned red, trembling with rage. “So, you actually believe any of what he said?”

“Of course not. I don't even know why he'd bring something like that up.” Elissa stroked her chin, pondering for a moment.

“He's just looking for an excuse to abandon you,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I'd keep my eyes open if I were you.”

“You mean 'eye', don't you?” Markus smirked upon seeing Elissa scrunch her face. “Don't worry, I'm sure I'll see it coming before you do.” His smile slumped, and his voice deepened. “You really think he's leave like that?”

“Of course he will. Just watch him. He'll find a way to betray you, with honour, and get off free. You should make sure he doesn't trick you.”

“I won't, I won't.” He walked up to Elissa in a casual stride. When they stood side by side, he reached for his dagger. The back of legs were kicked and he fell onto his back, the dagger dug into the ground.

“Oi, that was predicable, but better.” She began laughing. Markus took a deep breath as he picked himself up. “You should probably head back now.” She stepped around the trees, disappearing into the woods. “I'll find you if I see anything.”

“Like that'll help me.” Markus shook his head, walking in the opposite direction, towards the outpost.

~

Members of the militia were busy shoving the snow from around the tower then Markus returned. They had dug their way through to the door, kicking it open and flooding in. The air was still frigid, it gave Markus shivers. Shinzou and Gerald came out, looking as though they had spent a week on a mountain. The clattering of their teeth could be heard from a distance. Dyarl approached them, followed by Markus.

“Will you be alright?” asked Dyarl. “You must go and rest.”

“Ju-j-just shattup!” Shinzou pushed them aside. “A-all I need... is for you to- outta my way!” he staggered alone, not sure of where he was going. The others turned their attention to Gerald.

“Did you see Ulysses in there?” he asked.

“He vanished,” said Dyarl “But I'm sure he'll turn up.” All of the sudden, a hand began clawing into Gerald's shoulder.

“Why... I'm... right here,” said a voice from behind, accompanied by heavy breathing. The others leapt out of their skins at the sight of Ulysses. “I... I just had to exhaust the rage of this ill-befallen day. I feel well again.”

“Great, great. Now we need to get out of here before we come under attack again. We should be all set, unless you have any thing else to tell me, Jason.” He squinted his eyes, staring daggering. Dyarl's jaw dropped, his eyes were wide open.

“No, Your Highness. I've nothing to tell you.” He walked away. Markus watched him out of the corner of his eye before something else caught his attention. Something was growing on the wall of a shack, pulling Markus in with it's familiarity. Emerald buds were beginning to sprout. Bile rose in his throat as his scratched the wood around the plant.

“Ulysses,” he shouted, “Burn this thing.” He stormed back to the wizard, who was being unresponsive. “Didn't you hear me! I said to burn them! Burn them! It's like she's right here, mocking me.” Ulysses did nothing still. “Well!?”

“It's just a plant, Markus. Be strong, the time to put her to an end will come. You can't kill prey by stabbing it's footprints.” Markus grabbed him by the collar are thrust him closer. He began whispering to the pair of eyes that hide inside the cloak.

“Listen here, I know what you and that stupid woman are trying to do. You step around and treat this like a game, and treat me like a game. I'm not some horse you lowly fools can bet on. When I've taken back Searan, you'll be at mercy, and you'll be wishing that you had given me better respect. Remember this, next time we speak.” Markus turned away, leaving the wizard to contemplate his words.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Eighteen: Fang of Light.

The morning sun did not reach the depths of the tent, it was a quagmire of sheets and clothing. Henrietta emerged half dressed, groaning. She began to rummage through the nearest pile. After a while, her fingers came into contact with something solid with corners. Her whole body began to tremble. Letting go, she turned to the next pile and pulled out a plain dress. Once it was one, she stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the sun. The day was fresh and breezy, the sky was empty of clouds. Towering above the tents in the distance was Saint Jistine's Mount.

A few armed guards were patrolling the camp, keeping a vigilant eye on the grumbling peasants. One passed Henrietta on his route, he smiled and nodded his head to her. As she loosely followed the guard she looked around the camp. The tents were now in neat rows, forming a square around a flat clearing where people were going about their business. Along the way, she caught sight of Edward. He was talking to an older man, his face was stone serious as usual. Henrietta jogged towards them, shaking off her tiredness with a wave hello.

“Mister Edward, what's going on today?” she asked. Edward sighed, taking a step back to let both people stay in view.

“It's nothing, dear,” he said, patronising her.

It doesn't look like-”

“It's nothing, dear.” Henrietta and the old man froze up, Edward was glaring at the pair in silence. After a while, a coarse hum could be heard. The others twisted their heads, not realising that it came straight from Edward's lips. “If I tell you, will you quit being a pest?” Henrietta nodded her head. “Our friend here was just telling me that there's someone odd lurking around the camp.”

“Who is it?”

“Well... and this might shock you, dear... we've got no idea. Really, if you're trying to give me a headache, you're doing a damn good job. Don't bother me unless it's urgent, that goes for the both of you.” Edward gave them a cold shoulder as he left. Henrietta scratched her head.

“What's his problem?”

“No rest for the wicked.” The old man laughed. “Perhaps I'll just ask one of the guards for help.” Soon Henrietta was alone again. She began to wander around the tents, making her way to the outside edge. There was no one else around, and Henrietta spent some time to admire the countryside. The hills seemed greener than it did when they had first arrived and the leaves were beginning to bud on the trees. Her braids were fluttering the in wind as she stared. It was not long till a figure came into the corner of her eye. She snuck up on the person; a blond woman in a tattered grey dress.

“Can I help you, Lady?” said the woman, not even batting an eye lid to Henrietta.

“Isn't that my line?” There was a pause, Henrietta was becoming frustrated by the guest's monotone. “Well, can I help you, Miss?”

“It's Annabel. Is Mister Shinzou in the area?” she asked. Henrietta bit her lip, taken back by the unexpected question.

“No, he's gone.”

“Did he leave anything behind?” Henrietta became indignant as each question was more unusual than the last.

“Should you be going through someone's things like that?” Annabel still did not face her. “There are manners, and there are friendly manners, Miss.”

“Did he leave anything behind?” Henrietta wondered whether Annabel had even listened to her. After another pause, she took the woman by the shoulders and spun her around so they were face to face.

“I don't know if he left anything behind! Have a look around if you have to!”

“Thank you, Lady.” Annabel floated by, slipping between the tents. Henrietta's face slumped, she was peeved. Her calm moment had been snapped and now she was fixated just what that woman was up to. She pursued, keeping to distance and always light on her feet.

Annabel asked around, giving the same cold face to everyone she met. The voice drove Henrietta up the walls, it was the most boring thing she had ever heard. As they continued the game, Annabel upped her paced. She turn a sudden turn through some tents. Henrietta followed, but then she turned the corner she found nothing there. She peeked her head inside the tents on both sides finding them empty. She gave up on searching, instead warning the nearest guard about a sneaky intruder. It stuck in the back of her head while she rejoined the daily norm.

In the centre of the clearing a table had been set up where breakfast was being handed out; stone bread and brown water. She took the bread in her right hand and a cup in the left, no joy came from having either. She tore off some bread wit her teeth and chewed it once. On realising its lumpy texture was worse than yesterday she went straight to swallowing, washing it down with the water. Edward came by for his meal, ignoring Henrietta. She choked down her portion and tugged him on the arm.

“Hey, that person is up to something weird,” she said.

“Hmm... I hear she's been stalking around all morning. The guards can deal with her.”

“By the way, where did all the Northerner things get put?” Edward pointed over at a larger tent in the distance behind the table.

“Don't know why they put their rubbish in storage, they won't be stepping foot inside this place again?”

“Just what's your problem?”

“You jest, surely? Every minute I spend here is time wasted. That moron prince took us all the way out here to gratify himself and now he's off on some wild failure.” He took a bite out of his bread, no moment of savouring. “I've got a gut feeling I'm not the only one who though they picked the wrong side.” Henrietta gulped the last of the water down her throat, setting the mug on the table and escaping Edward's grumbling. She sprinted to the tent that was pointed out. Upon opening its flaps the scene of a raid was revealed to her. Sacks had been torn open and the ground was cover with cloth, grain and bread. The sack carrying Shinzou's mushrooms was in the centre,yellow caps were spilling out. Henrietta knelt down, dipping her fingers in something staining the grass, drops of blood.

“Is there a problem, Miss?” A guard entered, it was the same one who greeted her before.

“Yes. We've got trouble.” Henrietta lead the guard outside, explaining the situation to him. “If she going to do what I think she is, then someone might get hurt.”

“I'll have everyone searching for her then. There's nothing to worry about, Miss.” When the guard was gone, Henrietta was overcome by a feeling of being watch. It took only a second for her to realise that it was Annabel. Checking in the spaces between the tents she could find nothing, yet the feeling still persisted. She came across another splatter of blood right of the storage tent, and another nearby. She followed the trail leading around the outside edge of the camp. The walls on the tents had creases at the bottom, someone had been lifting them up. When she came to the last tent to show this sign, she ran around checked inside. It was her tent, but the piles had been turned upside down. She was confused, unable to make sense of why her possessions had been raided. The one thing she could not bear to lose had been lost; the box was missing. Each pile was scattered in the mad search, Henrietta fretted over it. A shadow emerged from the flaps.

“This is yours,” said Annabel, throwing the box down. She was shaking violently and her breathing was thunderous. The box lid had been dented, forced open, its contents taken. “I just needed something to keep you at bay. It was written all over your face; hiding something.” Annabel held her sides together as she collapsed onto her knees. A mug fell out of her hand, along with a flow of blood from her finger. The bile that poured forth was lumpy and red.

“Sezazo's Elixir?”

“That's right, Lady. The idea came to me right off seeing those Northerners. Aww, what a feeling!” Annabel's voice had broken from its stoic ring, now a palette of enthusiasm. She revealed a pair of white silken gloves in her other hand. One had a circle on the palm and the other had lines running down the fingers.

“Give them back!” Henrietta pounced, aiming to swipe the gloves. Just as she was in reach a dagger was thrust in her belly.

“I got pretty sick of you following me, so I'll just hold onto these. I've read plenty of Master Varon's work on runes to know what these are. How will these things claim my new victim I wonder. It's been so long since I could even think about things like that.” The gloves were pulled down on her fingers, the circle rune on the left, the lines on the right. Annabel inspected the pattern while Henrietta was left crawling along the ground. She took another dress from the pile, tearing it up and tying it around her wound, making sure the pressure was strong. “Still alive? We'll put an end to that.” Henrietta clutched the wall of the tent, bring the whole roof down in one tug. Rolling out from underneath, she had escaped. Annabel was still struggling to free herself.

“Guards! Guards!” Henrietta cried, comforting her wounded stomach. She found one a short distance away, he was rushing to the scene of the collapsed tent. He caught Henrietta in his arms and began to guide her wobbling feet. A crowd was forming around them. They whispered over the injured woman.

“Just what happened?” asked Edward, approaching to be along Henrietta.

“I was stabbed.” Even her quiet voice was enough to ignite the crowd. The surge of panic caused the them to break apart and spread the news; someone was out to kill them. Edward stroked his temples, bemoaning their scaremongering. “Ow, I didn't mean for that to happen. That woman has probably gotten away by now.” Her voice was becoming faint.

“Goodness sake! We'll have warn Lirina.” Edward scrambled away, pulling on his hair. Henrietta tripped over, held up only by her escort. She fell deeper into unconsciousness.

~

Her eyes fluttered open, meet by the the strands of light that came through the tent roof. Her body was tucked tightly in the bedroll, too fatigued to even move an inch. She was alone inside, but shadows of men slid across the wall.

“Sir, you don't think this person is the one who broke out of prison, do you?” Henrietta began to sweat, with a lump in her throat that could not be gulped down. “It was only a matter of time before she showed up again. Just look at this poor girl she attacked.” The relief was painful, but she was able to calm down for now. She shut her eyes, but could not fall asleep. Humming, she began to sound out a lullaby. The beats were long and soft. Though she grew weary, something in the back of her mind kept her awake. She feared to think what Annabel was planning to do. The gloves also enticed her, the sight of them after so long wet her lips. The flap was turned over, and someone poked her her inside. Henrietta could not recognise them in the shadows.

“Greetings,” said the calm voice of a woman.

“Is that you, Lady Lirina?” Henrietta had to choke out the words.

“I heard you were injured. Are you well?” She brought the rest of her body inside, standing over Henrietta.

“I'll be fine. Your concern graces me.”

“Milady!” The guard stormed in, only to recoil in a haphazard attempt to seem non-threatening. He had short brown hair with a small beard, his eyes were bordered with shallow wrinkles. “Your life is in danger, where is your protection?”

“I suggest that you focus on capturing this criminal. All our lives are at stake.” The guard slouched, keeping any moans under his breath. All three were struck cold by a ghastly shriek, followed by a screams of many. “Please, stay here, Milady.” The guard rushed outside, though his shadow was still visible on the wall. The terror filled cries roared as they came by the tent.

“It looks like we're couldn't do anything in time.” Lirina rested her head into her palms. The screaming died down and the silence afterwards weighted upon them. They froze into statues, awaiting something to shatter the tension. The guard re-entered, his throat strangled by the tightness of the air.

“Milady, I insist that you move to the city.” The two women stare at him. “Please, Milady, you must.” The guard clenched his jaw, irritated by the lack of answers. “Ahem!”

“Oh... my apologies. I'll go then.” Lirina received a bow from the guard. She smiled to Henrietta. “Farewell, I hope for a quick recovery.” The guard escorted Lirina out of the tent, shining the sunlight in as he held the flap open.

Henrietta was alone once again, and still unable to fall asleep. She summoned up all her strength to sit up, her stomach twisted her with each inch. The wind began to blow under the walls, blowing the flaps and her hair. Henrietta explored the tent with her eyes. Everything seemed fine, but the lump in her throat felt more swollen than before. It was uneasy to sit helpless with a killer on the loose. As the flap waved around, the sunlight flashed in, revealing a shadow over Henrietta. She knew that of all people it could be it had to be the worst of all.

“Are you here to finish me off?” She bent her head back against the pillow, catching an upside down Annabel. Her hands were soaked with blood and she was no longer trembling.

“I plan to, but I've got other ideas first.” Annabel took out the gloves from the pocket of her dress. “I'll leave this little camp and spare the rest of you, if you tell me how these things work.”

“They won't work for you. They're made for me.”

“So you're not some simpleton.” Annabel leaned over her victim and held a dagger between her finger and thumb, dangling it above her. Henrietta was still too weak to reach up and stop her. “Just a few hints for me, Lady. No one else here has to die.”

“They won't work.”

“If that's the case, then I guess I'll just have to believe you.” She twirled the dagger around her fingers. “Sleep well, Lady.” Henrietta screamed for help before Annabel gagged her. “Shut up, stupid girl.” She raised the dagger, reflecting the light off its edge. Henrietta sealed her eyes, preparing for the strike. The arm came down, thrusting the blade. Before it could penetrate, it was caught in mid-air. Annabel twisted her neck, scowling at the man who held her back. Henrietta opened her left eye slightly, making out the figure towering over her captor.

“Edward!?” she called, surprised and dazed. Annabel struggled against him, cursing and shrieking. Another man burst in; a guard. He delivered a fist to Annabel's face, knocking her out cold. The dagger and gloves fell onto the ground.

“Did she hurt you?” asked Edward, in a voice that sounded no distress. Henrietta shook her head.

“No, I'm... I'm fine.” She smiled, loosening her tired eyes. “Thank you.”

“Goodness sake, what a mess.” Edward turned to the guard. “Take that savage away.” The guard took Annabel from under her arm and dragged her away. Bending over, Edward picked up the dagger and stuffed the gloves into his pocket. “Honestly girl, trouble follows you.” He turned his back on her and made for the exit.

“Will you stay, please?” asked Henrietta, her eyes locked on his pocket.

“I'm busy, but I'll call over a guard to make sure nothing happens. She can't hurt you now, there's nothing for you to worry about.” He almost sounded as if he cared.

He caught up with the guard who had arrested Annabel. He had laid her down on the grass while he checked his fist for any bruises. Edward tutted, prodding the guard's shoulder. He snapped up like a mouse trap. “Ahem! Should you be leaving a criminal unattended?”

“My apologies!” The guard lifted Annabel up again in a hurry.

“Lock up that vile woman and throw away the key.” The guard ran away with her with one glare from Edward, desperate to escape. The impatient man searched around, quickly finding another who could keep watch on the tent. He approached the short, broad man in armour. “I've got a job for you!” The new guard took a bow. “See that place over there?” Edward grabbed his head and directed it. “Go stand by it and make sure nothing happens. If I hear you've been slacking, I'll see to it that you go without pay.” The guard sprinted away, taking the threats in bad humour.

Edward scrounged around in his pocket for the gloves. He began inspecting the details; the sheen of the black patterns, the smooth fabric that slid between his rough fingers, and the slender tips that were made for a woman's hand. He assumed the crazed killer had swiped them from somewhere. As he pondered further a pair of men were carrying a long, heavy load covered with a cloth, their faces were grimacing. Edward was taken with rare moment of shock when he realised what it was.

“This must be-”

“My son... my eldest.” The man carrying the head let out tears, lowering his breaded face. Edward stood over the body, his hands were trembling.

“I can't believe it; Samson, dead. None of this would've happened if we didn't come out here!” He took a deep breath. “Adrian, please forgive me. He was a fine man and his death is on my shoulders.” He put his hand on the shoulder of the father, who was barely able to lift his head up. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” said Adrian, his voice muffled. “He was always so headstrong, but I never thought I'd be going through this.” They took the body away. Edward was left in shambles, still piecing together his thoughts.

~

The sun was began its decent from the sky as Edward entered Jistine's Mount. The city's lower level was bustling with peasants going about their daily routine. He entered a guarded tower along the outer wall, giving the men outside a stiff nod as he passed. As he walked up to the table he whipped out the gloves and them slammed them down in front of the middle aged guard.

“These belonged to that vile woman, see to it that-”

“Erm... My apologises, but she told us that said item was not hers. She made that clear as day.”

“Oh really now? Forget about that then! Who the heck do I speak to about our camp!” The guard flicked through the book in the centre of the table, running his finger down each page.

“That would be... Councillor Fell.” He paused, double checking what was written. “Is that right?”

“Where is she?” Edward was right in the face of the guard, inches from shaking him down for answers.

“Well, usually she could be found at her office in the archives, but since the former Archive Keeper took most of the material with him... she's been moving around a lot. You might wish to try the temple, the meeting buildings or-”

“Just forget about it!” Edward swung around, charging for the door with stomping feet. He stowed away the gloves. He felt an utter disappointment, the wall had been hit just as he began to take the first steps. As he was about to pass the door's frame the guard called out to him.

“If you want a message sending, I could handle that.” Edward cleared his throat, watching as the guard took out a quill and ink.

“Tell her about what has happened, and that our protection is most inadequate.”

“Will do... but with all respect, don't expect for much. Forces are stretched right now, you should see what it's like at the other settlement.”

“You should see what I'm like when I give a hoot! Just send it-” He was cut off by a wail from the basement. Someone was crying to help. Edward and the guard crept down the stairs, tip-toeing. Against the wall was another guard, blood gushed from his side. Annabel was unlocking the cell door with a key she robbed. Edward raced to stop her, but she had already broken free and was holding the wounded man at the point of a stained dagger. “Where the heck did you get another one from!?”

“Just a few good hiding places. Now move side!” She held her victim close, keeping the dagger at his neck. “You wouldn't want this one your hands!” Edward and the guard submitted, clearing the path. As she ascended the final step Annabel threw her hostage down, letting him tumbling down with a racket. The man raised his hand, reaching out to his partner before dying of blood loss. The other guard gave chase to Annabel, climbing the stairs. Edward took the dead man's sword and followed behind the guard.

The ground floor was empty, and no one outside had seen her escape. The two went back inside and turned it upside down. They sat down on the chairs, pondering with desperate minds.

“This city's big, she could hide anywhere,” said the guard, slouching. Edward was squeezing his hands so tight that blood trickled from his palms.

“Blast it! Where'd-” The answer smacked him in the face. He sprang from his seat, unlocking his fingers. “Of course! I know where that vile idiot will be! Come on!” He charged out with the guard following in his wake.

They reached the Searan camp, on a warpath to find the rogue maid. Edward approached the tent where Henrietta was resting. The stout guard tensed his muscles, taking a whale of a gulp. “Have you seen that murderer!?”

“No, Sir, no! Not a peep!”

“Outta the way!” Edward rolled him aside, popping his head into the tent. Henrietta was sound asleep, and nothing inside was stirring. Edward groaned, he though for sure she would return to finish the job. “I'm sure she's just bidding her time.” The pair of guards glanced nervously at each other.

“Should we go alert the others?” the stout man whispered.

“You think so!” Edward sent them flying like leaves in a gale. “Must I do everything myself!?” He shook his fist to their backs. Before he drew his next words, a hand dragged him around the corner, another muffling him. A sharp point pricked his neck while he was forced onto the ground. A weight lay on his back, pinning him down. “So I was right after all,” he said, straining to open his mouth with his chin against the dirt.

“Keep a lid on it, old man.” Annabel pressed the dagger with a light tap, enough to sting.

“Get off!” Edward tried to lift himself up on all four, but was denied with a swift stomp to his calf.

“Sorry, Sir... wait, shut up! You're gonna regret getting in my way.” A shouting from behind caught her attention.

“Halt or Die!” A tall guard was aiming his bow square at her face, with the pair from before side by side with swords out. Annabel leapt behind the tent for cover, dodging the arrow by an inch. The guards pursued her, except the marksman, who knelt down beside Edward, making sure his helmet was on tight and closed. “...you... you're injured.” He put his arms under Edward and lifted him.

“No! Just get that woman!” Edward began coughing.

“Stop it, now! You're bleeding, Sir.”

“Just get your hand off me!” Edward thrashed around like a animal caught in a trap, hitting the guard's arms. He fell face first into the dirt. The guard trembled after watching him remain lifeless for a moment.

“Sir? Sir!” There was no response. The guard got down and took off his right gauntlet before checking Edward to see if he was still breathing. He could feel the cold air swirl when he put his hand in front of Edward's mouth. Picking up the beaten man, the guard took him inside the medical tent. Drops of sweat ran down his visor.

~

Henrietta awoke in a daze. Her mind seemed to be fixed on remembering a racket, but it was all muddled. She sat up, finding the pain in her chest and stomach were bearable. The tent felt stuffy and hot. She flipped over the corner of her blanket to cool her leg off.

“You shouldn't be getting up.” Henrietta skipped a heart beat, throwing her head around. Edward lay next to her in perfect stillness.

“Don't scare me like that! What are you doing here!?”

“What does it look like! I got beaten, prodded and manhandled!”

“O' my little stab wounds can't compete!” She spoke in a cooing voice and hugged her cheeks.

“Well I didn't want to be here!”

“O' such a hard worker!” She span her head left and right, flipping her braid over her shoulders.

“Alright I-” Edward began scrapping his teeth, building up his rage, though he to tucked in too tight for moving.

“O' what shall we do without Edward at the helm?”

“En-”

“O'-”

“Give it a rest!” Edward sprang up. A snap in his back sent him right back down. “Arrgh! Brilliant!”

“Are you-”

“I'm fine!” Edward turned his back, pretending to fall asleep.

“I'm only trying to be nice. What's your problem?”

“It's nothing. Just seeing that lad set me off, that's all.” Henrietta fell silent, laying back down. Her attitude was washed away. “I just can't help thinking it was my fault. I knew Samson, he came by the forge a lot. He was friend of my son.” Edward sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Henrietta gasped.

“You've got a son!?”

“Keep it down. I haven't seen him since he left to fight for the rebellion ten years back. We never got along well, especially after his mother passed away. I should just disown the brat, but I'll like to at least know where he is first.”

“Who knew you could be so sweet.”

“O' quit it, girl. I don't want to talk of it any more. Not to you, nor anyone.”

“Alright, alright.” Henrietta rolled over, peeved by Edward's coldness. I came to her, all of the sudden, that she had been forgetting something important. “Say, Edward, do you still have them gloves with you?” she asked.

“There your I assume.” He said nothing of where they were kept, but Henrietta noticed that his eyes would glance at his jacket on the floor every so often. She slipped out of the bedroll, picking up the jacket with her face scrunched with disdain. “Hey, what are you doing!?” Edward tried to get up, but was pushed down by Henrietta's foot. She held both gloves in her right hand. Her eyes were fixed on the fabric smoother than her own skin and her jaw dropped. She stepped off Edward and limped towards the flaps, collecting her coat on the way out.

The sky was turning orange, littered with the silhouettes of bird flocks. Henrietta fitted the gloves on her slender fingers. A strong relief washed over her, the feeling of awakening after a slumber. The camp felt empty, everyone was hiding away and the guards could only be detected through their clattering feet and the wind swept murmurs from afar. He bare feet felt the grass brush against the soles and between her toes. The wound persisted to haunt her, sending a sting up her spine with each movement. Edward's voice was calling from behind, but her focus could drown him out. Skulking from one side of the camp to the other, she came across no sign of the murderous maid, but she was sure of her presence lurking somewhere. After exploring the east side, Henrietta could smell the thick mix of blood and sweat. Turning the corner into the alley between a pair of tents, Annabel was spotted catching her breath. Henrietta snuck up on her, clasping her hands together.

“Don't even-” Annabel slipped over, coughing and spiting. The vigour in her voice had vanished, returning to its monotone.

“I thought you wanted me to show you how to work these things.” Henrietta smirked, leaning over Annabel as he choke on her own tongue. A dagger thrust up at Henrietta, cutting her cheek as she leapt back. Annabel lunged forwards, swinging her dagger without any direction. With her other arm, she reached for Henrietta's wound, trying to force it open. They tangled together for sometime, the space too narrow for either to get around the other. Henrietta fell back, slipping over in the mud. The dagger came down from above. She caught it with both her hands, the gloves did not tear. Annabel thrust her stomach, digging into the flesh with her nails. Gasping and screaming, Henrietta began losing her grip on the blade. Her arms were being pushed down, powerless to contend with the twisting of her gut.

“Oi!” shouted a voice from down the narrow gap. Annabel looked up, surprised by the appearance of the marksman. A pair of springing feet threw her back. Henrietta rolled over, clutching the gushing opening. “Keep still! Both of you!” Annabel pulled herself up, hoping to escape thorugh the other end. The other two guards appeared and blocked her, pointing their swords. With no where else to run to, Annabel took the tent wall to her left and pulled it towards her. Everyone was shrouded by the blanket. The marksman shot off an arrow blindly. The collapsed tent became still, with no signs of anyone underneath. The guards lifted the edges, only to find the woman had vanished. They split up in different directions after a brief search around the wreckage.

Annabel limped away from the camp. An arrow was stuck in her right leg, causing her to trip every so often. Henrietta was trailing behind, dripping blood from her open wound.

“You... you're going anywhere! Just who are you?”

“A prisoner, and I'm not going anywhere. I didn't wait all this time just to be chased off. My spine is dancing with joy. It's wonderful.” She smiled, twitching from the pain from the arrow. Henrietta said nothing. Instead she clapped her palms together flat, where a light began to form. She stretched out the light, as though she was pulling it out of the left glove. The beam of light now sat across both hands, the ends appeared sharp. The white glow was mystifying, Annabel was frozen with awe. The moment was brief, Annabel began to back away when Henrietta took the light like a javelin in her right hand. She chucked it through the air, missing her target way off. The spectacular light pierced the earth, scorching a small circle of grass around it. After a second it burst apart, its sparks bouncing before fading away. Henrietta put her hands together, ready to form another. Annabel turned her tail and limped away, heading towards the bushes.

“No you don't!” Henrietta tried to pursue, but her legs felt as heavy as lead. Her palms slipped apart and she began to shiver. Finally, she fell forwards, slamming into the ground and falling unconscious. Before shutting her eyes she could hear the calls of the guards which grew louder as they rushed to her.

~

Once more she found herself waking up inside the tent. It was pitch black with an eerie silence, she could not even tell if the bedroll beside her was still occupied. She felt her hands for a moment, relived to still be wearing the gloves. Her stomach was churning with wretched motion, but she was too fixated on her gloves to care. They held her in their warm texture.

The tense minute between the three was interrupted by a mumbling next to them, the deep stirs of who she assumed was Edward. She snuck out her blanket and began rummaging around for any of her possessions. Finding only her coat she decided to leave.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” Edward's cold, critical voice shot out of the dark.

“I'm leaving, what does it look like?”

“Just go to sleep, no one's about.”

“No, I mean I am leaving for good.”

“Wait! Stop, woman!” He shuffled around, sitting up.

“If you should see Gerald again, tell him; thank you for trying. I wish you well.”

“Oi! Just what are you doing!?” Edward shouted for a while, but there was no answer, she had vanished into the night. Edward fell back, groaning and slapping his face. He was burnt out to his core. The silence persisted from then on as he surrendered himself to the fatigue.

Edited November 30, 2009 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Nineteen: Searan's Sunrise.

Markus strode down the beaten path, taking it slow to admire the sparkling morning dew. In his right hand he held a small razor, with his left he stroked his chin which was covered with copper hairs. In the distance behind him was a range of mountains shrouded in light mist, but he was more concerned about the woodlands he was about to enter. In the shade of the trees he began to hum a bouncy song which echoed off the bark. He approached the widest tree he could find and put his back against it. Taking a folded up mirror off his belt he began to hold the razor to his fuzzy neck.

“Hello, Markus.” He jolted forwards, making a shallow cut under his chin. Ulysses popped out of the shadows and gave him a pat on the back. “What brings you here this fine morning?”

“Shaving. About time I got it done. Although, my hair's getting longer, so perhaps I should leave something behind, least I get mistaken for a woman.” He shuddered.

“Speaking of which, do not look beyond this tree, for a sight that will be forever burnt into your head you shall receive.” Markus was blank for a second before deciding to go against the warning. He stuck his head around the trunk only to twist it back with a crooked frown.

“Is... what was... Is your body hair blue?”

“Yes, a lovely regal blue.” He began to lift his cloak, enjoying Markus' squirming. He let go of the edges, through with teasing. “So, what were you so joyous about. Though perhaps you don't wish to dig up that corpse.”

“Well, if you must know, today is the day I defeat Garollen, and toss them aside like a rag. Oh, and my arm, it can move again.” He waved his right arm around, not caring for the loose grip he had on the razor.

“Foresight is a gift not worth living without.” Ulysses sighed.

“Shut up, I know what I'm doing.” Markus dropped the mirror and razor and began rubbing his eyes. Elissa poked her head around the tree.

“What do you have planned?” she asked. Markus shivered at the sound of her voice, sealing his eyes tight.

“Are you dressed yet?” He cranked his head in her direction, opening up one eye a tiny bit. To his relief, she was wearing her garb and skirt. She had stopped wearing her hair over the right side of her face, leaving her scar for the others to see. Markus and Ulysses stared at one another, turning away as to not accidentally see her face. “Goodness sake, I don't think I keep my breakfast inside at this rate.”

“Your arm! You're all better!” She beamed. Markus smiled back, flexing his right arm. Elissa wrapped herself around it with a mischievous giggle. Markus shrugged her off, battling against his stretching smirk. He bent over and took the razor, handing it to Elissa.

“I think you'll be needing these.”

“And you, Markus?” asked Ulysses.

“Oh, I can't do with you two watching. It's annoying.”

“We are the best of friends. I simply cannot imaging my life without you two.”

“Yes, I too don't remember a time where my life was not spiralling in to madness right in front of my very eyes. You're wonderful people.” He began to walk away from them, with stiff leg movements. “Don't follow. I'll be back later.” Once he had vanished between the trees, Ulysses chuckled. Elissa was preoccupied with the razor, inspecting its rectangular shape. Her face was blank.

“What a splendid morning,” said Ulysses. “Such a shame he'll die.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you don't think he'll win.”

“Of course he will, I was just being funny. But really, he's a dead man. After all that time it took to get that spell off him. What a waste.”

“You seem sure of that.” Elissa came beside him, concealing the razor. “Though, something was odd. That thing on his back is still there.”

“Nonsense, girl. You're not suggesting that I'll be doing the killing?” He bent over, holding his sides together while he laughed off the accusation. Elissa took him by the collar, holding the razor to where she guest his neck to be.

“I'm sorry, but you're in our way and we think we'd be better off without you.”

“We?” Ulysses clenched up. “I see. Fine by me.” He burst into flames that flickered purple, then blue, then yellow and back again. The shock sent Elissa flying back, cutting herself on the finger. The flames grew to a climax, spiralling through a rainbow. The roaring was overcome by an echoing howl.

Beresami!

The flames were sucked inwards, the colours were fading away. What was left dispersed, dying unexpectedly with little fanfare. Ulysses had vanished, leaving only charred shreds of his cloak. A strong wind began to blow, faint waves of many colours passed between the trees. Elissa knew Ulysses was still around. She kept her eye vigilant, shifting right to left and back. She put her hand into the waves as one came near to her. It felt warm and slimy, splitting as it ran through her fingers. When the wind had passed everything seemed normal again. Elissa searched for the razor, finding it lodged in tree bark behind where she landed. She shifted her eye again, but there was no sign of anyone else nearby, the wizard was gone. She slipped away in silence.

~

Markus reached the top of the hill from where he looked down upon a large gathering of armed men. Dyarl came beside him, though his face was turned away.

“There's more here than I thought,” said Dyarl. Markus did not reply, he was too impressed by the unfolding of his plan. “But I don't think this is enough.” Markus simply smirked.

“Of course it isn't, but I've got a trick up my sleeve. That whore won't know what hit her.” Lingbury climbed up, panting and sweating. “Are your men ready to go on?”

“They were born ready, Your Highness!” He burst out into laughter. “Should I give the order!?”

“Have your men hide in mountains. When the highest tower of the fortress bears a white flag, that's the signal to send them in to attack.” Lingbury gave a salute before stumbling back down the hill.

“So, we're going to sneak inside and sabotage them?” Dyarl asked.

“Not bad. We kill a few guards, leave a few doors open.” Markus was smug, but Dyarl did not share his confidence. “I didn't ask for your approval. So are you with us or not.”

“Yes, I'll go along with this.” Markus took a breath of relief, glad that is was an easy won battle. “Should we go now, Your Highness?” Markus nodded, following Dyarl to the foot of the hill where his usual team-mates, Gerald and Shinzou, were loitering. They neither spoke or glanced at Markus, preoccupied with minor distractions. Dyarl coughed twice, gaining their tiny attention spans.

“Where's the other one,” asked Markus, swinging his head from side to side in search of a blue top. For a moment he thought he could hear a deep thunder in the distance, but when he turned to the others he realised that Shinzou was grinding his teeth. “No ideas-”

“Bite your tongue! I know where he is!” Everyone kept quiet, not wanting to drive him further.

“Fine, fine.” In the background the militia was shifting, emptying from the land as they were lead away. “We need to go, now.” The others did not share his enthusiasm.

“Are you sure we can even get inside that place?” asked Gerald. Markus raised his eye brow, sighing.

“Of course. I know of a hidden passage” Dyarl nodded his head, he knew of the way mentioned. “We can walk in and take it right from them.” Shinzou began to whisper into Gerald's ear.

“Jeez. All those doors, no wonder they lost so easy.” They both sniggered.

~

They crawled over the rocky face of the mountain feet, carrying only their weapons and few supplies. Markus lead the way, continuously pointing them back on track. In distance, embedded in the mountain side, was a structure with many towers surrounded by a thick stone wall. The highest tower in the centre was lost inside the clouds. The structure bore no flag, but they see the patrolling men on the walls, the size of ants. What caught their eyes were the rows of men marching down the slops away from the fortress. For a moment they feared they had been seen, but as they stepped onto the plains they began to turn away from the group, heading north.

They kept on sneaking their way towards the fortress. Markus came to a large boulder and slapped his hand against it.

“This is the place,” he said, boasting. Gerald and Shinzou leaned forwards, wetting their lips. Markus pushed himself against the rock, trying to move it with all his might. It took a whole two minutes for him to fall back, surrendering. He leapt back up, too embarrassed to even face the others “Dyarl, you take care of this. I need to make sure no one followed us.” Dyarl pondered on the boulder.

“I'm not sure this is-”

“No, no. I'm sure it's the right one.” Markus scurried up the rocks, evading the sharp shrub branches. He kept going until the others could no longer see him. Elissa snuck through a bush and greeted him.

“Already?” She moaned, picking the leaves out of her hair.

“Shush. Did you do it?” Markus tapped his foot, just waiting to be disappointed.

“Yeah, I got rid of shady.” She grinned, not even thinking to tell him what had transpired.

“And did you shave?” Her head tilted on its side.

“The razor, did you shave with it?”

“I thought you wanted me to kill shady with it.” Markus slouched, groaning and shuddering. It took a while for him to recover, but soon he was ready he lead her further up the mountain base. They came to a flat clearing among the grey rocks. Markus drew his spear and jammed it into a gap between two slabs that appeared as if they had fallen in a landslide. He flipped one slab away, revealing a rough, dark passage into the mountains.

“If you go through here you'll reach the fortress. Feel your way along the left side and take the turn when you find it. Don't go straight on.”

“Where will that take me?”

“Garollen.” Elissa become even more curious as she stared into the pitch black cave. Markus rummaged around his trouser pockets bring out the tattered bandages with a blood soaked scent both were familiar with. “Take this with you. Scout out the fortress and kill some sentries without being spotted. Fly this as a flag from the north-west tower if you're able to clear it out.”

“Sounds like a lot.” Elissa took the bandages, savouring the moment where their hand touched around the stained fabric.

“But who else can I rely on? I'm counting on you.” Elissa needed to hear no more. She dashed into the cave, disappearing into the shadows. Markus waited for a moment before taking a deep breath to echo his voice against the mountainside. “Hey! Over here!” he shouted. He sat down on the smoothest rock he could find and waited for the rest of the group to barge in. Then they finally arrived he leapt back up and began pointing to the cave. “Looks like you were right, Jason. The entrance is there.”

“How convenient,” said Dyarl, squinting his eyes at Markus and the tunnel. He had no time to solidify his suspicions as he was called to follow behind Markus through the dark path.

The floor was damp, their feet splashed with each step. They felt their away along the left hand side. The shrill squeal of rats followed them, hiding behind the dotted rubble. Eventually, Markus could feel the edge of a corner. Dyarl bumped into him, shoving him down to the sludgy ground. They could not see if Markus was alright, but the dripping of his cloak lead them around the bend and deeper through the tunnel. There was a weak light at the end, revelling a wooden ladder.

“You don't expect me to climb that thing!” Gerald's whine echoed up and down. “Look how wet it is, it'll snap like a twig.” Markus ignored him in favour of ascending anyway. The ladder was taller than he had expected. His arms grew tired and the ceiling still felt far away. The light was coming from four holes that formed a square above them. By the time he could place his hand against the hatch, Markus was panting and at least a quarter of his dripping was sweat. He lifted the hatch by a few inches and peeked his head up so he could get a narrow view across the surface. There were no signs of life. He threw himself up, fearing that he could not grasp the ladder for much longer. The room was claustrophobic, crammed with shelves and crates. The light came from fat candles sticking out of the walls. Everything came with its own cobweb and dust mites. Markus lay on the floor, catching his breath while the others came past the threshold. With all four inside there almost no space left.

“Where the heck are we?” asked Shinzou, barely able to speak being crushed between Gerald and a wall.

“The basement, well, one of them,” Markus answered as he pull himself up against the opposite side.

“You put these kind of doors in everything? No wonder you all got slaughtered.” His cackling bulged a vein on Markus' forehead.

“I'd pipe down if I were you. I know a nice plaque your head'll fit on.”

“Oh, toss it on the ashheal!” Gerald shuffled about, squashing Shinzou face on the stone. Markus sighed, shifting over to the narrow door next to him. He twisted the round nob and opened it halfway. The group burst out onto the dark stairway on the other side. Dyarl was the only one still calm enough to lead them up. He noticed that the next door had been forcefully opened from their side, but as Markus approached he said nothing of it. On the other side they were greeted by a smudged trail of blood that lead down a long corridor.

“I think we should go this way.” Markus pointed the opposite way of the trail. “This is the south wall-”

“Of course, the armoury should be that way.” Dyarl gave the prince a glaring behind his back. “Though it will be guarded. I think we should head the other way.” Markus snarled back, blowing a load of steam.

“Don't contradict me!” He smack his mouth shut. Down the corridor voices began to call, the guards had heard him. The group fled in the away before they were seen, racing down the clean side of the corridor. Losing the guards was quick, Markus assumed they were distracted by the trail. Along the way they came to a door that was reinforced with metal. As they cranked it open the courtyard came into view; it was barren.

“You'd think they'd guard their prisoners more than this,” said Dyarl, shutting the door to stop Shinzou bursting out. “We should send the signal before that bulk returns.” While he was ordering about Markus opened the door again, enough to get a peek outside. He stare up, just next to the sun where a tower stood. From the highest level was a slot in the wall where the bandages were waving from.

“Follow my lead,” said Markus, sneaking outside. He was quick to realise the others were reluctant. “Come on.” He struggled to keep his voice down. “They won't spot us. Come on, come on.” Shinzou slivered out followed by Gerald, whom were both inattentive. Dyarl remained, their apparent luck was all too much for him to swallow.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but can we be so sure?”

“Of course. Don't you trust your prince?” Markus gave a twisted raised eye brow, fuming at the delays.

“Very well, Your Highness, continue.” The group inched across the wall, heading for the largest tower of three. Even with the shadows of the wall, it seemed amazing to all but Markus that they travelled so smoothly. They drew their weapons as they approached the door. Markus stepped back, fond to let Shinzou have the honour of opening the way.

“I thought-”

“I'd let you have first picks of whoever's inside.” Shinzou was easy to convince. He shoved Markus aside and barged his way in. The other poked their heads around the door. As expected, the northerner threw subtlety out of the window. His voice rang thought out the tower, calling whomever there was to face him. From a staircase that spiralled allow the tower wall came a score of soldiers, befuddled by half naked madman in their walls. Shinzou took a warm up swing before facing the resistance. The men were silent, awaiting their leader who was leisurely descending. He was a broad man with a shaven face and dark brown hair bound in a tail. His slim eyes met with Shinzou.

“A single nomad presents a challenge to me? How did you get here?” He spoke in a calm, prestigious voice. Dyarl recognised it, so he stepped forward and made himself known.

“Forgive me, General Taelin, but how can you ask that? You've prisoners here, surely you'd keep them well guarded.” Taelin inspected both intruders for a moment.

“Jason Dyarl, of all the people. Under my command, the son of Alexander will meet his end.”

“Do not think that your envious drive will best him in his grave.” Dyarl flicked his hair, dismissing the general's imposing attitude.

“Kill them.” Taelin tapped the tip of his broadsword against the floor. His men drew their blades and closed in on the intruders. Shinzou and Dyarl stood their ground, shoulder to shoulder. They parried attacks from the first to approach. They stabbed back, both aiming from the neck. Once their foes fell they separated and charged at both sides. Gerald snuck in, holding his shield forward in a cowardly manner. Markus trailed behind, grasping his spear in both hands. When a stray foe swung his sword he blocked and bashed them with the spear's wing. He spun around, hitting the foe in the gut with the other end, knocking him down. Another ran towards him before he could get into stance again. As the soldier pulled back his sword Markus became startled and fell on one knee. The soldier was punched aside as Gerald drove his fist into his helmet.

“Mister Markus, watch my back.”

“I'm the prince! You watch my back.”

The next body fell before Dyarl, he had dealt forceful blows with his blood stained sword. A shadow dawned over him. He turned to face Taelin's blade which swung down above him. The general lifted his sword and took another swing. A wide gash was carved into Dyarl's chest plate, the force of the blow sent him flying across the room. He squinted his eyes, the pain was almost unbearable. As the general became a lurching blur someone even larger came between them.

“Mister Dyarl, get up!” The voice brought him back from the brink. Gerald protected him from Taelin's sword, holding his shield against his might. “Give me a hand!” The round shield began to crack up and even though it could reach, his sword could not pierce the armour. Taelin stepped away as Shinzou closed in from the side. Their swords clashes only inches from the general's face.

“You scum!” Taelin took one hand of his sword and punch Shinzou's stomach, felling him in a single blow. Before he could finish him a beaten Dyarl and Gerald came from behind. Their strikes knocked the wind out of him, but his armour endured. When he glance around the room he could see all his men lying dead. He stumbled towards the exit, aware of Markus sneaking up on him. When he passed the threshold of the door he turned to parry the thrusting spear head. Suddenly, he fell forwards, as though something had stabbed him in the back. His armour had shattered but no weapon was found. His decent was followed by a gust of wind as cold as the mountain peaks.

“Keep your guard up, it's a wizard!” Markus was unnerved. He figured that Elissa must have failed after all. Dyarl rushed to Taelin's aid. He knelt down and checked for a pulse around his neck.

“He's still alive, there's no bleeding.”

“You don't think Ulysses did this?”

“Or worse, Farner.”

“Quit yappin'.” Shinzou blocked the doorway “Mahlo! Get out here and show yourself!”

“Keep it down.” Markus dragged him back inside and slapped him across the face. A hand place itself on his shoulder, and when he turned his head Dyarl was staring down on him.

“Your Highness, we must fly the signal.”

“Of course, follow me. There might be some left hiding.” The group ascended the spiralling stairs. By the time they scaled the tower they were panting. The top level was a bed chamber, decorated with a polished wardrobe, desk and fur carpet. Gerald took out a white blanket from his backpack. He opened the window and tied the blanket to the handle, letting it blow in the wind. “The prisons should be in the basement, along with servant chambers. No of them are to escape.”

A whistle began to sound outside. Distressed voices ran across the wall. An army was march up to the fortress, but there were not enough men to defend it. The group watched from the window as arrows began to leap over the wall, catching soldiers off guard. The gates shuddered as the militia bashed against it with their swords. What remained of Garollen's strain forces gathered in the centre. When the invaders flooded in they held their ground, keeping the attack at bay. But as more came the defenders had become surrounded on all sides.

“What a victory,” said Markus.

“That's short sighted, Your Highness.”

“Keep your mouth shut, Jason.” Markus soured up, turning from the window and left for the stairs. “Come on, father should somewhere around here.” When he was gone Dyarl relaxed his arms. Shinzou and Gerald were loafing around, both were shaking their heads, they wanted no part of his squabble.

“You two should leave.” Shinzou twisted his face. “I thank you both for seeing this through thus far. But there's nothing for you here.”

“Mister Dyarl, I believe neither of us a put off by that.” Gerald paused to stroke his chin. “After all, it's noble, I guess.”

“You'll both die.” Dyarl sighed. Shinzou began to snigger, bending over to hold his insides together.

“Die? Die? You sure?”

“A warrior like yourself should certainly have realised by now.”

“It's a trap, but they can't trick me. Let them come. I'll feast on my prize.” He became absorbed in a wet anticipation. The others shook their heads, chiding his

“Mister Dyarl, you speak like it's hopeless.” Gerald slapped Dyarl's shoulder, shining his clueless grin.

“Gerald, get it through your thick skull.” Dyarl could not contain his fear, almost ready to shriek off the top of his voice. “You've got a wife for goodness sake.”

“That's a low blow. I'm sorry, Mister Dyarl, but I think we're too deep in to jump out now. This ship can't turn around.”

“I get it.” Dyarl relaxed, taking a long breath. “I'll go check on the men, you two fetch Taelin and keep him tied up.” As he wandered away, the pair glanced at each other, all they could do was mummer and grunt.

~

The dungeon that Markus trailed through was dark with the foul stench of rotting flesh. He sealed his nose with two fingers. Finally, he began to admit that he was lost, forgetting which turns he had taken in the labyrinth. A voice called out his name from the shadows behind him. It called again with a long dragging.

“Alright, you've had your fun. Come out.” He tapped his foot, unsurprised to find Elissa skulking around. He rolled his eyes at her giggles and sniggers. “Ha, ha, ha! Funny. Quit being a twit and help me find my father.” She joined without question, prancing behind him down the halls. Soon the pair came to a fork in their path.

“It should be that way.” Elissa pointed down the right hand road. “Trust me, I've been lurking down here.” Markus took her direction, but he did not thanks her. A storm of feet began to sound down the stone corridors.

“Disappear, now.” Elissa took stepped away, leaving Markus to wait for oncoming mob.

At the helm was Lingbury. When he came to a stop, the entire party tripped over, the momentum was too powerful.

“Your Highness! You're alone! That clod, Jason! You young men are damn reckless!”

“Lingbury, of all people.” They chuckled, ignoring the wreckage of human bodies behind them. “Do you remember where the prisons are?”

“Ah, there right down that route.” Lingbury nodded his head towards the left path. Markus quivered, sinking his head into a spiral of hopelessness. Lingbury gave him a pat on the back to aid him through the depression. “Your Highness, chin up. His Majesty is so close, I can feel his mighty presence. You must lead the way.” Markus took a deep breath with a gulp. Everyone was behind him, straightening out their posture.

Finally, the wall on their left began to form into metal bars. A flock of hands waved through with groaning voices of the damned and hungry. Hey begged the prince for freedom, gaping their mouths wide open. The sight of their wretched faces and black teeth forced Markus against the wall. After a moment of terror, a smile grew on his lips.

“Calm down, you'll all be freed.” His voice could not conquer the pleas and cries.

“Oooi!” Lingbury whacked the bars with his sword. The prisoners leapt back, gasping. “Compose yourselves in front of His Highness.” He shook his head, disgusted by their actions. The prisoners saluted, organising into two rows and straightening their thin legs. The lock was bashed open and the men relished their freedom. “Tell me, where is His Majesty?”

“There are other cells, not too far down,” said a frail middle aged man. “You can hear them if you keep quiet.” Everyone proceeded to silence themselves. Pleading echoes entered their ears. Prisoners down the line had caught wind of what was going on, awaiting their turn to be saved. “I don't believe His Majesty is here.” Markus thrust the man against the wall, demanding an explanation. “He was brought here, a long time ago. I do not know where they have taken him since.” Markus tossed him aside.

“Damn it!” He began kicking the wall beside the cell. “Damn it! Didn't you hear anything!?”

“Your Highness, please calm yourself.” Lingbury lowered his head.

“Silence! What am I meant to do now!?” Markus snapped his jaws like a mad animal. “Go free whoever you want! I shan't waste my time here!” He stormed off, yelling and screaming into the darkness.

His throat was clogged with spit that reached up through his teeth. On the way out he came across an emerging figure.

“Your Highness?” It was Dyarl, staring at Markus with no sympathy. “Is-”

“No! So you can't squeeze him for your answers.” They stood shoulder to shoulder as they passed, unable to look at each other. “Don't mistake me for a fool, Jason. I know what you say behind my back. It's written all over your face.” Dyarl was silent in response to the accusations. He carried on, heading down the corridor, ignoring the daggers being sent to him. Markus' face was twisted by the insolence witnessed. He could think of nothing more than unleashing his rage, giving the walls another beating.

“Markus, is something the matter?” Elissa watched over him, smirking. At first, Markus just walked away, but Elissa persisted by skipping along behind him. “I'd say it's pretty obvious that they wouldn't keep a king with the rest of the waste.” Markus turned and slapped her across the face, throwing her on the floor. When she recovered from the sting of her cheek she found Markus overshadowing her, his eyes were sharp and focused.

“If things are so clear to you, then why didn't you not speak up earlier? Why do you insist on being so difficult.” There was no answer, Elissa just kept on comforting her bruise. When she froze was a sudden realisation.

“You hit me.”

“And it's no more than you deserve.” He too came to realise the same as she did. “Oh, I see I won your sad game.” He rolled his eyes. Sick of having to be around her, he abandoned Elissa on the floor having spent some of his rage.

~

Night was falling on the fortress. Markus had shut himself in the bed chambers of the highest tower, sitting at the table while he stared out of the window. The pit of his stomach was aching with unease. The wind flew in, wafting the curtains.

A knock on the door broke the night's spell over Markus. He slouched over the table, hoping that whoever it was would give up. Another knock came, he covered his ears and sighed. On the third knock he leapt up from his chair and threw himself onto the bed. A door creaked open.

“Your Highness?” Lingbury came halfway in. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but I thought you should know that we've armed the men.” Markus turned on his back, diverting his eyes to the window again. “I'm sorry about His Majesty. We'll get him back, somehow.”

“He's probably deep in Garollen territory,” said Markus, stroking his forehead.

“We should leave this place, they'll surely return to hunt us down.” Markus waved his hand up and bid Lingbury to leave him in peace. Once the door had clicked shut he began to toss and turn, moaning and grumbling.

He was overcome with the unmistakable feeling of being watched. When he lifted his head to search the room he found what he expected, Elissa was sitting in the chair with the same sense of smugness as always. Markus stood up and grabbed her by the collar of her garbs. His face was pointing at the door.

“If anyone sees me, you'll be in hot water.” Markus released her before slamming the window shut. He tried to ignore her, but no matter where he stood she was in the corner of his eye and deep within his thoughts.

“What is it you want?”

“Have you forgotten? I said you could ask me anything once you beat me. I believe the question was; how did I rescue you.”

“Enough, Elissa. I know exactly how you did that.” He finally looked her in the eye, putting her on the edge of the seat. “You're a slippery worm, every thought that rolls off your head is just another ill for me. I would not be surprised if it had all been your plan.” Elissa blushed and swooned.

“All this praise, from you?”

“I want to ask you something else. If I were to have asked anything else, you would've made some lie to answer. Would you of felt guilty over that?” Elissa lay back and pondered. Markus sat down on the bed, awaiting an answer with an unusual patience.

“Yes.”

“I can't tell whether you're lying or not. But you were right, I can't put my trust in anyone else; not Ulysses, nor Dyarl. I'm not asking for a saint, but-” he was cut off by a brutish bashing on the door. Elissa slipped away to a hiding place behind the shelves. The door burst open before Markus could twist the nob. Shinzou and Gerald leaned inside. “Oh look, the two twits.”

“Oi, we got that bastard tie up. What'd you want us to do with him?” asked Shinzou.

“He asks this now, after a few hours of torturing.” Gerald was sweating. “Such intensity, Mister Shinzou. Your smile was frighteningly sincere.”

“He's should 'ave kept his mouth shut.”

“Yes, he was rather... loud. Were you expecting otherwise? I'm just amazed how quiet he went when you shoved that spike in. That looked dreadful.” The two went back and forth with vivid details.

“Just make sure he doesn't escape!” Markus blasted them off their feet, a vein was popping on his forehead. The pair held each other, shaking with terror. “I'm in no mood for your antics.” Among the yelling, Shinzou's nose began to twitch. His teeth reforming into their usual crocked grin.

“I'll go now,” he said, unable to contain his malicious joy. Gerald lumbered behind as he descended the stairs, his voice echoed as he tried to gain answers.

Markus slammed the door before falling against it, sighing with his eyes gazing at the stone floor. Something soft and warm pressed into his back and a pair of arms wrapped around his chest. Strands of hair flowed over his shoulders. He was being lulled back over to the bed.

“Don't worry, I'll take your pain away.” Elissa continued, whispering into his ear. Markus surrendered without a fight. A pleasured smile even began to appear. The wind blew stronger, sending shivers down their spines. The bed became evermore awaited.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Twenty: Army of Ilujeia.

Sat at the foot of the mountains was a white tent. Arhen stood to right of the entrance, gazing up at the fortress. His face was stiff, refusing to let the towers from his sight. The clanking sounds of metal filled his ears and echoed throughout the forest behind. His focus was broken Signash approached him, carrying five packages. He set them of the ground and took out a letter which he handed to Arhen.

“Why, thank you,” Arhen said, taking the letter and taking note of the wax seal of a wolf head. He stashed away inside his robe. “From His Majesty himself.”

“Don't mock me.” Signash scowled, taking the other packages. “Where's Karr?” Before Arhen could answer, an irritated shriek rang. The pair peeked their heads around the corner to find Karr sat on a tree stump. He was holding a mirror in one hand and a fine brush in the other, on his lap was a pot of ink. When he turned his head, they were surprised by the scribbles on his face. Signash and Arhen hid themselves, covering their mouths so that their laughter could not escape. Once they calmed down, they walked over to Karr.

“What are you doing, House Lord?” asked Arhen.

“It's a rune.” Karr went back to painting his face, struggling to get the brush around his wrinkles.

“I... I'm not sure your skin is smooth enough for that.” Arhen chuckled, but Karr was livid. “I meant no offence, House Lord.”

“Yes, yes, I understand!” Karr threw down the mirror and brush, though was careful not spill the ink. “I foiled myself!” He slouched forwards into depression. Arhen and Signash were stuck in an awkward place, too nervous to approach him again. “Well what it!?” Karr asked, quivering his lower lip.

“This came for you... House Lord.” Signash handed over a wooden box. The wizard's disposition lightened up as he took it into his own hands. “By the way, I was wondering if I could... you know, have my old rank back?” He backed off, shielding his face with his arms and holding his breath.

“Fine, Ryvor. I suppose the men need their fine captain.” Karr was not attentive in sounding sincere, too busy opening up the box. Signash wandered away, cheering to himself. Arhen stared over Karr's shoulder, fixed on what was inside the box. There were pages filled with odd drawings of symbols and line art.

“Don't tell me-”

“Jennifer did them. That girl's got a great memory.” Arhen was turning green at the cheeks. He threw his head away from the images with a sickly groan. “Why, are you alright there?” asked Karr, obvious to what Arhen was thinking.

“I'm sorry, it's nothing.”

“Don't think I've not realised,” said Karr. Arhen froze, looking down with a worried face. “I know that this battle is under your supervision. Now, we're friends, and as a friend I urge you to hand down the command to me.” Arhen took a breather, relaxing.

“House Lord, I thank you for the offer, but I decline.” He smiled and took a bow. Karr was unsatisfied. Standing up, he towered Arhen with his dazzling red cloak.

“As you wish, but remember this; that place housed many servants and a valuable commander. If any of them were to die, I'd brand you a failure. His Majesty was generous to trust you in such a matter, do not shake his faith.” Karr held his chin up, preparing to leave when another message arrived.

“House Lord! House Lord!” called a soldier, rushing towards him.

“What news?”

“We've caught a group of armed men traversing the countryside, they claim to have authority from you, but no papers.”

“Well, that's nonsense. Rid of them.” Karr shook his head. The soldier invited him closer for a whisper, so he bent over and cleared his ear. The soldier whispered four syllables, grabbing Karr's attention. The soldier then began to escort him into the forest.

~

In inside, there was a tiny clearing where the stars could be seen, a twinkling dove watched over the scene. The moon did not rise high that night. Sitting on a decaying log, Morgan rested his chin on his palm, yawning. Varon leaned against a tree, keeping his gaze vigilant. Amber lay about in the shrubs, playing with whatever bugs buzzed near her.

“This is a fine night,” said an approaching voice, chuckling. Everyone arose, directing themselves to the shrouded path leading out of the clearing. “Three strange folk trespass upon my conquered land.” Karr stepped forward with lips locked in a smug grin. The others stared at the smudged markings scrawled over his face. They burst into laughter, falling over and turning breathless. The sight of Varon's mockery put Karr on edge. “Enough! Silence! Cease!” Eventually, the pair recovered from their daze. Varon, appearing rather embarrassed, bowed his head.

“Forgive me-”

“How cruel of you to flaunt your graceful fortune. For a man of your age to still retain such a face, I'm not ashamed to admit my jealousy.”

“Keep it to yourself. I tire of this waste of time.” Varon and Karr stared each other down. Morgan lamented.

“I'll get to the point; what are men of your statue doing sneaking around during a conquest? Remember, Varon, we are of opposed sides. You're presence here could spell ill for Bremoe.” Varon and Morgan pointed over to Amber, who was still playing around. Karr widened his eyes, approaching the strange girl.

“It's a construct,” said Varon. “Morgan found her in the wilderness.”

“She's just a poor girl, and we're only trying to help her.” Morgan smiled with a sombre face. Karr was struck with a pang in his chest. His face sank, and a ponder rolled off his lips. He turned again to Amber, stroking his chin. “Perhaps you might provide us with aid.”

“You shall get none from me, I'm too busy.” He gulped, suppressing a lump of guilt.

“Don't be so spineless, Karr.” Varon crossed his arms. “The presence of a construct bodes ill. I have little doubt that an expansive empire would have use for such things.” Karr and Morgan frowned, stabbed by slanders. “And furthermore, who is the authority on all things arcane in Garollen?” He pointed to Karr.

“Oh, so first you mock me, and now I'm the master of magic!”

“Can we please-”

“No! You stand up in my presence and make a fool of me! Know your boundaries, Varon. In all these years you've not changed one bit, always putting yourself above others with your head held as to be blinded by the sun.”

“And you, Karr; a petty, jealous man who'd kill his mother for a scrap of approval.” The pair butted heads again while Morgan watched them, biting his nails. Karr smirked, extending his hand out. Varon shook it and returned the smile. Morgan let out a strong breath.

“I hope that you were not implying that I might have something to do with this construct.”

“Of course not, but I do think that you might know of a way to trace its origins.”

“If it-” Karr's eye was drawn to Morgan. “If she did come from Garollen, she couldn't have come over the mountains since all passes and routes are fortified and guarded. However, parts of the Tascera Caverns runs under this range, with entrances on both sides. Of obvious reasons, I blocked both, but constructs have fantastic abilities. It would be possible for her to have gotten through one way or another.”

“Are you being serious, or are you just trying to get rid of us?”

“Can't it be both?” Karr sniggered.

“You know, Varon, Kelfbrow isn't far from the range. Perhaps Karr might be onto something.” Morgan was sat on the log again. “What matters is that he'll let us continue, without disruption.”

“Don't be so sure. Only Morgan can go on. You, Varon, must return to Bremoe. Nothing personal, but I want to avoid another incident. This invasion has already been bothersome enough.”

“Oh, is someone feeling guilty?” Varon twisted his lip upwards.

“No, but a menacing presence has been lingering around me for sometime.” He stared at Morgan with a scowl.

“Master Forryver has been questioning you?”

“Hounding me, would be the correct term. When are you going to realise you can't trust them lot? Don't you know of the things they do? You don't belong with them.” Morgan turned away without even considering an answer. Karr was struck again by a guilty pain. “ Forgive me, I'll leave you to your business now. I hope, Varon, that you take up my warnings.” Standing at the entrance of the clearing he turned head around. “Perhaps when my task is done, we can meet together in less strained circumstances.”

“We look forward to it,” said Morgan, waving goodbye. Varon was less enthusiastic.

“Yes, I look forward to having him lord it over us,” he said in a quiet voice. Morgan let out a subtle sigh, averting his gaze away from Varon. They were interrupted by something whacking the back of Morgan's black armour. Amber's face was without expression, but she was begging for attention. Morgan pet her on the head, releasing his tension, though he could not rid of the unease in the pit of his stomach. Varon watched him, noticing the hidden pain in his smile. “Come, Morgan, I know of the place he spoke of. If he go now, we can reach it by the morning.”

~

The followed the mountains north, the clear sky becoming lighter though the sun was hidden behind the peaks. During their journey, an-wyrms flew by overhead. The three walked in the shadows of the forest to remain unseen. They came to ruins at the foot of a mountain of what once was an archway inside. The pillars had crumbled and the entrance was blocked by a landslide of boulders. Varon was quick to notice something off about a section of the blockage. He felt across the rocks, finding loosened ones close together. Over his shoulder he saw more rubble laying around. He picked a piece up and inspected the damage on one side.

“This section was blasted open from the inside, and then refilled from the inside. Someone might have helped her get through. It would take inhuman strength of magic to have blown the wall up in such a way.” He signalled Morgan to stand back with his arm. He distanced himself from the weak point and extended his finger out.

Winds of the mountain,

Be summoned by my hand.

Lifted wings I can attain,

and sweep the land.

Thirty One: An-Rueleman Wing!

Gales roared in an instant, gravitating everything to the palm of Varon's hand. Morgan fought to keep his balance, batting debris that flew his way. A distorted orb of air form in Varon's grasp, growing ever larger. Taking with both hands, he threw it at the wall. The orb smashed the rocks with the force of all the summoned winds. The landslide was collapsed, falling inside the cavern doorway. The air returned to normal to the relief of a shivering Morgan.

“I should have known better. You never give warning,” he said, not realising that Varon was already entering the cave. Amber skipped over the fallen rubble, vanishing into the shadowed slope inside.

“Morgan, hurry up!” shouted Varon, shaking his head. Morgan choked, stumbling his way towards the cave with haste. He stared down into the deep cavern. A bottom could not be seen. “Your spear, can you make a torch of it?”

“Say no more.” Morgan took his spear and held it vertically. The top half disintegrated and burst into flames, flickering on the lower half on Morgan's command. He held the makeshift torch into the cavern, lighting up their path.

The ground eventually stopped slopping and the narrow walls spread out a maze with trails leading down tens of the passages. The roof fell in stalactites, some of which reached the ground. The walls were jagged, as though hundreds of beastly jaws were trying to escape. No road appealed to either one, but Amber was staring down a descending path to their left.

“Do you think she knows this place?”

“Perhaps. Or she might just be choosing at random. Let's follow.” Going down further, they began to hear something; a regular pattern that echoed. “Is that dripping?” Varon stopped to think. “A lake?” As they travelled deeper and deeper, the sound became clearer. It was a chant, in a language unfamiliar. The presence hastened Varon and Morgan, barging their way past Amber to reach the source. At the bottom they came to a large empty room. The chant filled the air. It rang of many masculine voices with a metal clanging throughout. A figure emerged from where Morgan's light could not reach. A ragged, faded red cloak with a hood over a face which could not be made out. It chanted still, and Varon could not tell whether it was aware of their presence.

“That must be one of them,” said Morgan, holding his flame towards it. It was revealed that there was no face, but that under he hood was a thick white misty substance. “What is that!?”

“A construct, obviously. Probably housing all those voices.” The chanting ended, and the being's cloak rose up on the right side. Its body was no different than the face, a ghost. A piece of metal jolted from its figure, when a thin translucent arm wrapped around and drew it out. It was a flat spike, bigger than the body of where it came from. It was entirely metal from tip to tip, pristine and shining. Its arm stretched towards Varon, thrust the blade over a great distance. He knock the sword off course just inches from his hand with an invisible force. The arm vanished, leaving the spike where it broke into the rocks.

“Varon, are you-”

“Enough!” Shouted Varon, pointing at the construct. “Your judgement is terrible.” The construct responded by producing more weapons. Ten new spikes came from all over its body and face, each with a phantom arm to wield them. Varon began to draw out a rune, but his foe charged with incredible speed. A wall of fire protected him from being attacked. Morgan spread out his arms, calling the flame to form a dome around them.

“Hurry up with a spell or something!” The flames began to swirl and break apart. The construct fanned them way by spinning his swords in a circle. Morgan regain his control over the fire, calling it to rise up to the ceiling. It fell down on the construct in a blazing pillar. The construct spun its spikes over head, defecting the flames away. Morgan called the fire back, reforming it into his spear. Varon had just about completed his ritual.

The air is standing still,

Strike the foe with incredible will.

Twenty Seven: Storm Fangs!

Lightning shot from his fingers, conducing through the metal. The construct shuddered as each bolt passed through its body. Once the spell had ended it bent over, lowering all its arms. Varon began on another rune, white with a snake symbol.

Call forth the hunting snake,

Many prisoners may we take.

Twenty One: Serpent's Hold.

The being was bound by unseen ropes. The two approached their capture, wary about the swords it was still holding. Morgan spotted Amber hiding away behind a rock. She appeared unusually frightened. He took great note of her behaviour.

“Varon, I think we should get back.” The construct cut its binds by growing more metal. The binds tore apart and it rose its arms again. The new spikes were discarded. Varon drew his sword, but when he held it out the construct cut it in two. He was stricken by how sharp its blades were. He tried to retreat, but the construct pierced his foot. Morgan summoned the fire from his spear again. He persisted, each time the flames were fanned away they would go back around again. The construct was backed into a corner.

“End this madness!” called a deep, coarse voice from the deep. Morgan's fire died down, turning back to a spear in his hands. The construct wafted towards the voice.

A bulky figure ascended, twice the size of the other in height and width. A vague humanoid shape wrapped from head to toe is a murky cloth. It turned to the construct, each movement caused a scrapping noise. “You should have waited for me,” it said to its partner. It scanned the cave, only seeing Morgan and Varon. “Those who enslave my kind are vile men.” It moved towards Morgan, stomping its heavy feet.

“You wouldn't happen to mean this?” Morgan held out his spear. He received no answers, the arrivals intention was clear. He transformed his weapon and launched the fire straight on. The construct spread its arms out. The flames circled it, yet they could not reach it. The construct clapped its hands, forcing the fire back into its spear. The polearm lay before the construct, garnering its full attention. Its partner returned to the fight. Charging at Morgan without warning, all arms armed. It was too dark to make out its movements. Morgan was stranded. A slender figure put itself between the two.

“Amber! No!” Morgan reach out, but his legs were stiff. The foe dropped all but one blade, grasping it with all arms. It sliced Amber in half down the middle. The two parts fell in opposite ways. Her chalk skin smashed to pieced and faded. What was left of her was a black ooze that quivered away. Morgan fell on his knees, watching breathless as Amber seeped through the rock. A spike rose above his head. When he stare up at the foe, he was drawn to its empty face. A black shadow sprouted behind from behind the construct. Its figure kept moulding into new shapes, forming a claw. It pierced the foe's cloak, missing the body by an inch. The foe responded by cutting the shadowy beast. Its flesh began to sear red around its wound. Another swing from the blade and the shadow was crying with an eerie whale song. It shrank down and a white shell began to form around it. Morgan gasped upon seeing Amber standing once again. She collapsed, holding her body together from a great agony on the inside.

“Enough! So impatient!” shouted the bulky humanoid. Everyone put everything on hold. After a prolonged silent conversation, the construct took the spear into its hands and threw back to Morgan. He caught it, stumbling in the process.

“For what reasons?” he asked.

“Ayron's changed. A once blood lusting warrior has turned calm. It would seem it's grown attached to you, Morgan Helgrane. It sympathises to you.”

“Ayron? You mean this spear?”

“Didn't you... ever... wonder where a tool such as that originated from?” Morgan held the spear in both hands. In its form, it appeared ordinary.

“The Order of Gearad handed it too me. They're not keen on giving answers, and to be honest, I didn't much care at the time. Are you trying to say this thing is some kind of construct?”

“One who I knew, or used to. Now bound to that object as its cruel fate.” It looked over towards a recovering Amber. Her outer skin was still sewing itself together along the back. “I see now. You've come here to follow its path.”

“That's right,” said Varon while he nursed his foot. “And now that we've got your ear, perhaps you'll cooperate.”

“Arrogant and to the point. Ayron, some light please.” The spear burst into flames right out of Morgan's grasp, filling the room with light. The construct sat down. Its partner wandered away, vanishing down a dark path. “He does not tolerate humans, though he's made up of them.”

“I don't care.” Varon limped over and sat a short distance away from the construct. “Though I wonder; how many of you are hiding down here?”

“Hundreds, far deeper down. Only three of us do not hibernate.” Varon shifted his eyes towards Amber. “No, it does not come from here. However, I did see it in these caverns.”

“Talk straight.” Varon slumped his face into his left palm.

“It was being taken through the upper levels by a strange man. I came across him blasting his way out of a blockage. My guess, he was trying to sneak her out of Garollen.”

“Who was he.”

“His corpse is a bit further down.” Varon was not in the least bit surprised. The construct gradually rose. “Wait here, I shall bring him.” It lumbered off, grumbling words in an ancient language. Varon meshed his fingers together, his thinking resulted in a tense humming. He took the nearest rock that could fit in his hand and set it on his lap. His brought out his pot of ink and began drawing a pattern on the smoothest side. He stashed the rock under his legs, checking to make sure no one had watched. Morgan had been preoccupied with the flames that roared beside him. His face was locked in a childish stare.

The construct returned, carrying a body over its right shoulder. It threw it down onto its back in front of Varon, who then devoted his attention to every detail. The man was dressed in a distinctive white robe which bore a four point star emblem over the chest. His face appeared as though it had been smashed in, with a broken noise and lack of teeth. His black hair and bread were full of bloody patches. Varon detached one of the scrolls on the corpse's sash. It depicted a rune pattern and an incantation.

“What happened to Amber when you fought him?”

“Startled, it ran away outside. By the time he was dead, I could not find her again, so I sealed up the entrance again.”

“That man!” said Morgan, gasping. Everyone waited on his next words. “He's from the Order. That's the uniform of a White Walker.” He began sweating.

“Well, Morgan, I hope you'll get to the bottom of this. Of course, you can no longer travel with it, lest they capture it again.”

“It might be too late for that. I showed her to Master Forryver, he could have sent a message to the Order. Although, it's hard to tell with him. He seemed too focused on his own tasks to care. We know she came from Garollen. Perhaps it was no coincidence he decided to go there. Just what does he want?” He slumped, propping up his heavy head with his palms.

“Perhaps I should make you aware of another who may seek this being. Ilujeia.” Varon rose his head

“Who's that, and how of know of them?”

“You mean, you've never heard of her, or it.” Varon shook his head, as did Morgan. “Our sense of time may wane down here but after so long surely that name has strong presence. My knowledge of her is little, all I have was given by someone else who is long dead. If she were to ever discover a way to create constructs, it would bring a great misfortune. And be wary, her arms can reach far and wide. No one of mistrust must know of this construct.”

“I'll keep that in mind. There are others though, like Ulysses.” It was the first name that came to Varon. “Or Turpustasha's Pedrotwae and its claimants. Garollen of course. It would seem we've many enemies in this. We've been careless in concealing it.” As the construct continued to instruct as sudden chill came over Morgan.

“Markus.” Varon stared back, his expression was one begging for his fears to be confirmed. “He caught a glimpse.” He slapped his face, groaning long and hard.

“Goodness sake! Of all the people who could bring into this! If a clown like him gets even one clue... just think of how tedious that would be.” He clenched his fists, shaking uncontrollably. He took a deep breath, relaxing upon his exhale. Varon stood up, holding the rock behind his back with one hand and carrying the scroll in another. “Regardless, I've heard everything I needed. We're leaving.”

“I'm afraid not,” said their host. “I shall be deciding who goes where. I shall not have you two leaving so easily.”

“I had a feeling you'd be like this, Arkanart. It would seem you are both a fool and a coward.”

“Nice try, descendent of Vinceles.” Arkanart leaned over Varon in a failing attempt to gain obedience. The cave fell into darkness, prompting Arkanart to direct itself to Morgan. Varon threw the rock at the construct. Upon contact, it burst into a blinding light. Arkanart rebound and shielded its eyes. The flare persisted, and when it finally died down, Arkanart was alone in the cave. It remained stoic, knowing that the humans and Amber had likely escaped by now.

It partner returned, making a motion that resembled a shameful sigh. A few metallic pangs boomed from its voice. Arkanart gave a cold shoulder, collecting the corpse and dragging it back into the deep.

~

Morgan sank to his knees panting. The three had reached the outside without harm. “Curses, Varon. Was that necessary?”

“Constructs have no mastery over their creators.” Morgan lowered his head, gripping his spear. “Arkanart has grown arrogant to think he could command men of our lineage.”

“What sheer nonsense,” said Morgan under his breath. When Varon rose an eyebrow to his muttering he surrendered on trying to hide his opinion. “Varon, do you to view these people in such a way. Man made as they might be the reality is that they are worlds apart from-”

“I need not hear this, it's rather contrived of you.” He crossed his arms and made his way towards the forest. “Come, the forces of Garollen seem to be gathering. We can make our way back to Bremoe so we can plan ahead.” Morgan set his eyes on Amber. She appeared just as before they had entered, with no scar or even a frown, despite being chopped apart so effortlessly. It was like she had forgotten everything that occurred. His mind would flash back to the form he had witnessed in the caverns; the leaning shadow. Amber wandered around him, waiting for something to happen, giving the occasional prod. Morgan grinned, but it was laced with an uneasy stare.

“Lets go, dear. Those things might start chasing us.” He did not know whether he was being serious or not. When he turned to the dark cavern he could make out a cloaked figure watching him. It did not move an inch from its spot. Its many arms stretched around, collecting the scattered debris. Amber was not afraid, but she could not take her eyes off it. The construct began to hum as it toiled, sending its tens of voices into the forest. Morgan put his arm around Amber's shoulder. “We should leave him.”

~

The beige walls of the tents glowed from the lamp fire. Elbenor was kneeling over, strapping on the last piece of her emerald armour to her left shin. An aid presented her sheathed sword in both hands. She straightened her back and received the blade with care, gripping it with her metal gauntlets. While she attached it to her belt, her aid searched a large trunk, bringing out a helmet. A sallet that matched the design of her suit. It completely covered her face aside from a slot for her eyes. The back was loose enough for her hair, which had been knotted up into a single thick braid.

“Ah ha, House Lord.” Arhen leaned under the tent flap. He smiled and waved hello, but the silent lady ignored him. He eyed her battle outfit for a moment. “A bit overdressed, don't you think? And your hair, what have done to it? It's terrible.”

“It's an impenetrable suit.” Her voice echoed inside the helmet.

“But you won't be needing it.”

“If I remember rightly, I am House Lord, not you, Arhen.” She brushed him off. In retaliation, he held out a letter to her. Elbenor removed her helmet and to read. Drops of sweat ran down her forehead as she squinted her eyes. “What does this nonsense say?”

“It's written by the hand of His Majesty Genrir himself. He declares that you are unfit to continue your duties and I am to take over command until further notice. Is that simple enough for you?”

“That... that can't be.”

“Shall, I have Karr read it for you?” She swiped the letter and tore it to shreds in a fit of rage. Arhen smirked, taking out another letter. “Thankfully, that was not the letter from His Majesty, this was. You can't tear your troubles away. And that's part of the point, you-” Elbenor lifted him by the collar. She snarled and threatened him with her fist, but he was not shaken.

“Stop this, Arhen!”

“I'm afraid not. You'll only get in the way of what I have planned. I wouldn't want harm to come your way.” Elbenor cast him down with no effort to be gentle on his old bones. Brant stuck his head into the tent.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, with a subtle tone of sarcasm. Elbenor hit him aside, leaving the tent. Her eyes were beginning to water. “Such a smart girl.” Arhen struggled to his feet. He attempted to pursue her, but she had already disappeared, and Brant was blocking his path untentioally. “I wouldn't waste your time, old man. Don't you have work to do?”

“Thank you for the advice. Now if you don't mind moving from the doorway?”

“Not that I owe you any favours, old man.” He stepped aside. “You're not honestly going to let her get to you like this?”

“Who do you think you're talking to?” He was preparing to continue, when a lantern born shadow lurked over them. Garazzu still face gazed down on them with an impatient breath. “Ah, Sir Za...Zu...El... Garazzu, I've got a special task for you. Come, walk beside me.” Garazzu gave a nod, remaining silent as he trailed behind Arhen. Brant felt alienated, never getting his reply. “Oi, Langule. You too,” called Arhen. “I've got a job for you too. When rising daybreak fills our senses Karr will lead his army up to the fortress.”

“An uphill battle? That's impossible.”

“For inferior forces, yes. For ironclad men, victory is not the goal, but the fact.”

“I was once the most arrogant man here. Even so, you can't just waltz on in.”

“Why, Sir Langule, you certainly worrisome. A part of you hopes that everything will turn out well for your former friends. Treachery is struggle.” Arhen chuckled, knowing full well of the indignant face Brant was pulling. “But don't threat. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, and you won't have to hurt anyone.”

~

The forest depths were dark, save for the glimmering skyline broken apart by budding branches. Debris were crushed into the earth by an armoured boot. Elbenor barged her way through the trees. Her panting rang out of her helmet like a bell.

“Oi! Keep it down!” She came to halt. Leaning against a thick trunk was Haukea. In one hand he held a harpoon, in other was a flint with which to sharpen the blade. “Can't you see I'm busy right now?” Elbenor approached him, lifting her helmet.

“Watch what you say, or else I've have you shipped back to that icy rock of yours.”

“Seb' Elbenor Sah!”

“House Lord.”

“Oh... of course, House Lord.” A long silence occupied them. Haukea ran his finger along the head of his harpoon. He licked away the blood the seeped from that finger, hailing the head sharp.

“That is that thing?”

“It's was given to me by my father, and he got it from his father, and you can see where this is going. It's killed beasts the size of buildings. Their tusks are the crown of my family's legacy.”

“Nonsense,” she said. Haukea averted his gaze, tutting. He realised something strange in her tone.

“You sound stressed, more so than always. Problem?”

“It's nothing. In fact, I was hoping to find you. I've got a job for you.”

“Has something changed? Grimfold Sah needs me for the front line command.” The tree shuddered as Elbenor drove her fist through the bark. Haukea refused to budge, donning a smug grin. “Seb' Elbenor Sah, you've never thought much of me. I've known about his little plan. Good on him!”

“You worm!”

“Cheer up, I might bring princey's head as a gift.” Elbenor dug her fingers into the tree, hoping her rage to sap away. Eventually, she could stand without the support. She stared Haukea down.

“Don't count on it.” She went on by, regretting ever speaking in the first place. “Once this is over, I'll see to it that drink from every toilet in the Empire.”

“Where you going?” He rested his back against the tree again, not at all fearful of her threats. Elbenor gave no reply. As her figure became shrouded, she put her helmet back into place.

Upon reaching the edge of the forest, her gaze was set on the fortress embedded in the mountainside. Along the clouds were the shadows of flying steeds that appeared to be gathering together. She began her journey up the slopes, clanking her armour on the stone face. Despite how steed it was she was determined to climb. Rays of light began to beam over the peaks, the black sky was being washed away by a serene dawn. The mountainside and forest were still in darkness.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Twenty One: Battle at Barlent.

Markus leaned on the window ledge, watching each tree of the forest sway. The sky was turning blue but the the land still slept in the shadows of the peaks. He was only half dressed from the waist down. A breeze rustled his hair, brushing the back of his neck. Deep into his wondering he did not see a white flicker riding upon the air. It latched onto the frame beside Markus, causing him to fall back as though struck by an arrow. He gripped his chest, gasping. Flapping over head were the torn bandages. They beckoned to him like an arm reaching to be saved. He tugged it towards him, dragging it from the stonework outside. They sent a chill down his bones. His hands trembled, unable to grasp. The blanket began to stir, prompting Markus to stuff the bandages into his trouser pocket and retake his place at the window. Elissa reared her head up in a daze.

“I didn't think you'd be awake by now.” Markus did not reply. Elissa crawled around, searching for some comfort. She end up on top of the blanket laying on her front. “So, are they here yet?”

“They've been hiding all night. Not much time left.”

“So, what's the plan?” Elissa kicked her legs against the bed. Before Markus opened his mouth, the door began to rattle. He began sweating, powerless to stop its unveiling.

“Markus, enemies have position-” Dyarl froze upon the sight of Elissa spread across the bed. His hand was stuck the door nob. All three eyes in the room fell down on him.

“D-d-damn it, Jason! What are you doing!?” Markus took a deep breath, clueless of how to deal with the intruder. Dyarl stepped into the room, shifting his gaze towards Elissa. She smirked, knowing how it was drilling into him. He reached the handle of his sword, but her persistent smile could tell it was an empty threat. Markus came between them. “Well, Jason!? If you've got something to say, then just come out and say it!” Dyarl swallowed down the sore sight and continued with his message. His lower lip quivered the entire time.

“Enemies have taken positions in the forest. We've armed as many men as we could, but we're unsure of how long they can last. They must have known we'd pull this off.”

“Hmm, boring.” Elissa giggled, kicking her legs again. Dyarl drew his blade and held above her head. He was haphazardly restrained when Markus reached for his wrists. The jolted around the room. Dyarl broke free, pointing his sword at the relaxing woman.

“Jason! Stand down!”

“This is... How long have you been conspiring with this criminal?” He watched Markus' eyes for even the slightest flicker. All he received was a cold scowl. “So, Sir Jaeri.”

“My plan. It would've worked if you hadn't meddled.” Dyarl choked on the bile stuck down his throat. His eyes sank to his feet, and his ears turned deaf to any other noises. “You've been nothing but a weight on me.”

“I... I guess I have been.” He clenched his jaw and seethed “If that's how you feel, I hope you won't mind if I were-”

“Just go!” Markus exploded. Dyarl turned tail and slammed the door upon his exit. The metal smash echoed off the walls, screeching in their ears. Markus began searching inside the desk draw while Elissa rolled out of bed to dress, gathering her creased rags that were scrawled over the floor.

“Do you think they can win?”

“They'll last, but eventually they'll break down. Unless of course we strike where it hurt them most. Elbenor will be with them, it's the perfect chance.” He took out a dagger and offered it to Elissa. She took it and pressed it against her chest like a sweet gift. Markus poked his head out of the door, checking that the stairway down was empty. “Go now, hurry,” he said while reaching for his clothes. Elissa pressed against his back.

“Aren't you going to give me a kiss good bye?” she asked. Markus shivered.

“I think not. I'd rather kiss a dog.” He stuck his tongue out and squinted. Elissa spun away, sighing as she slipped through the door.

Once he was ready with his armour and spear he followed suit and left the bedchamber. On the spiralling stairway he encountered Lingbury who was smiling. His eyes gleaming with confident gaze that that did not break even to blink.

“Your Highness, we're waiting!” His voice boomed. “All men as in positions, we fight on your word.”

“Excellent. Take me to them.” The air was eerily calm. Outside on the yard he panned his sight across the wall. All the archers were laying down behind the wall. Others were crawling around to their positions and keeping watch out of tiny gaps in the stonework. Markus was then lead inside the curtain wall. The smell of blood seeped from the other end, he recognised this from the other day. “Lingbury, make sure all the servants are used to their full potential.”

“As you wish, Your Highness. However, I must say that I doubt a few hostages will stop them.”

“Thank you for the advice, but-” A shadow and foot darted out of the corner of his eye. “Who's there!” He put his foot forward, preparing to give case. That was as far as he went.

“What's the problem, Your Highness. That figure looked suspicious.”

“It's probably nothing.” Despite his attempt to reassure Lingbury charged ahead. “Wait! Don't!” His voice was drowned out by Lingbury's bellowing. Another shadow flickered from behind. This was followed by the sound of a door creaking and shutting. Markus ran to where the basement door was, leading to the passage he had entered the fortress through. The stair was shrouded, but footsteps came to his ears. They were heavy, armoured boots. A longsword slid across Markus' neck. A breath passed his ear.

“Your Highness,” said Brant. He leaned over Markus' shoulder, gagging him with his left hand.“Get up here! I lost that old fart!” From the depths of the stairs arose Garazzu. He glance into Markus' eye, never changing his expression.

“There's a snake. Must be dealt with.” He pupils moved the left. Markus took a gulp and began struggling, however futile. Garazzu wandered away without another word.

“Don't worry, I'm sure he'll catch your lady friend,” said Brant, followed by a snigger. Approaching footsteps caught his attention. He rotated, around Markus, waggling his sword to remind whoever was of his hostage. Dyarl stood with his arms crossed. “Jason. Did you come here for me, or-”

“Enough! Let him go Brant.” His voice was heavy with rage. “He's not to interfere between us!” Brant threw Markus aside, leaving him to scramble away. They both readied their swords and approached one another in a slow anticipation. Dyarl swung first. His could not even scratch the armour around the chest. Brant responded by delivering a punch across the face. Dyarl fell back.

“Your memory fails you. Try harder.” Dyarl took his sword in both hands and swung once again. Brant blocked with his sword and pulled back his fist. He launched his punch at the cheek. Instead of flying back, Dyarl thrust his blade into the lower arm, carving a shallow wound. Brant leapt away, wedging the cut arm under his right armpit.

“Your faith in your memory fails you. This isn't like our practising.” Dyarl pointed his sword at his foe. Brant only sniggered in reply.

“Of course. Alex isn't going save you now.” He charged, aiming his blade for the neck. Dyarl defected each try. Despite his advantage, Dyarl was losing ground. He was against the fall with Brant overshadowing. Dodging the next attack ended with Dyarl rolling on the floor. “Come on, I'm one-handed over here!” Dyarl began crawling, refusing to even lift his head up.

“I... I give up.”

“Give up? Give up!? That's pathetic of you. Is it on your mind so much?” Brant swung his head up. “Master Alexander, I wish you here to beat some sense into your halfwit son.”

“Don't talk about him like that, traitor.”

“And who's going to stop me?” Brant laughed to the ceiling. His ears caught a swish quick enough to raise a defence against Dyarl's sudden attack. A taunting chuckled persisted from Brant's lips. They each took a step back, their breathing was laboured. Dyarl thrust his blade, but it bounced right off the armour. Brant hit Dyarl's head with the bottom of his sword pummel, bring him to his knees. He delivered a kick that sent Dyarl rolling onto his back. He planted his foot firmly upon his stomach. Dyarl grabbed his shin and threw him off. Moments later they were clashing blades again. Brant struck a blow to Dyarl's side. Both bore dents in their armour. Each pulled back their sword. When they swung, the blades came together, weighted with all their strength. Two rings echoed down the hall. Both sword lay crossed over each other before them. Both were panting, staring eye to eye.

“It's over?” asked Dyarl. Brant ploughed his into his face. A snigger proceeded.

“Your guard was down.” His chin was thrust up by an uppercut. Before he could recover another fist smacked him in the nose. Snivels of blood drained away. Dyarl went for another hit. Brant sidestepped and countered with a blow so hard it sent a tooth skipping down the hall. Dyarl was on his knees, lurching over to cough blood.

“I give up already... Just end it.”

“What a fool you've been. I can see it your eyes, you want nothing more than to leave this place and go where you should have gone. How long did it take you to realise?”

“Shut up, traitor.”

“When are you going to wake up and see we're your real friends.”

“Nonsense. Both of you left me chained.” Dyarl leaned over until his head was touching the floor.

“You did that to yourself. Don't you dare think we didn't try reaching out. You've tried your hardest to feel that you made the right choice, but if you see it through to the end you'll certainly die.”

“Lots are going to die here. I don't see why I should be the one to flee.” Dyarl was on the verge of yelling. Brant took both swords, looking away with a sour face. “You're not even one bit sorry. All of this is your fault!”

“Why do insist the roof is standing when the walls have already fallen?” He tossed one sword beside Dyarl, shaking his head while sighing. “Admit it, you were heading for the door right from the start. Once you saw me, you had a convenient person to point at.”

“And I'm glad I did. Forget Markus, if he can't save Searan, then I will! I won't lose to you, or Ursula, or that prostitute!” He took his sword and unleashed a flurry of strokes. Brant, caught off guard, was struck in the legs three times. One more blow to his right brought him to his knees. Dyarl held his sword at his neck. He pulled back for one clean sweep.

“I'm sorry, I might not have been the friend I should have been.” Dyarl lowered his arm. After dropping his sword he took an opened envelope from his pocket. He then staggered towards the door, lowering his head.

“Goodbye, Brant.” His voice was trembling. Brant reached out his hand, but it only pushed Dyarl further away. Once the door had slammed shut, he let out a smug chuckle. His body was too worn down to stand, so he remained on his knee in rest. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushing the fringe of his hair.

A white shard of light penetrated his body, shattering his armour in one thrust. With a single breath, blood oozed from Brant's mouth. He fell forwards, but a hand took him by the back of his collar. Black drapes flew in around him, like a curtain to the end of his life. The shard vanished, leaving the blood to flow out unhindered.

“I thank you two for showing me that hidden entrance,” said a voice that accompanying a shadow over him. Brant tilted his head, snarling his red teeth at the figure he met.

“...You!” His speech was staggered and gargled.

“That's you done, now to deal with Mister Knight.” He released Brant to die alone and opened the door. “A dank cave, a fitting place to end his sad existence.” He began to descend the stairs. Rising from the pool of his own blood, Brant stood with a face full of rage and a sword in his broken hand. He charged at Ulysses and impaled him. He continue, flinging himself and Ulysses down the stairs. They were lost the shadows, but the crash of the door breaking bellowed from the depths.

~

Elissa stuck her head around each corner before continuing. She played around with the dagger, twirling it between her fingers. The corridors were empty and the candles were dim. A explosive voice echoed down, but it was too far away for be important. She stuck to the shadows along the walls.

“You're rather troublesome.” The voice struck her core and shattered her breath. She jolted around to find that Garazzu had snuck up on her. Her body had locked down, her throat parched. “I hope you weren't planning to do something with that.” His eyes stared right through her, reducing her to a gibberish mess. Suddenly, she burst into life and thrust her dagger at his heart. He punched her in the gut and threw her against the wall. Her spit was flung in rain drops. Garazzu drew his sword, holding it to her remaining eye. Fearful tears escaped.

“Not that! Anything but that!” Garazzu stepped back and guided his sword across her face. When he pulled back he could admire the square cut around her eye. Blood enveloped her face as it leaked from the shallow cuts.

“Hmph... I've no intention of killing you, just a little punishment for your crimes.” Elissa leaned forwards, fainting into his arms. Garazzu caught her, expressing not one care. The dagger was thrust into his side. Elissa shoved him over, ripping the blade out.

“You're so soft.” She sat down on his chest and held his neck at blade point. Garazzu gripped her wrist and squeezed until the dagger popped out. A bone cracked and she gasped in agony. She was thrown off, rolling across the floor. Garazzu was scowling when he rose to his feet.

“Does your wickedness know no bounds?” He held his sword above her by a finger and thumb. “My land has no use for a deformed beast like yourself.” Charging feet sounded down the corridor. Garazzu grasped his sword back within his palm. Markus ran with his spear aimed at Garazzu. They met in deadlock.

“You bastard!” cried Markus.

“What happened to Brant?” asked Garazzu, remaining calm in the heat of battle. Markus flashed his teeth and growled. Garazzu took the pole and tossed Markus aside. He began flinching, his wound was spilling more blood. Markus took the opening and unleashed a flurry of thrusts. Garazzu was backed against the wall. He defected the spear head away and stepped around Markus. When the move had ended he was shocked find his other side had been cut. In his right hand Markus held his spear, in the other he had drawn a dagger. Garazzu was shaken for but one moment before turning around. Markus sheathed his dagger, grinning. Elissa latched herself around his waist, only just able to drag herself off the floor.

“Markus, we have to go! He'll kill you!”

“Get off!” He wriggled around, trying to pry her away. Garazzu rose his sword, delivering a blow that smashed Markus' spear in two. Both were flung back, battered against the wall. Elissa pulled him away, slipping over with each tug. Garazzu took a step forward, stabbing Markus was a stone gaze. It was enough to convince him to flee. He dragged Elissa by her arm, watching over his shoulder. Garazzu chased them, inching his way closer with each step.

They came to a crossroad, with two paths ascending both left and right. Markus continued forwards, but when Garazzu passed through a blade swung down from the right, blocking his path. When he stopped to inspect a fist sent him flying into the stairs on the other side.

“I thought I smelled something!” A cackled rang in his ear. Shinzou teeth were flashing like a rabid dog. His skin was patterned with ridged blood markings and his hair was left to flow wild.

“Shinzou, my fight is not with you.”

“Too bad!” Shinzou threw a small pot at Garazzu's chest. Drops of a thick red ooze splattered on his armour. “Looks like you already had a beating. Don't worry, I'll go easy.” A stench from his breath was recognised quickly.

“I have a plan for you-” His word fell on ear deaf ears, Shinzou had already leapt to attack. His swings were all a blur, Garazzu could barely keep up. The dents and gashes on his armour were piling up. The wind was being knock out of him. The shrieking laugh wore on his nerves. A gust burst down the corridor and threw both down. The two lay still, staring the a the ceiling while they caught breath. Light feet tread their way.

“Garazzu!” called a mousy voice. Shinzou rolled onto his front and rose on all four.

“I knew you'd be with him!” He flailed his sword, letting his former friend know what he was in for. Mahlo began drawing a rune, his lips whispered so none could hear what he was preparing. Shinzou raced towards him, holding his sword straight out front. The rune shrank and formed in a purple beam that blasted Shinzou away upon impact. A moment of silence fell on Shinzou's lips, his laughter had ceased. He tried again the reach Mahlo, but was shot back by a second blast. Black scorch marks were burnt into his chest, blood dripped from the cracking flesh. Mahlo shifted away, shocked to see Shinzou still struggling to catch him. He tried to draw a new spell, but his arm trembled so much he produced nothing by zig-zags. Shinzou stood before him, raising his sword with a crazed look in his eyes. A blade pierced Shinzou's right shoulder. His body froze, letting only a few tears stream through. Mahlo closed in, his hand reached for the wounds he had created. Shinzou renewed his grin. He spun around, ripping the blade out of his body. Garazzu fell down and Mahlo was struck with a gash on his left arm. His screams where drowned out by the victory chant that exploded from Shinzou's tongue. “Easy! Easy! You're dead! You're dead!” He turned over to Garazzu and back round again. “Who first! Who first!”

“No so fast!” Garazzu gasped Shinzou's leg. “Shut your mouth and use your ears!”

“I do, all the time!” He drove his foot into Garazzu's face.

“It... it doesn't have to end like this,” said Mahlo. He too held onto a foot. “What's she going to say if you do this?”

“Like you give a damn! What would she say if I returned and you weren't there!?” He stomped on his back, and then again, and again. “All I can hear is her crying! It's your fault!” Shinzou was knocked into the wall by a swipe over his head. Garazzu picked up his sword and took a swing. Both their blades met. Shinzou's arm collapsed from its wound, leaving him defenceless.

“It might surprise you to know that I didn't come here to kill you, or to deal with your petty squabbles. However, since we've happened to meet here, I might as well get his of my chest. I offer you the chance to stand at my side. I've plans for our homeland.” Shinzou burst into laughter.

“That's stupid! You call yourself the heir, but in that armour!”

“Funny, you've never struck me as someone with that kind of pride. Is that wolf blood your wearing.” A rare smirk grew over his lips. Shinzou stomped on his back. “You should stop and think for a moment. The greatest warriors are powerless without a guiding light. You'd give up being a part of that?”

“A light, you! A piece of...” He tongue twisted around the word. “...like you.” He gazed down on Garazzu and his former friend. Mahlo had come to tears, his speech was mumbled. “Don't look at me like that! Don't! Don't! Don't cry like that! This is your fault!” Mahlo began to wail, his face turned red. At first, Shinzou turned away in disgust, but the noise was unbearable.

“Is this how you're going to die? I think you've had enough revenge.”

“What'd you know?” Shinzou grinned, but his whole body was shivering. “Go ahead and end it.”

“I would much like for you two to patch up and join me.” Garazzu withdrew his sword, replacing it with a welcoming hand. “Join my plan to lead our people to a higher place.” Mahlo had wiped away the most of his tears.

“Shinzou, I'm... I'm sorry. You're obsessed with keeping her happy, you never think about me. I've... I've not long left.” Shinzou stared with a confused face. Mahlo's breathing decayed, only permitting a few words. “Don't you get it!? I'm dying!”

“Of course you are, that's a bad wound.” Shinzou approached and aided him off the floor. Supporting him upon his shoulder his crooked lips melted into a smile. “I'll fix that up for you.”

“No, you're not-”

“I do. You'll die right now unless you come back. You're an idiot, you'd just go out and die with us.” Shinzou chuckled, leaving Mahlo without a response. Garazzu followed behind in silence, relieved by the resolution. “Don't think this means anything! I'll deal with you after this!”

“I wouldn't think otherwise,” said Garazzu, his lips were quivering, trying their best not to crack a smile. The three came by a window where Garazzu decided to take a peek outside.

~

The sun was rising over the tallest peak that overshadowed the setting, pouring light down onto the courtyard and towers. The battle along the front of the fortress was well under way. Every man who could hold a bow took aim from the wall. Under the instruction of Gerald's bellowing voice they let loose their arrows on the armoured horde scaling the slopes. The uphill battle gave the advantage to the defenders, despite being greatly outnumbered. Gerald watched over the walls, pleased to see the foe struggle. Lingbury climbed the stone staircase beside the wall, approaching Gerald with a tired breath.

“We've got an intruder inside!” he called.

“I know! That Shinzou lad just ran off, says he sniffed someone out!”

“Bleh! Leave then to their own devices! We've got a battle on our hands!” Just as he finished, the tree tops below began to rustle. A flock of winged riders flew out. Each carried a barrel on the back of their beast. “Shoot them! Shoot them!” His fingers dug into the stone. The archers turned their bows on the riders who were ten in numbers. More than half were taken down by a volley of arrows. The last two completed their round. Two spots along the wall had been drenched. “Get off of there!” Lingbury cried. A ball of fire approached right on cue, but no blaze was set off. The ball hit against an unseen wall just inches from the fortress, not a single spark made it past.

“What was that?” asked Gerald, shielding his face from the heat waves. A shadow hovered over him, growing in size. He glanced up to find a an-wyrm descending. Gerald ran away, drawing his sword. The beast landed, sending a gust that blew away the archers beside her. Hers and body were covered with dull plates of armour. She flashed her teeth at Gerald, rearing her head high. Her rider held his lance up and jolted his head from left to right.

“Where's that lady general now!” Signash's voice roared, he was aching for a rematch. His face met with Gerald's. Helen rose to her hind legs and tried to stomp the large man. Gerald stepped aside, his sight was fixed on the rider. Arrows swished by, a couple bouncing off the armour. The beast took flight again, circling the keep at great speed.

“Damn that lizard!” Gerald watched as she ascended higher and higher. His eyes were caught by a another fireball blasting against the invisible wall. “What keeps doing that!?” His pondering was interrupted by a boom from below. The gate was being battered by a ram manned by ten muscular men. The archers leaned over the wall and shot at them. During their distraction, the remnants of Signash's squadron swooped down and took them out with their lances and claws. Lingbury dragged Gerald by the arm down the steps.

“Come on! They're gonna break through! I've still got a plan!” He pointed to the roof beside the gate. A pile of rubble and rocks were held up by a platform that was ready to pulled away by a rope nearby. “Lend me a hand with that thing, will ye!”

As the gate smashed open a flood of swords and shields broke loose. Gerald and Lingbury pulled the rope while a group of archer let off a volley at the incoming force. The platform slipped away and the rubble fell, crushing those who hoped to be the first through.

“Alright, take formations!” Lingbury shouted, waving his arms out. A man ran towards him, panting and yelling.

“Sir! Sir! Emergency! Emergency!”

“Speak clearly, lad!” Lingbury and Gerald huddled around the messenger.

“The prisoners had weapons stashed. They're attacking.”

“What!?” Lingbury shoved him away in a fit. “They... they switched the servants with soldiers!”

“Sir, our men inside were taken off guard!” The messenger was shaking, they could tell he thought the situation was hopeless. The two large men took a short stammers in circles. The archers seemed unfazed, preparing their next arrows.

The gate was almost cleared and the soldier of Garollen were breaking in. They were held back the a steady stream of arrows, leaving corpses to pile up. The archers were shadowed by Signash's decent. They fled in all directions and began shooting upwards. Lingbury gathered whatever men he could to defend the gate. More foe began scaling the blockage, among those was Haukea. He was the first to meet swords with the defenders. He blocked a swipe with his shield and cut the man down in one swift movement. Gerald charged at him, his sword raised high. Haukea dodged but was caught off guard by a bashing from Gerald's shield. His footing slipped and he found himself at the mercy of a dangling blade. He rolled around, evading swords and stamping feet. The moment he was back on two feet he was under pressure from Gerald again.

“A persistent little grasstrotter, ain't you!”

“Save it, snowman!” They traded blows, denting each others armour. The force of Gerald's swings kept blowing Haukea back. His sword was beaten out from his grip. He whipped out the harpoon strapped on his waist and defected the next attack off the pole. Gerald took another swing, missing three times before tripping over Haukea's leg. On his way down he shoved Haukea away with his hard head. They both lay on their backs, weary from their battle. Any attempt to rise up was stifled by their own bruises. They crawled towards each other, carrying their weapons in hand. In an almost childish manner they began prodding away. Eventually, they climbed to their feet, trading blows on their ascent. They were knocked of balance by their team-mates, blades flashed left and right. The pair were too focused on their duel to remember the battle around them.

“Give it up, old man!” He tightened his grip over his harpoon, the pole was battered and dented. Gerald took a wide swing, cutting a shallow wound across Haukea's nose. He leapt back in fright, his body trembled.

“You're the one who should get going, lad!”

“Spare me!” Haukea lost his breath from shouting. The sword came right at his face, missing by a hair. He struck back, piecing Gerald's left shoulder. Blood flowed down his arm, dripping on the ground. Haukea stood down to admire his work before being taken off guard by an axeman's chop. He blocked the attacked in time for another to drive the axeman down. The Garollens were swarming around the defenders and slaughtered them with a wave of blades. Gerald looked around, only Lingbury and a small bunch were still standing strong. He threw down his weapon and put his hands in the air.

“I surrender! I surrender!” The approaching men slowed their charge, ready to apprehend him without force. Gerald stepped forward, taking a sigh of relief. His gut was impaled in a sudden jolt. Haukea tore his harpoon out, ripping Gerald's flesh apart.

“Tough luck, old man!” Haukea sniggered and praised himself. The surrounding soldiers were silent but their eyes glared hard through their helmets. Gerald fell flat on his face with a thunderous boom. He choked on his blood, desperate to cough up just a few last words.

“Sss... Samuel... I'm...” Tears came to his eyes for the final moments before his body turned limp. The nearby soldiers watched him die.

“What are you wasting time for!?” Haukea swung his harpoon around, flicking off the red splats. “Let's hurry up!” He charged forth, leaving to remaining foe to the rest. His men gave a glance at one another before renewing themselves. Gerald was grudgingly forgotten.

Lingbury and his last five men were huddled together while the Garollens closed in around them. Bodies from both side lay at their feet. Flocks of riders rushed overhead, spiralling around the towers in search of prey. The circling mass came to a halt, keeping Lingbury trapped in a ring of blades.

“Sir, what should we do?”

“Damn it! Where's Jason? His Highness too!” He gripped his weapon, scanning his eyes across the horde up front. “I hate this! Throw down your arms, men!” With a pained shuffle he let go of his sword and out his hands together where they could be seen. The rest of his men followed his example with equal enthusiasm. The Garollens swamped them, pushing their captives through the crowd towards the gates.

~

Markus and Elissa ran up the spiral staircase. Every so often they would come by a slot in the wall where they could see the courtyard. They knew the battle was over. Markus was sweating and Elissa still had blood across her face. The stairs ended and the pair found themselves scurrying along a dark corridor where they came to a steady stop before leaning against the walls for rest.

“Great, just great! What am I supposed to do now!? I was counting on you!” Markus unleashed his furious complaints against her.

“We'll have to get of here. We can hide in the mountains.” Elissa searched around for any exits nearby. “Is there a way out nearby?”

“Just one which leads through the back. It's downstairs.” Markus let go of her arm and lead the way to the stair on the opposite side of the corridor. Elissa wiped away the blood with her sleeve as they descended.

“I know it's worthless, but I really am sorry about this.” Markus continued to give her the cold shoulder. “Don't be like that. It's a small loss.”

“A small...! Woman, are you mad!? My army's dead! Don't you get it!?” Markus was seething, his last nerves were being spent on her playful taunts.

“They don't matter. Let's just hurry.”

“I can't believe I'm having to do this again.” The feet of the Garollen advancement were becoming louder, a pounding echo along the walls. The pair holed themselves up in a tiny room, blocking the door with the nearest thing they could find, a table. Markus took a candle stick from the wall and searched around until he came to a book shelves that was hidden in a dark corner. “I wonder if anyone uses a book shelve to just store books. Help me move it, will you?” He took hold on side and beckoned Elissa to take the other. Together they moved it aside, revealing an old door way behind.

“Do you think no having so many door would win you a few?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Markus actually cracked a smile, more so when Elissa head tiled with puzzlement. “Let's just go already.”

“Hold on!” Elissa pointed to the door handle, which was twisting by itself. “Someone's behind there.” She blew out the candle in Markus' hand and likewise for those still hanging off the walls. The room was cast in shadows, lit only by strings of like that burst through the cracks of the door. The beams flooded in as the wood shifted, creating a pathway. Markus and Elissa hid in the darkest corner, watching a shadow stretch across the light. Metal boots pounded against the stone floor, accompanied by the clicks of armour and an echoing pant. The emerald plates basked in the radiant light. Markus' face twisted at the very sight of her.

“It's her,” he whispered into Elissa's ear. She passed the dagger to his hand. The notion flashed through his mind, bringing a long awaited sense of anticipation to his face. He tip-toed forward, his eyes fixed on the knightly figure. His arm was shaking, unable to conceal his excitement. The one he wanted dead most of all was just a few steps away.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Twenty Two: Markus and the Green Knight.

Along a wall covered with corpses there a blink of light. Karr stepped forward having just appeared. He surveyed the courtyard, pleased to see his army marching through every door, quickly taking each room. The sun sat upon the tallest peak that overshadowed the buildings. The air was hot and filled with the stench of blood and smoke, but Karr did not seem bothered. He began to wander across the wall, shifting his gaze along each window.

“Are you looking for me?” called out a ghostly voice. Karr spun his head straight ahead. A figure approached, taking a bow once he was just a few metres from Karr. Despite the large tear in his cloak, Ulysses was as good as new.

“I heard that a wizard travelled with the prince; one capable of the first tier catastrophe. Would that be you?”

“It doesn't matter. What matters is that it was not you looking for me, but I waiting for you, Karr the Warlock.” Ulysses reached out his arms. “It was me who placed that barrier, and it shall be me who delivers your downfall.” Tiny orbs light formed at the tips of both index fingers. Karr's brow rose, his eyes followed the paths being shaped from magic. A symbol of six overlapping rings locked inside another large ring hovered before Ulysses. Karr moved his lips and began to chant.

Palura, Tatros, Estiba,

Orims, Etus, Detuna.

Shine with laughter, Now and after.

Thirty Five: Dance of the Eternal.

The six rings expanded and broke free of the their frame. They heeled to Karr and began circling him. Ulysses jump back in fright.

“My spell! How!?”

“Your spell? You were a tad slow on the incantation, so I just stepped in before the energy wore off.” He pointed a finger at Ulysses, commanding the rings to launch an attack. The first two came crashing into the stone, blinding Ulysses with a flare. The last four struck him in the chest and legs. The blast was over soon after. Almost all of his cloak had been burnt away along with his underclothing. Karr was shocked when he noticed something unusual about his bare chest. A large area in the centre was a different skin tone to the rest, a healthier shade compared to his pale body. This skin appeared as a rough patch where he would have been wounded from Brant's sword.

“I should of expected a trick like that!” shouted Ulysses, clutching onto whatever was left of his tattered cloak.

“Say, I'm just wondering about that.” Karr pointed at his chest. “That's no burn.”

“Perhaps if your eyes were of better condition, you'd spot it. A fatal wound it was. Thankfully, spare flesh was in good supply.” Karr turned his away and quivered his lower lip.

“How disgusting. You're here for me? for what cause?”

“Oh many. There are some who'd rather not have you living any longer.”

“The prince?” Karr stroked his chin, his squinting eyes indicating an obvious suspicion.

“I shouldn't say.”

“You can't fool me, Kenneth. Your eyes, the sound of your voice, the way you smirk, you're here for yourself and no one else.” As he spoke, a white shard formed over his head. It fell like a guillotine, straight for the neck. Karr swiped something from his belt blocked the magic blade in mid-air. An intense light caught the attention of everyone on the yard, though they were blinded. The shard was began to shrink, being sucked into Karr's hand. He swung his arm down, dispelling the light. He held a sword in his hand, the blade was glowing a hot white. Ulysses stepped behind him. A small green rune was drawn out about his palm.

Sanoo Rai

Thundering waves of air blast Karr, throwing him forwards without harming him. He stumbled around before readying his sword.

“I expected you'd be wielding one of those blades. It won't save you again.” He stood straight with hands against his waist. Karr opened his mouth, but all that came out was a whimpering choke. His tongue felt a chill, it could could hardly move at all. Ulysses began running his finger through the air, preparing another spell. Karr wasted no time on charging an attack. He pulled back his blade and swung. A bolt of lightning leapt from Ulysses's finger, striking the old man. Karr collapsed, dropping his sword. He grasped Ulysses's wrist, sending the shock to flow through them both. A team of soldiers rushed up the stairs. A pair helped Karr back to his feet with care while the rest surrounded Ulysses. More electricity frayed from his hand, shocking anyone within a few feet. He rose to his feet, kicking the limp bodies out of his way. A shadow flew overhead, Signash was swooping down. His lance was aimed right at the wizard. Ulysses jumped to the side, evading the sweep. The anwyrm landed on the wall and closed her wings. Signash threw down his lance and drew a sword from his belt. Helen snapped her jaws, approaching Ulysses slowly.

“Oi, weirdo! Hands on the floor!”

“Or else?” Ulysses smiled and slanted his head. Helen snarled at his defiance and began rampaging across the wall. She crushed the armour of the fallen men with her claws and shoved them over the side. Ulysses kept backing away while continuing to taunt the beast. “Goodness, what a monstrous woman.” Helen rose to her hind legs and pounced. Ulysses pointed two fingers at her underbelly, unleashing an invisible blast. The anwyrm trip and fell upon her back. A metallic crash rang as her plated armour clashed with the stone. Ulysses grinned at the sight of his success. “How sad, that poor boy was crushed.”

“Not so fast!” shouted Signash as he pulled his leg out from under his steed. He tried to get on his feet, but collapsed down on a broken right leg. He punched the stone in anger, cracking the armour around his fingers. Ulysses burst with laughter for a moment, sending Signash into a frenzy of rage. “You bastard!”

“How foul.” Ulysses began to draw out a spell. The runes were of wicked shapes and profane messages. A ghastly voice seemed to howl from the energy, inspiring fear in the face of Signash. Ulysses suddenly shrieked, breaking the spell. Blood rand down the back of his legs. He turned around, realising that Karr had cut him with his sword.

“Just in time to save his precious mongrels, Karr the Warlock.” Ulysses clenched his fist. Karr's lips ripped open as his tongue whipped vicious words.

“Aha! Jealousy! Every bit petty as Varon described! You're here to rob me of my title!”

“That's true, to a degree. Once you're dead and buried the throne will be empty; the greatest wizard alive.”

“I have already chosen the one to succeed me.”

“Your son?” Ulysses smirked. Karr's face turned red, about to explode.

“I don't have a son!” he cried. He clasped his hands together and forced a smile. “I've got a pretty little daughter.” His breathing was heavy, trying to suppress a lump in his throat. The glowing blade began to break apart from the tip. Karr charged at Ulysses, pulling back his sword again. Ulysses pointed to unleash another burst of force. However, with one fast swing, Karr lopped his hand off. Ulysses fell, screaming as blood sprayed from his open wrist. He tore off parts of what remained of his clothes to form a bandage.

“How dare you! How dare you! My hand!”

“It would seem that my throne is forever out of your grasp.” Karr chuckled as he sheathed his fading sword. Four anxious soldiers raced to aid Ulysses's wound, keeping him well contained. “Don't worry, I'm not going to have you killed. I'm sure Dimitri's long lost son will make a fine bargaining tool.”

“You don't know who you're dealing with!”

“Toss him in a cell! Make sure he can't speak!” His soldiers saluted before dragging their captive away. Ulysses glared at Karr, becoming eerily calm in spite of this wound. Karr turned his eye over to Signash, who was trying to pull himself over the other bodies. His steed had rolled onto her belly to sleep.

“Sir, I'm fine. No need to get me any help,” he said, rolling his eye back. Karr shook his head and gave his subordinate a light kick to the side. “Thanks, Sir. I feel so much better.”

“You should be thankful you're even alive. Don't pick fights with wizards, even if they are weak ones.” Karr began to sprout fake tears. “Woe, that lover of yours must live in fear that you might be returned to her dead, or worse.”

“Don't bring her into this!” Signash jolted only to be held back by his broken leg.

“Goodness, looks like you'll be off that for a while. A terrible shame, and after just getting your old job back.” He chuckled as he beckon to a small group on the ground with a hand signal. “I have to leave now, I hear a certain someone is disobeying His Majesty.” He stepped over the bodies and began on his way down the nearest stairs. He smiled and waved at the soldiers as they crossed paths at the bottom. When he turned his head his mouth fell into a worrisome frown.

~

Markus crept behind Elbenor, raising his dagger above his head. His eye was set on an unprotected area on her neck under the helmet. Sweat ran down his face and all over his palms. Elbenor, unaware of the lurking danger, grasped the nob of the door. The rattling of the rusty metal drowned out his footsteps. With one chance, he took his sweet time to make sure nothing went wrong. The blade fell, Markus was focused with great intensity.

A scrape against metal rang in his ear, slow to realise he had missed. A gasp leapt off his tongue as his eyes rolled up at the light bathed face that glared right back. He lifted his foot to step back, but was swept off the ground by the swing of her arm. He hit the wall and fell with a pitiful whimper. The dagger bounced off the stone, catching Elbenor's attention as it reflected the light. For a moment, she stared with wide eyes, realising how close she had just come to being killed. Markus crawled along the floor like an animal waiting to be slaughtered. He looked up to her face and spat on her boot. Lost for words, Elbenor responded only with a fierce kick to his ribs, powerful enough to send him flying.

“All you've done is save me time, maggot prince.” She reached for her sword and drew it out. The light of day shone of its smooth edge, illuminating the whole room. Elissa was blinded by the flood of light in her eye, squirming and gasping. “I had a itching that you'd be sneaking around.” Elbenor approached and forced her up by the neck, choking her in the air. “You might have caught me by surprise once... or twice, but now...” She threw aside, slamming her on the stone floor. Spit and blood splatter fling on her armour. She held her sword straight up along her breast and in front of her eyes. “You're both as disgusting as each other.”

“Save it!” shouted Markus, slowly rising up in an unstable manner. “Don't act so righteous.”

“Oh, it's odd that you care all the sudden.”

“You're the invader.”

“That nonsense is just a good excuse to do what I should've done a long time ago. They can take all the titles they want, but your head is my possession.”

“You're pathetic!” yelled Markus. Elbenor took a wild swing at him, sending a stream of dust as her sword scratched the stone wall. Markus ducked the attack and stepped around to her side. She took another swing, but the sword got caught on the low ceiling. Markus continued to lead her, heading through the door into the serene light. “Has every waking moment of your life been spent wondering what this would be like? How precious! How noble! Such a shame you don't have any proof.” Elbenor remained silent, carefully following him through the tunnel, waiting for the perfect moment to cut him open. Markus stepped back with an arrogant spring in his foot, knowing that she was hanging off his words. “It wouldn't be justice unless you had my confession. Would you like to have it?”

“I already know, but if it makes you feel good, all the better for the fall.”

“I figured that.” Markus extended both his arms and spread his fingers out. “It was these two hands; mine that did it. I ended Rythia's life.”

“You mean you murdered her!”

“Your words, not mine. On the night had she had been stricken with a dreadful fever, I snuck into her room and put an end to her life.” Markus's smug expression never changed as he spoke, deepening Elbenor rage. “This is the first time I've ever spoken of it. You're the only thing that kept what I've done alive in my head.”

“Is there not a spot of guilt in your mind? You're not just a murderer, you're a monster.”

“It was a simple choice, Sebannah; either she had to go, or I'd spend the rest of my life second to her. Aren't you the one who's spent their life obsessing over this? But now you're here, and you've heard what you wanted to hear; what are you going to do now?”

“That was a pitiful excuse. Now bend over so I can slice that diabolical head off your shoulders.” As Elbenor took a step forwards her foot was snatched, leaving her to fall flat on her face. Markus's smirk softened when he saw Elissa had succeeded in bringing their enemy to the ground. She toss the dagger to Markus who knelt down and held it over Elbenor's neck. “You... you were just keeping me busy.”

“Of course. I knew all along you'd come after me like this.” Markus chuckled before being interrupted by a worn out voice from further in the tunnel.

“Sebannah!” Arhen cried, his body frozen when he had seen what had just happened. His face was covered in sweat and dirt from having to climb the mountainside and loud pants echoed off the walls around him. Markus watched him for a moment, cautious not to move the dagger from its place.

“Elissa, get rid of him,” said Markus, shaking his head. Elissa leapt up and began chasing him down the tunnel. Arhen's legs were caught up in his long robe, causing him to trip over and bruise his leg. Elissa forced him back up by his shoulder. She twisted both of his arms against his back and pressed him into the wall.

“What'd you want me to do with him?”

“Finish him right there, where she can see it.” Markus smirked when he turned back to Elbenor. The sweat dripped from her face, mixing with the blood that flowed from her nose. She tried to rise, but he neck was pricked by the hanging dagger. A tear seemed to leak from her eyes.

Elissa wrapped one arm around Arhen's throat and began to choke the life of his lungs. He struggled around, trying to break off her grip. His right arm managed to slip out and flail free. With the lack of air to his head, continuing the escape can to a dead halt.

“Her blind side! Hit it!” called Elbenor, snivelling the blood back up her nostrils. Arhen burst into life, swinging his free arm and elbowing Elissa on the scarred side of her face. She flinched, losing her grip on Arhen. In the moment that Markus was stunned Elbenor took his arm and forced the dagger out of his hand. Markus toppled over and soon found himself trapped under the weight of her armour as she smacked his cheeks with her fits. The rigid edges of her gauntlets cut his flesh. Eventually, she lifted him up and slammed him into the wall. Elissa raced to save him, only to be backhanded and knocked down in a single blow. She stroked her face while on the floor, realising that the scarred side was leaking blood. She grabbed Elbenor's leg, desperately trying to drag her down. With all her strength in one heave, she caused her to slip over, giving Markus a chance to break free.

“Run!” cried Elissa, refusing to loosen her grip. Markus belted down the tunnel, shoving Arhen to the ground. Elbenor crushed Elissa wrist with a stomp and kicked her onto her back. She gave chase, ignoring Arhen's pleas for her to stop. Dragged down his his bruises, he did not make it far before he became exhausted. He glanced over his shoulder, worried that he was trapped with Elissa. He backed away, cautious not to disturb any pebbles on the ground. Elissa was too busy wiping the blood off her face to realise the old man was trying to escape. Her body was trembling, reeling from the beatings. Arhen took some strange pity on her and decided to watch her struggle. Eventually, she came to her feet, though she looked as though she would just collapse again.

“Why do you persist so?” Arhen asked. Elissa staggered around, trying to find where his voice was coming from.

“What... What about you?” She smirked, letting a trickle of blood flow over her lip.

“What can I say; I love to serve someone of strength. Which leads on to why you'd follow a snivelling excuse of a man like him. I can only assume you're taking advantage... you're so cruel.” Arhen stroked his chin. He was confident that with those wounds, she would no longer be a threat. “A sweet sight to see a villain of such poison come so far, only to meet such a mundane end.”

“End?” Elissa covered her mouth and giggled. “As you might have seen, I'm no stranger to pain. It's you who should be worried. I've made my bet on him, but there not much to lose. I wonder how your empire will do with a missing leader? Even if she survives, I wonder how she'll be punished.” Suddenly, she lunged and swiped the glasses off his face. She then began punching and kicking him all over his body. Thumping him into the wall, she then tried to crush his head against the rock. “Let's remind ourselves of how that strong leader of yours just abandoned you.” She giggle upon spotting a tear roll down the old man's cheek.

A thunderclap burst through the tunnel, rocking the pair right to the core. Elissa darted her eye at the sound of footsteps that followed. Sparks of lightning jumped between a pair of hands, masking the face with flashes of light.

“Arhen, I'm ashamed,” spoke the man. Elissa held Arhen between her and the new arrival, shielding herself from whatever magic he was using. The lightning died down, revealing Karr's grim face. “You might have lived through her, but I'm not nearly as sloppy.” He took a deep sigh, rolling his eyes at her attempt to hold a hostage. “One chance to surrender, just let him go already.”

“Or else what?” Before Elissa could even gage a reaction, a slender bolt struck through her left shoulder. Her whole body turned limp and dropped like stone. Arhen ran towards Karr hoping for protection. The face he met was not relieved or joyful, but condemning.

“You foolish man. What possessed you to come here without a blade.” Karr narrowed his gaze on the guilty face. As Arhen's lips parted, his voice was overshadowed. “Spare me your excuses. Go now, before I decide to report you to His Majesty along with her. The fort is taken,” he pointed to the doorway in the distance. His ears caught the sound of scrapping, Elissa trying to crawl away. He stepped on her ankle, pinning her down like a rat.

“I give in,” she said in a quiet voice. “You wouldn't actually kill me, would you?”

“You give yourself too much credit, Northerner. You're not worth the time really-” He was tripped up before his last word. Elissa giggled, surprised by how easy it was to take the old man down. Karr banged his head against the wall, knocking him out cold. Elissa continued to crawl away, too weak to finish him off. Her legs were battered and broken, forcing her sliver along the ground.

A pair of light feet came running past her. Arhen was using the situation to his advantage, disobeying Karr's order. He stopped only to pick up his glasses from the floor. A shimmering object caught Elissa's eye, the discarded dagger.

~

The light became more intense as Markus neared the exit. His eyes were almost scorched by the daylight sun that beamed in. Finally, the long tunnel ended with a thin doorway where a fresh breeze swept his hair. He squeezed is way through to the outside, his wayward legs kicked around loose rocks that would have once hidden the doorway. He shielded his face from the sun, his vision became clear. The ledge he stood on was very narrow, and the mountainside below was a steep drop. He backed away from the edge with a sudden jump, breaking out in a sweat. He began to shuffle around, searching for a safe place to descend from the mountains. He looked over to the doorway, growing even more fearful when Elbenor broke out. Her sword was still drawn, and she approached as though she was unaware of the threat of falling.

“There's nowhere to run now!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the rocky face.

“Don't be a fool! We'll both die!” Markus tried to get away, but his path became even narrower and up ahead it was about to disappear all together. He grabbed onto a shrub that grew out of the rock to protect himself from the drop. Elbenor swung her sword, missing Markus by a long way. It bounced off the rock, causing her to lose balance. Markus stretched his arm out, desperately trying to push her off the edge. Elbenor attacked again, slashing his hand. With that jolt of pain, he lost his grip on the shrub. “You're insane!”

“You're the murderer! If this world can't have a place for her, then it has none for you!”

“Shut up!” cried Markus as he balled his hand. Forgetting his situation, he threw his fist, striking her armour with a bell ring. Elbenor did not budge an inch, in fact her footing had become firmer than ever. She smashed his back with the pummel of her sword. He spat up on her legs and slid into her grasp. Elbenor pulled him up, grasping him by the neck and held him over the edge of the ridge.

“Stop this!” cried a voice echoing from the tunnel. Arhen squeezed out, panting and sweating buckets. “You're going to far!”

“Don't try to stop me again!” She glared at Arhen, still holding Markus to his death.

“What would your father say if he could see this? You're suppose to be hero, not some petty child!”

“Silence!” Elbenor yelled. Her voice echoed off the mountain and caused the trees in the forest to shake. “I won't let anyone steal this from, especially not you!”

The weight of both her and Markus was causing the ground beneath her feet to start crumbling. It was not until the whole section gave way that she finally noticed. Slowly being choked, Markus was unaware that they were dropping down. He could feel the sudden rush of air through his hair and his eyes caught the sight of her face changing to something fearful and shocked. It was only when he followed the direction of her gaze that he realised what was happening. He felt a jolt when everything seemed to stop thereafter. He used the moment of surprise to wrap his hands around Elbenor's wrist and free his throat. He was now dangling off her arm, free of the risk that she would drop him to his death. He looked up, seeing that Elbenor's other arm had been caught by Arhen who was struggle to hold them in place. On of Elbenor's feet was planted on the fragile ledge. He frowned, realising that the old man could not possibly support them for long.

“Markus, let go,” said Elbenor calmly. Her eyes gazed down and pierced Markus, causing him to break out in a sweat. The air was silent. “Let go.”

“Either you die, or we both do!” He struggled as he tried to pull himself up her arm. He steadily clawed his way up, grasping his fingers around her armour.

“Fine then.” Elbenor swung her head towards Arhen, who's face had turned a bright red. “Let me go.” Arhen's eyes burst wide open.

“But-”

“Do it or all three of us will plunge!” There was no answer from Arhen, he still struggled to hold on to her. Elbenor snarled, disgusted by his refusal to listen. “I'm ordering you to let go!”

“How sweet!” said Markus with vomit sitting on the tip of his tongue. By now he had a firm grip around her body. His determination to drag her down was apparent in his wicked grin. It was then he spotted Elissa, who was leaning over Arhen's shoulder with dread on her face. “Ah, Elissa, give that old man a good kick!”

“Markus, I couldn't,” she said, her jaw was gaping at the very suggestion. When she knelt down to take Elbenor's arm, Markus was livid. Arhen paid little notice to her, focused solely on saving his beloved leader.

“You stupid woman, what are you doing!? You're ruining everything!” A hiss burst through his scrapping teeth. “Just push him off already!”

“You're so desperate to kill each other that you're both prepared to die with them.” Elissa smirked just a little bit. “Forgive me, but I don't want you to die.” Elbenor and Markus was slowly being pulled up despite their pleas to fall. Markus' eyes sunk down, his hot breath wore down. His grip on the emerald armour was beginning to slip. Elissa took hold if his wrist now that he was close enough to reach. She grinned. “You weren't just going to abandon me, were you? You idiot.” Tears of confusion came to his eyes, his anger had melted into listlessness. As Elbenor shook him off he reached into his pocket with his free hand and took out the tattered wraps. They fluttered across his face. He inspected the blood across her face.

“Pff... you look as if you could use this.”

“You've still got that?” Elissa gave a warm smile. The threat of the situation seemed to float away as the two connected through the worn bond. A thick shadow then stretched over Elissa, accompanied by heavy panting. Elbenor was towering over with sword in hand. Without a moments though she raised her foot and booted Elissa of the ridge's edge. They two began falling, breathless and with any cries. They suddenly stopped mid-air, the wrappings had latched onto an outgrowing branch. The two were still connected, but Elissa was now dangling, paralysed by the scare. Markus stared up, dreading at what Elbenor would do next.

“You persistent little worm!” she cried. She dug her blade into the ground, as though she was trying to split the mountain in two. A crack opened up, rushing down towards Markus. The branch began to slide at a painfully slow pace. It felt as if the whole mountainside was about to crumble.

“Markus!” Elissa shouted, snapping out of her daze. The rock around the branch shattered, dropping the pair along with debris and dust. Some yanked Markus, preventing him from falling once again. Elissa had wedged the dagger into the rock, using it to suspend them. More rubble pelted them from above. “I can't hold this for long!” she cried. She twisted her head around, searching for anything that could save them. Markus felt hopeless, certain he was to die. The cracks above them widened and stretched. Eventually, the mountainside gave way, the face began to drop. Elissa tightened her grip on Markus's arm, sending a sudden warmth through his body. He stared up into her eye and filled with an uneasy energy. The face of stone they hung from broke off as one large piece in the slip.

A they rode on the platform beneath them, waves of rubbles washed over them. Eventually, the slope of the mountain began to even out. They became engulfed by a cloud of dust as the sped down on the bed of rolling rock. Markus's lungs were filled, his tongue was choking. He tried to get a grip on the ground, but his fingers only meet with rubble. His arms were pelted by rocks, blocking him from taking a deeper grip. Elissa took out the dagger and drove it into the earth, hoping her arm could reach far enough for the blade to dig into firmer ground. The skin of her arm was torn to sheds by the waves of stone. Her screams of agony bellowed over the roaring collapse. The pair seemed to be slowing down, giving Markus a chance to regain some foot and direct his body out of the stream. He was burdened by Elissa, who's arm was still trapped.

“Hurry up, Elissa!” He waited, still sliding down on the rocky bed. Elissa yanked her arm out, shrieking. Markus took her into his arms and began carrying her away, the debris still pelting his body. A massive wave of boulders were snowballing above, he was certain they would be buried. He took greater strides in order to escape from the incoming wave. When he glance down, he noticed the base was near, a glimmer of hope. His only chance was to jump out of the wave. He pulled his feet out of the rubble and took a leap with Elissa under his arm. His body slammed into the hard ground upon landing. They rolled down the slope together, enduring scratches. They came to slow stop. Markus was staring up at the sun overhead. His vision was blurry, and he was unable to find Elissa by spreading his arms out. A cloud of dust enveloped him, thickening the air. He soon passed out, his body had been worn down. The rumble of the mountain still roared and shook the earth, but the racket vanished from Markus's mind.

~

Markus's eyes snapped open. A surge of awe swept his body, all he knew was that he was alive. He was surrounded on all sides by the collapsed mountain, jagged and cracked boulders. He panned his eyes down his body, finding that, aside from the wounds he already had, his body was completely covered in dust with many small bloody cuts from head to toe. To his fortune, no bones were broken. A swelling of a relief and confusion was locked in his insides. He swung his head around, trying to remember what exactly had happened. As he recalled the events, he wondered whether Elissa was still alive. Elissa was laying on her back to his right. She too had been beaten by the fallen and shrouded in debris. Her right arm had been seriously wounded. Every inch of her body had been bloodied up. Markus stared motionlessly at her, his mind was full of confused thoughts. He did not even know why he had bothered to save her any more. He shuffled towards her, moaning in agony. Her eye fluttered and her lips released a sudden breath, her body was still. Markus covered her and wrapped his hands around her bloodied neck. Her breath was cut off into a stutter. His eyes gazed into hers.

“This is your fault,” he muttered. “I've lost everything thanks to you.” He tightened his grip, almost joyous to see her choking. Elissa made no attempt to resist him, but she spat out words and stared right back without fear.

“Markus... It was... you.” Markus loosened up, freeing her from his grip. Elissa gasped, taking in as much air as possible. She was slow to realise that Markus had already gotten up. He limped towards the forest. “Where are going?”

“Leave me. I'm dead as far as anyone else knows, so I might as well go and die the way I lived.” He stepped into the shadows. Elissa watched with a longing expression. Tears began leak from her eye.

“Markus, what about me?” she asked. Markus did not even turn to face he when he answered.

“Typical. I'm sure you'll be fine on your own.” Markus gave smug laugh before vanishing between a pair of trees. A ghostly wind swept through the leaves, filling the air with a rumbling. Grey clouds blocked out the sun and began showering the land. The blood on Elissa's face was being washed away, returning a clear sight to her eye.

Edited August 2, 2010 by Shuuda

[Shuuda]

Chapter Twenty Three: A Brief Sanctuary.

The storm had been falling over the forest for hours, the ground was soggy and dotted with puddles. Each leaf spilled a load with the most gentle movements. Markus wriggled his way through the prodding branches. His body was drenched from head to toe, still stained with blood and heavy dirt that was slowly being washed away. He stumbling down a slippery slope, unable to control his momentum. He fell flat on his face into the mud, but it seemed to a take a while for his mind to register what had happened. His his body was shaking to keep warm and his breathing was becoming laboured. He lay there for minutes, slowly dying alone.

The splashing sound of feet rushing through the mud hurried towards him. Markus could not be bothered to turned his head to see who was coming to save him. His vision had blurred, all he could sense was his face being hauled up from out of the dirty puddle it was soaking in.

A flickering warmth rubbed against his wet skin, causing him to groan and shuffled around. His eyes inched open and were greeted by the dance of a camp fire. He could not feel the rain pounding his body any more, but the sound still rumbled in his ears. He rolled over to see what was around. He soon realised that he was resting under a stone ledge somewhere the forest, the fire was being protected by the natural roof. The scent of wet moss was clogging his nostrils.

“Finally awake,” called out a familiar voice. Elissa was slouching on the opposite side of the fire, smiling as she squeezed the water out of her swampy locks. When Markus's eyes met with hers he instantly let out a sigh of annoyance. “You're welcome, dear.” Elissa shook her head, laughing softly under her breath.

“Don't call me that. Honestly, must you be that way?” Markus groaned once more. Elissa tiled her head up and watched the rain fall.

“Come on now, we've got a lot of work to do.”

“Don't you get it, you stupid woman. It's over, I've got nothing left. Nothing you to take from me and certainly nothing I'd want to give.”

“You still got your health...” She glanced at Markus, watching the way he was still shivering and breathing. “Well, you've still got me at least.” She shuffled around the fire, getting closer to Markus. He did not look at her or even reply to what she had said. They both lay around, listening to the heavy rain dropping. Elissa would sigh and stroke her hair, awaiting the moment that Markus would arise out of his slump.

After a full hour, Markus finally sat up and began staring into the fire. Elissa huddled closer and but her arm around his shoulders. Markus still refused to look at her face.

“Why did you save me? I thought I told you to leave me alone, I don't want you around. Didn't you get that message when I was strangling you?”

“Oh, I got the message that you couldn't do it when you didn't do it.” Elissa giggled right by his ear. “You didn't honestly believe that I'd just let of go off somewhere to die now, did you?”

“I had a feeling you might pest me, but I'm allowed to wish for things.” Markus glanced outside, wondering how long the storm would go on for. Droplets of water began running down his shirt. He looked up to check where the leak was coming from, but found nothing. “Don't tell me you're actually crying over me?” His eyes darted towards Elissa, surprised to see the stream of tears flowing from her good eye. She wiped them away the second she noticed he was watching, but she could not hold it back for long.

“Oh... just ignore this. It's just been a long day, that's all.” She yawned, though it was obvious that her actions were faked.

“Oh spare me. You don't strike me as someone who'd cry just from that.” There was nothing but the sound of rain for a good few minutes while each pondered what to say to the other. Finally, Markus rose his voice again. “Are you really that glad to see me still alive? I mean, honestly?” Elissa responded simply by holding him close in her arms.

“You know, Markus, I've not forgotten those time you stuck your neck out for me... even if you were useless.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Markus took a deep breath and stared downwards. “Let's face it, we've only got each other, so we might as well make the most of it.”

“Ha, you've only had me right from the start, you've lost nothing at all. That's not fair.”

“Now let's not divide ourselves over trivial things like that. The point is, you and I fit perfectly together as a team.”

“Well, I don't know how exactly you define what a great team is, but your standards must be pretty low.” He did not realise it at first, but he was actually chuckling. Elissa began to laugh beside him, relieved that he finally seemed to be livening up slightly.

“Markus, what are you going to do now that I've saved you?” Her eye stared right back into his as she asked. Markus shrugged his shoulders and glanced up at the stone roof overhead. Elissa waited patiently for his answer.

“Well, that stupid woman must think I'm dead now... and I guess everyone else does as well. That means that at least I've some freedom now.”

“That's more like it,” said Elissa, giving him a friendly pat on the back. “We can just move to some place no one would ever think to look.”

“You seem rather eager now. I've no intention of spending the rest of live in hiding with someone like you.” Markus pushed her away slightly. Elissa huddled up to him again, giggling under her breath. The way Markus talked down to her was of simple humour to her by now.

“Of course you don't, but there's not sense in rushing things now we're at the bottom. We can just bide our time for a while. I wouldn't mind being able to kick my feet up for a while and get to know what kind of a man you are when we're not dangling off a thread.” While she was speaking, Markus stroked his stomach, realising that he was starving. He could not remember when he had last eaten. He rose up and began pacing around.

~

The broken branches on the forest floor were crushed as Morgan followed Varon on the way back to Bremoe. The journey had been silent since they had left the cave and Morgan was feeling nervous to speak up. Every so often, Varon would glance over his shoulder and give a sharp glare at Morgan, making the air between them tense. Amber was trailing behind, taking her time to fiddle around with any bugs and leaves she seemed to find amusing.

“So,” said Morgan, finally breaking the silence. “Those fellows down there certainly were odd.” Varon stopped walking and turned his head with a snobbish expression.

“Odd isn't the word I'd use... more dangerous than anything else.” Morgan slanted his head, puzzled by his meaning. “Constructs are creations of great power, the ones down there especially. The only thing that kept them in line was the built in loyalty they had for their creator. Once the creator dies, they gain freedom. We've taken a huge risk in meeting them... the next time we'll certainly be their enemies.”

“Now come on, Varon, surely they must have a sense of reason. They didn't seem that bad to me.”

“Of course they have reason, their patience is nothing sort of incredible. It would be wise of you to seal that lance away, that thing might be plotting against you.” Varon gave a cold shoulder and began moving again. “Come on, Morgan, there's not time to waste.” Morgan however was in no rush to head on. He waited for Amber to catch up and smiled with fatherly affection. She sat down and gave her full attention in fascination.

Suddenly, a loud rustling caught their ears and forced their sights to a bush who's greenery was flailing wildly.

“Show yourself,” said Morgan calmly, gripping his spear. He was surprised to see a familiar face leap out of the bushes, Vido. “Young master Forryver, it's been quite a while. H-how did you know I'd be here?”

“O' I mustn't say.” Vido let out a playful chuckle. “I see you two have been keeping well. This is good to see.”

“...Aye, we have, I suppose.” Morgan scratched the back of his head and sweated a bit. Vido rose one eyebrow. “So... did you find anything interesting?”

“Oh, did I indeed. It turned out that Garollen was informed by mister Brant Langule.”

“A slippery snake if I ever did meet one.” Morgan waggled his head, somewhat unsurprised to hear of that man's involvement.

“Perhaps, but in this case he's not the problem. It would seem that your trust in your former friend was well placed. Forgive my presumptions. Though I wonder why they thought trying to pull off that assassination would turn out well. This could only have ended the way it did.” Vido stroked his chin.

“Perhaps someone was lending their aid.”

“They must have lost faith pretty fast. Either way, I'm returning to the isle, will you be joining me?” asked Vido. Morgan looked back Amber, his mind recollecting the body he had been shown in the caverns. He had feared any call to return to the Order.

“Nay, I've matters here still.” He smiled, trying to reassure his comrade.

“Such a shame, Morgan. You're expected to report back soon, you wouldn't want to disappoint Claire again. She'll be informed of your little discoveries one way or another. I won't stop you from doing as you please, but I promise that you'll regret this choice.” Vido's cheerful voice was eerily laced with threats. He spun around and began heading in the opposite direction from which Varon was travelling. “Well, I'll be on my way now. I'm sure we'll be in touch again very soon.” He wandered away, his feet making no noise at all. Morgan refused to take his eyes off him, watching him vanish into a distant mist. He clenched his fists hard, refusing to budge. Amber placed her hands against the black plate of armour on Morgan's thigh, staring up at his face with a blank expression. Morgan broke out of his focus to smile down at her, patting her on the head.

“Morgan!” shouted Varon, appearing from behind. The black knight leapt with fright, worried that the wizard had heard his conversation. “What's taking you so long? My patience thins.”

“It's nothing at all, Amber was just been a bit stubborn.” He grabbed her by the wrist and began dragging her gently. “Lead the way. Yes, that'd be it.” Morgan barged his way through the branches, trying to maintain his disposition.

~

It was the night of a local festival in the small villages that had been built around Saint Jistine's Mount for the homeless families of Rephall. Around a large bonfire couples were dancing with wild swings and jumping. Rows of stalls had been set up serving banquets of food and ales.

Holding a parchment under her right arm, Ursula marched down the stall while keeping an eagle eye on each of the cooks and guards. She was presiding over events in this area, and under her wing everything was efficient to the letter. She herself took little pleasure in the racket and partying, in fact nothing that night perked her spirits, it was just another working night.

Along the path her ear was snatched by the moans of a familiar voice. She twisted her head in the direction of a filthy stand which had three stools at the front. On the right stool, lurching over the counter, was Dyarl. As Ursula approached, she could see that he was huddling up to a murky glass of ale.

“Jason,” said Ursula, hiding any concern under a frosty voice. The lack of response brought a scowl to her face. She gave the stool legs a powerful kicking. “Jason! Look at me!” However, when Dyarl finally acknowledged her, she was wishing she had not told him to face her. His eyes were weighted down with swollen bags of purple and crimson. His usually bouncy curls were flat and sludgy, dragged down and saturated with what smelled like booze. His outfit was foul enough to attract buzzing pests to stick to his arms. Ursula was in pain just looking at him without turning away in disgust. “Ugh, you're revolting.” Jason's face sagged, but soon he burst into a grotesque laughter.

“Revolting, that's... that's funny... because you revolted, and then Brant revolted, and now I'm revolting.” His sniggering sank into a series of painful groans. He took a large gulp from his glass and slammed it down on the counter.

“Make some sense, Jason. Just what are you twittering on about?” She put both hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Judging by your hideous mug, I'm guessing your idiot quest crashed into the wall. Why am I not surprised, you and that prince couldn't-” She cut off at the sound of shattering glass as Dyarl slammed his drink down again. He threw his head into both palms and sighed wretchedly. Still silent, Ursula sat down on the stool beside his, resisting the urge to shiver once she realised how damp the seat was. “Well, I told you so, didn't I?”

“Yeah... you certainly did.” He cranked his head back up. “Another one, my good man,” he said to the stout keeper of the stand. Within moments another glass was placed in his reached. “Go ahead! Looord it over me! It's what you've been waiting for!” Ursula rolled her eyes and turned to the keeper.

“I'll have what he's having.” Another glass was set on the counter for Ursula. She was reluctant to drink from the gruesome mixture. She took a sip, cringing at the crude taste. She put the glass down with a gentler touch and put her arm around Dyarl. The drunken knight barely even noticed her slender limb hugging him. “Now listen, we'll get you to a bed for the night and then we can talk in the morning... or perhaps the afternoon would work better for you.”

“Fine, whatever you say. Just let me finish this round.” Though he agreed, Dyarl refused to budge from his seat. Ursula looked up at the night night sky with a weary expression. Seeing Dyarl in that state was a sure sign that thing had not gone well for him. She was making her mission to pry every detail from his lips. She sighed, realising that a part of her was going to enjoy his needy company over the coming days.

~

Along the dusty, lonely road, Shinzou was watching a puffy cloud drift across the blue sky as he wandered along. Mahlo was beside him, walking in a pleasant silence. Even was peaceful between them now. However, Shinzou would regularly glance back at the figure a short distance away. Garazzu marched with his eye closed, seeming to follow purely on the sound of footsteps. Shinzou stepped closer to Mahlo and began to whisper.

“Why's he follin' us like that? I should stick my sword in him good.”

“Well, he said he'd lead us back up north, don't you remember?” Mahlo shook his head in disbelief. Shinzou scratched his chin, trying to recall the events of the past couple of days.

“I... do... I think he did say something to me.” He wave his hand and clucked his tongue. “Yeah, whatever. I won't stab him... but I still don't like this.”

“Look on the bright side, at least we're returning to Mezu in one piece.”

“Pfft... At least we got enough ingredients and-” He stopped suddenly and looked around for a moment. “We... we...”

“O' what!? We forgot the sack!” Mahlo ran his hand across his face. “Where did you see it last, Shinzou?”

“I dunno.” Shinzou shrugged. “I remember seeing it at the camp before heading for battle, I must have left it behind. Arrgh!” He scratched his hair, shaking the bush wildly. He stomped his feet and yelled indescribable words.

“Don't worry about such trivial things.” Shinzou and Mahlo burst with fright at the sound of the cold voice. Garazzu had finally decided to approach the pair. He leaned behind Mahlo's shoulder and inspected them over again. “We won't be staying there for long, I've plans elsewhere.”

“That's great. Just what are these plans you keep going on about?”

“Brant's brothers have been accepted into the Garollen military since they aided them in battle, as have I. My rank is impressive, I might even be given my own men. This will make a suitable starting position and they've graciously allowed time for me to prepare.”

“I thought Sezazo's heir was meant to unite the north, not abandon it. I guess it's just a load of old nonsense after all.” Shinzou let out an annoyed puff. “Don't even think that I'm joining you. You're mad. I'll never wear that weird outfit.” He pointed that armour suit and bellowed in a twisted laughter.

“Come on Shinzou. If we don't bring a good haul with us, then I doubt we have a home to return to.” Mahlo smiled and put his fingers over his mouth, trying to contain himself while watching his friend stumble around in rampage.

“Are you telling me that we're exiles because I forgot a bring the sack back with me!” Shinzou yelled. “We're going back for Mezu!? What's she gonna say!? We can't just go back and walk out again!” He was draining sweat all over his body, the stench was unbearable. He flung his arm at Garazzu, both trying to point and hit him at once. “You! You've been following us ever since the battle! You didn't say word! You trick us!”

“I don't see how you could've expected me to know anything about that. You're a hotheaded as Brant was. There's nothing to fear, I have a plan,” said Garazzu, enduring the smell to pat Shinzou on the shoulder in reassurance.

“F-f-fine! You can come with us! But I don't like you, I don't trust you. If the chance ever comes up, I'd stab you in the back.” With his position clearly outlined, no one had anything else to say to the young Northerner. Garazzu's lips curved into a slight smile. The aura of mistrust did not make him uneasy at all. “Well, are we just gonna stand here, or are we going already?” Mahlo began to chuckle.

“Thanks, Shinzou, you don't have to worry. You can trust him... Well, you can trust me at least.” He put his arm around his angry friend. The three wandered down the road, heading towards the thick forests up north in the distance. A mellow air washed over them.

~

Elbenor stood in the centre of the large chamber, dressed in full armour aside from her helmet. She also wore a white cape that still from the lack of breeze. The room was darkened, yet pairs of glimmering eyes all descended upon her alone. She was focused only on a single pair that seemed to be the highest of all. Candles were lit all around the room by men carrying lanterns and the figures in the shadows were revealed. Among them was Karr, who watched Elbenor with an uncertain expression. He stroked his beard and sighed. Every so often he would grumble something to himself, perking the interest of the servants who sat beside him.

The one who Elbenor was staring at was revealed as the most imposing man in the room. He was an elderly man clad in the armour of a knight and the cloak of a sage. His beard was grey and thick and around his forehead was a silver headband encrusted with diamonds and golden curves. He sat upon a throne surrounded on both sides by pews filled with finely dress men who were silent in his presence. The man leaned forwards in his throne and clasped his wrinkled hands together.

Another man stepped beside the throne. His hair was long, covering his left eye. His other eye had a piercing stare. He took out a scroll out from his dark purple cloak and unrolled it before his gaze. He cleared his throat with a swift cough.

“His Majesty welcomes everyone in his presence at this moment. It has been a whole season since we began, and your continued presence and competence has been well noted by His Majesty.” He spoke in a cold monotone as he read the words off the page. “After the previous trials, His Majesty along with the remaining House Lords and their closest servants have reached a verdict. The defendant; Sebannah Emilie Elbenor of Elbenessa, the current House Lord representing House Elbenor, Grand Marshall of the Garollen Army, and Honoured Knight of Elywim. Please step forward and be recognised by your peers.” Elbenor did as ordered and took a single step towards the throne. “His Majesty will presenting the verdict himself, he believe you know what this means.” Elbenor's expression suddenly turned shocked. The speaker rose his voice so that his announcement echoed. “House Lord Representing House Genrir and Eldest of all Lords, His Majesty Macen Genrir of Garequess and of the Garollen Empire. Everyone be silent!” The speaker made himself scarce, bowing to his master. Macen stroked his beard. He began to speak, his voice echoed.

“Child.” Elbenor winced at how she was addressed. “You're here for the crime of severe misconduct as House Lord. You directly disobeyed an order from me which was agreed upon by House Lords Farner and Valenhearth. Your actions have put the lives of yourself, your servants, and House Lord Farner in danger. This is simply unacceptable from someone of your position. Also, it was made clear that the Prince of Searan was to be taken alive. You vendetta has served to give our Empire a spoiled reputation. These actions of yours are unforgivable. You realise this, don't you, child.” Macen leaned back and awaited her to respond. His face was filled with sorrow rather than anger.

“I understand all of what've said, Your Majesty. However, I shall repeat once more that I do not have any regrets over my actions.”

“That saddens me, child. Are these your true feelings for our home?” Elbenor said nothing in return. Macen arose from his throne.

“Very well. House Lord of Elbenor, I shall now hand down your punishment which was agreed upon by a majority during discussion. You are to be stripped of all your titles, and all land and privileges and duties they entail. However, in recognition of your service and that of your family, we have decided that you may remain as an citizen and you may retain a small share of your wealth. While you may never again hold your former titles, you may have any position in this empire that you earn freely. You shall not be required to spend any duration in prison. Do you understand the conditions of your punishment?”

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

“Very good, child. Sebennah Emile Elbenor, you may leave our presence now. You shall escorted out by my guardsmen.” The moment he finished speaking, a pair of armoured knights approached the fallen noblewoman. Elbenor stared at them both with a frosty expression. They led her at each side towards a towering doorway. The two frames split, letting a cool light flood the chamber. She took a deep breath before taking the final step.

She found herself in a lonely hallway. Despite her former position, there seemed to be little commotion outside of the meetings. She sighed for a moment before her ears caught the sound of someone approaching. She turned her head and directed an blank stare at Arhen. He said nothing at first, his expression was one of pity.

“Don't give me that.” She turned her back to him and tried to walk away. Arhen however, already had a grip on her shoulder.

“Sebannah,” he said in a soft, yet casual tone. Just hearing him say her name like that was enough to make her shudder.

“I can't believe there aren't many vultures hanging around. Just one really.”

“Oh, they're all out in the courtyard. Don't worry, I've pre-planned a route we can use to get out in one piece.” Elbenor finally faced him, her features were set in a miserable stone cold frown.

“We? You've got some nerve to even thing that I've forgiven you, traitor.”

“Well, His Majesty has branded us both as dishonoured. We're both guilty of pretty much the same thing.” He sighed and shook his head.

“None of this would have happened if you hadn't of gotten in my way. I can't believe you forgot your place so lightly.” Her voice rose in volumes, giving the old man a good ear full. “Who gave you the right to pull me down like that!? Any authority you had came from me, so why did His Majesty allow you to have that power over me like that!?” She grabbed him by the collar of his robes and gave him a firm shaking down.

“Your father left you in my care. What was I to do; let you get yourself killed, young lady?” Arhen sighed, knowing that his calm words would not penetrate her thick head.

“I thought I could trust you, Arhen, but all this time you were ready to stab me in the back! You tried to steal away the one thing I wanted most in the world!”

“To kill another man!?” Arhen mustered up courage enough to swat her grabbing hands away. “If you went to sleep each night dreaming of how to kill one man, are you really more sane than a murderer? Your father despised many villains who did him wrong, but was never foolish enough to linger on each one. Don't you understand your wrath are what brought us to this point.” Elbenor was preparing to throttle him, but when she stared into his serious eyes she halted. Her lower lip quivered. She relaxed her tense muscles and sighed. She began to walk away from the doors, leaving just as the sound of shuffling was abound. Arhen followed her, his serious attitude had melted into a sense of weariness.

“Well, it was worth the fall I took. The world's a better place without that maggot crawling around.” Though she did not face him again, the tone of her voice had softened just slightly. “Come on, I'll deal with you in private... I wish I could have at least handed punishment down to that twit.” Arhen chuckled under his breath hearing her grumbling.

“No need to worry, I'm sure I'll get something arranged, somehow.” The mood between was still grim, but Arhen was at least relieved she was still talking to him. She was obviously in one of her more forgiving moods that day.

~

A fierce rattling was let loose as the door of a worn house creaked open. Light shone into what looked like a room that had been in disuse for at least a good few months. Markus held the door open as he politely beckon Elissa to enter. Both of them were in a healthier condition, though their clothes were still in tatters. Elissa was masking the right side of her face with hair, which she was stroking into place as she entered the house. She glanced around, smiling at what she saw.

“I've never owned a house before. I could get used to this.”

“Well, if this is what you call owning it,” said Markus as he followed her inside. “Besides, I own it, you're just staying with me. I don't care how they do things in the north.” Markus shut the door, his drooping face showed that he was far less impressed with the building than she was. His eyes darted across each corner, alarmed by the spread of bug ridden cobwebs.

“Coming here was my idea, so it's my reward.” She wandered over to one of the windows that was placed either side of the door. The village outside was quiet, almost like it was abandoned. The sounds of the woods were close by, entering through the gaps in the door. The dirt road down the centre was ploughed with feet. “The Garollen's have already marched through this place. The tracks are faded, but I'm certain. At least half of the inhabitants have fled from what I've seen so far.”

“They didn't know what to make of us. I doubt we'll be welcomed.” Markus ran his finger across the round table, revolted by the amount of the dust collecting. “Are you sure wise to stay in Searan right now. I would've at least thought we'd move down to Jistine.”

“This village to tucked into the forest all alone. It's the perfect place for us to live out a good married life.” She giggled as she watched Markus choke up. He twisted his waist towards her and glared with fright, his face was white as a ghost. Elissa lifted the flap of hair over her face, teasing him further with her wound. “You look like you're gonna be sick there.”

“This place to disgusting, I need fresh air already.” Markus launched himself at the door, desperate to breath the clean air outside. He wandered a short distance away from the house to take in the forest view. The woodlands were almost engulfing the whole village. Elissa trot around him in silence, trying to discover what exactly was on his mind. The wind swept through their hair and rustled the trees, reminding them both of the events of the last battle. Markus began to shudder and sway. The weight of weariness was piling his shoulder, brining him down until he was firmly on his backside. He stared up at the scattered clouds in the sky that drifted upon the gusts. “Being stuck here with you... this must be some kind of punishment. I couldn't save father in the end, I was chasing an impossible goal the whole time.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to hold back the few tears that rimmed his lids. Elissa knelt down beside him, not even expressing the least bit of concern over his worries.

“If you're going to be a sore loser like this for the next few days then I guess I'll make a start on cleaning out my house.” She shuffled around and began stretching her legs. Markus latched onto her arm without warning. Elissa giggled when she saw his longing expression. “Oh don't worry. Just because you've lost everything, it doesn't mean I've lost anything. I've got a great new home...” She paused as she slung her arms around him. “And a man who doesn't mind me.” At first, Markus was motionless like a statue. Each breath was long. Finally, as he stared into her eye, he brought something out of his pocket. He held out the string of bandages that were worn, bloody, and dusty. Elissa was surprised to see he still had hold of them.

“These are yours. You really need to cover that gruesome thing.” He turned away after catching a glimpse of her scares through the wind blowing her hair. While Markus held one end, Elissa took the other.

“Thank you, though I don't think I should wear something to tatty.” She gave a tug on her end, causing the bandages to spill out over their legs. The cut edges and split fabric fluttered in the breeze. The couple were locked together, connected by the old wrapping between them. At last the wind seemed to give way for just a brief moment, giving them a chance to embrace uninterrupted. The shadows the woods stretched out towards them, hidden from the watching sun. Under the shade they shared a forbidden kiss before gathering the strength to stand up again. They parted, Markus letting of his end of the bandage.

“Come on, there's work to be done.” He took Elissa by her hand and lead her back to their new home. Markus could not remember how much time had passed since he first left his home, but a tiny part of him felt like he was finally returning.