» The Scars of Tascera., First realise >_<.

[Shuuda]

The Scars of Tascera.

Prologue: Fire and Frost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now now! Who said anything about a corpse?” Morgan slyly interrupted, “This lass is living.” he continued to explain while he revealed her face, and the young man took a few moments to inspect what was in front of him. She appeared to be no older than twenty, her skin was stone, her long hair was ebony, and her eyes were softly closed. In fact, the only sign he could see of any life in her was a gentle breathing motion, even the snow that touched her face was powerless to melt. The young man's curiosity had perked slightly, but still failed to express any concern for her. He turned his head back to the valley quickly to check for any change, but other than the snow that covered the grass, the trees, the road, and the bushes, nothing was different.

“Very well, I'll play along. Who is she?” He said turning back “And more importantly, why do you choose to bother me with her?” He added. Morgan inhaled a large breath of air, then begun to tell his tale.

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

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

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

“Ah, finally, time to get down to business!” The young man joyfully cheered, proceeding to brush the snow out of his silver hair and move back to where first stood with Morgan next to him in wait.

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

“Looks to me like Lord Farner's legions.” he claimed with a tone of expertise. “What ever is going on, it must be most serious if Lord Farner himself is overseeing...”

“The invasion, correct.” The man inserted.

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

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

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

“A-a-and?” Morgan asked in desperation. And after a short pause and breath,

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

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

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

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

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

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


“ALL MEN TO THEIR POSTS!” was yelled into the air as the soldiers struggled to subdue the chaos set ablaze by news of a marching army approaching “ARCHERS TO THE BASTIONS!” The soldiers ran all around, they collected weapons, stringed bows, donned helmets, and squabbled among themselves. “THE FORCES OF GAROLLEN WILL ARRIVE WITHIN THE HOUR!” But despite the heat of stress, the frost of snow and the fear of death the men knew their place and after the chaos settled, they were ready for the coming bloodbath.

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

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

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

“I understand, Your Majesty.” he instantly responded. And with that the three generals begun to exit, the other two being a shorter, brown moustached man clad in full covering red armour, and a tall blond woman in lighter white suit and a long black cape, all three stopped and bowed their heads to the man as he was entering before leaving to their posts for battle. The man walked further towards the throne, until he was in the middle of the majestic room flanked by large round stone pillars. The king marched towards him with his left hand stroking his beard and firmly slapped his other hand upon the man shoulder.

“It is good to see that you are ready.” he said in encouragement, taking his hand out of his beard and clenching it hard.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes Lord Farner, we would never fail you Sir.” He assured if somewhat nervously. “Erm... we can begin whenever you wish Lord Farner.” The right man added on in an attempt to please their master.

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

Break apart the flesh, and become as the spirits,
Be boundless and everywhere.
See the land of you desire and go find it,
None shall bar your path there.
Ride the lightning and winds through the sky,
Be anywhere your eye could stare.

Seventy Five, Pormatou's Wings.

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

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


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

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

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

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

“WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! THEY'RE INSIDE!” and within an instant horror and chaos ensnared the men. “WE MUST ASSIST THE RESERVES!” Dyarl ordered in panic, but to no avail as the men were scared and confused. A small group of soldiers managed to organise themselves amongst the terror with Markus, and rushed themselves into the castle. The King, the only one not taken in by the shock, observed the frightened men racing up and down stone stairs, falling in the snow, shoving and pushing, crying in terror, dropping their weapons...

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

“I can't believe these men get some bloody worked up over that, not me though” he claimed, but the only reaction he gets is Dyarl, who raises an eyebrow.

“That because you don't work at all.” Calming himself down. “Someone needs to go with Markus. Who knows what their up against.” Lurgbury also became less joking and responded in agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

The Garolleans stepped forward slowly, savouring sweet victory to come, but it was not to be as suddenly, down the large stone corridor Sir Dyarl and his knights rampaged, and smashed the fifteenth men of Garollen upon the hard wall with honed strength at the edge of their swords. Those that survived the instant onslaught felt the swift yet brutal swipes of Dyarl's hollow-ground longsword with only a single right hand on the hilt. Dyarl sighed and stared at the blood on the edge of his blade.

“Those bastards, it took forever to get that kind of shine.” he mumbled to himself turning to Markus “Sorry for my lateness Lord Markus.” he apologised. Markus wiped the sweat off his forehead and in guilt of his folly tried to speak.

“P-please Jason... it was my f-fault...I...” But the pain of failure ripped his tongue, he sighed and loosens his Muscles, rubbing his eyes with finger and thumb. “...j-just take the last of my men to medical.” trying to change the shameful subject.

“And you Sir?” Dyarl conerningly inquired, backing away slightly in preparation.

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

“nothing's going on out there, but they'll make their move soon knowing that we're without backup, the reserve men are dead are they not?”

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

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

“GOODNESS SAKE JASON...” Markus bursted out. “...just... enough!” putting his face into his palm. Dyarl stared at him, but was unsurprised by the outburst, and Markus begun to feel guilty again. “I sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you like that.” he finally calmed down. Dyarl stopped staring and sympathicly reassured him.

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

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


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

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

“Don't tell ME how these things work, after all, who is The Warlock of Garollen?” He boast in proud vengeance.

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

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

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

Take this power and burn brightly,
and burst into the air frightfully.

Twenty five, Incendia cannon.

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

Captain Ryvor and his squadron hidden in the clouds above the castle saw the explosion through the thick cloud and understood the signal without any doubt, they knew it was the time to make their move. So without wait and swiftly they flew down out of the grey and into action. But not unnoticed as the blonde general spotted their manoeuvre and called the archers into action.

“ALL ARCHERS ON THE RIDERS!” She commanded, and they obeyed with arrows aiming upwards.

“READY TO DODGE!” Ryvor warned to his men on sight of the raised defences, and the winged beasts bent their wings ready for sudden side move.

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

“ALL MEN OFF THE WALLS, NOW!” echoed through out, in vein, as another spark of flames shot from the distance fired by the cunning General. The fires but kissed the tip of the wall, and all was set ablaze, the slime across the wall roared wildly into action, destroying everything it sat on. The archers, in the agony of flames, threw themselves off the wall into the snow, but the cold was not enough to save them from their bodies surrendering to the tormenting fires. The men in the courtyard stared on in shock and disgust, that Garollen's most famed and respected man would resort to such barbaric tactics.

But their suffering was not over, the beasts from above descended once again, but without the threat of arrow fire they landed at the castle gate, which was now flailing flames all directions. They reach for the chains of the portcullis, two of the beasts took a chain in their mouths and flew up, the metal grille rising up with them. The many men from the keep charged up to prevent their actions, rushing across the courtyard to reach them. But they were not greeted by beasts, but by men. During the burning of the archers, the soldiers of Garollen were released from their stillness and had marched up to the entrance, carefully under the blazing arch treading on the charred black corpses that were once men, and stood sixty metres face to face with their enemies.

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

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

After two successful tasks completed, Captain Ryvor indulged in combat on his mighty beast, twirling his lance knocking down many with a single swing. He swinged again, but this time, no one is connected to pain, instead, the blonde lady blocked it with her sword, looking at him in contempt of his crooked grin.

“Searean bitch...” he taunted, thrusting his lance with the full force of both man and beast.

“...Dead man.” she fired back, dodging both tooth and metal, and with both hands stabbing her blade deep into the left shoulder of the wyvern with blood squirting along the blade edge. Ryvor cried hysterically at the sight of his partner injured.

“Helen! Fly high!” and with renewed strength, the wyvern freed herself from the woman's blade, and begun to hover, wobbling above with the blonde lady who still stared in contempt.

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


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

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

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

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

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

“Sir Jason Dyarl, might I speak with you?” Dyarl did not speak, but made no objections either.

“I wish to relieve of your service to me...” Dyarl's eyes widened in curiosity and shock “... you are no longer my General...” He took a short pause keeping Dyarl is suspense. “... you are now my son's advisor and partner.”

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

“Well, what are you waiting for? Markus is leaving for Bremoe using the escape passage, and he won't get far without the help of this wise advisor.” He said almost casually. Dyarl was confused beyond belief, but he could deny his king's orders.

“I mean it, deep down he's a bit of a dimwit, he'd be lost with the help of his fellow men. Now go.” Dyarl obeyed the order without question, and hurried to follow his new employer. The king smiled again, almost ignoring the battle around him, he though to himself and laughed.

“Markus... you're a stubborn fool... just like your old man. May the Gods protect you son.” He ended his fond pondering and returned to the fateful bloodbath.


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

“It's behind the right bookshelf ...Sir.” the familiar voice assisting him from behind. Markus turned to none other than Dyarl and became rather confused at his comrade being with him.

“Erm... we should get a move on Sir, we need the biggest head start we can...”

“Jason? What are you doing? Shouldn't you be with My father?” He had to ask.

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

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

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

[Shuuda]

Chapter One: Golden Road and Wet Horse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ever walked down the Golden Road(1) here Sir?”

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

“How can you be so heartless Sir, sure it's no Big Bridge(2), but Liturusiva has always had an enchanted feel.” He smiled in reminiscence and turned to Markus, who seemed to be miles away, so much so that not even the cold bothered him anymore. He was staring off into the trees with too much passing through his mind, Dyarl could see these thoughts which were written on his face. His cheery banter had disappeared, and he found himself struggling to find words in which he could reassure his friend with.

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

“Would have WHAT huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-P-Please good sir, would... would we be able to enter your... pub... inn?” With the cold twisting his tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jason... how could it of happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“WILL YOU BASTARDS JUST SHUT IT!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We? Who's that?” Dyarl is astonished by Markus' selfish sarcasm.

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

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

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

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

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

“Them clothes Sir, Northerners(3).” All three of them wore distinct sandy garbs lined in black triangle patterns, with short sleeves and drenched in sweat and booze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uuuh... I suppose you got a point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...? Ah.. yes please.”

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

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

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

“JASON! JASON! You bastard!” He yelled, and with enough noise, he flushed out a cheery companion.

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

“Why did you tell the Barkeeper and his wife could come with us!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye there, I got my thing all pack.”

“Essentials I said, essentials.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, we're all ready to set off?” He looked at the Barkeeper's wife, and then dragged Dyarl away for a private conversation, whispering.

“Is that his wife?”

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

“He doesn't look it, but he MUST be.”

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

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

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

“Are you and your friends ready?”

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

“I understand...” He now turned to Markus “...And are ready Sir?”

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

“No worries Sir, I've planned the route, we head south west through the Fayiron district
moors, resting at Heilis, then following the dirt paths, we will reach Antabis. The snow has given us the head start on Garollen, and Heilis is rather small and out of the way, I doubt they'll be looking there first. But we may have to disguise ourselves never Antabis, but the Northerners have spare clothes we can use.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HEY! AIN'T YOU GONNA ASK OUR NAMES OR SOMETHIN'!” But only Markus turned back to them, and with a forced smile he dealt a blow to the three of them.

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

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

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

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

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

Notes.

(1) The Golden Road is an ancient stone stair path through the forest from north descending to the south.
(2) The Big Bridge refers to Kaide Pass in Garollen, known to be the biggest man made bridge in the world.
(3) "Northener" refers to people native of the lands in the north west of Cera.

[Sothe]

WOW! long, but good.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Two: Thorns of the Green Rose.

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

“Anything yet?” Morgan raised out of his boredom.

“Not yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be the best I suppose.”

“Brilliant, I'll should get going right now. No time like the present!” And without any reply, the azure eyed man left, and ran down the stairs out of the empty inn. Morgan sighed and turned to the girl.

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


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

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

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

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

“How can dirt be so stupid!?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yes, that's me Mr Dyarl.”

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

“Erm... well, it's kinda complicated and such...” A call from Markus interrupted the conversation. Markus seemed to be rather distressed.

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

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

“Yeah, the House Lord so close to the border...” Dyarl grew a wide, wicked grin and couldn't help but tease Markus.

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

“Enough! I've had enough of this!” He flailed his arms to push him away. “Can we just hurry up, get in there, get stuff and move on?!”

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

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

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

“I didn't say anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No far enough I'm betting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get a move on scum.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I dunno... a one or two hours I guess.”

“I see, well keep yourselves hidden here, and if we're not back in tw... three hours, head for the border by yourselves, you get that?” They didn't speak, but nodded and looked at each other nervously. The other began to make their way into the town, they passed the gates onto a cobble stone path down the centre, surrounded by building of many sizes and materials, wood, stone and bricks, the Northerners were in awe, though Markus and Dyarl cared more for dodging nasty things on the ground.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And us?”

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

Markus looked around at the few Garolleans straight posture and vertically held spears, and attempted to adopt the same movements though the soldiers were busy at work to notice of the lone man. However, Markus saw that the buildings were only residential, and with a glance through the windows, he realised the wouldn't find anything useful nearby, so he continued onwards. Soon he found himself standing in the shadow of a flag, it hug from a horizontal poll off a building, bearing the green rose of House Elbenor. It was an unusual building compared to the rest, the stone was smooth and dark, surrounded by shoddy housing. Markus moved backwards into the middle of the street for a better view, only to bump into a figure he recognised, with a hooked nose, receding dark grey hair, tired grey eyes and many wrinkles, he wore a purple robe around his white coat. The name escaped him, but he remembered the face from a banquet at Gareguess (Garollen Capital) two years before. The man looked at with with a light smile seeming unbothered, though Markus was uneasy.

“My apologises Sir... Lee... Lam...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes yes, all tragic and such...”

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

“What are you blabbing about now old man?”

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

“And?”

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

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

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

“G-G-GET OUT! You scheming old man! You got what you came for, so please just LEAVE!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's all? Such a waste of breath.”

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

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

“When we demand to speak...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen! I give!” He placed his hands infront of him.

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

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

“Your luck you say?...” She kicked him onto his back and place her right foot on the wound, pressing into it. Markus begun to breath heavily, and his vision was blurred, he tried to speak but only blood rose from his throat. “... don't use such words to describe our difference. I'm strong, and you're weak, that's all it is.” She drew her sword and pointed it to his throat. “You're still the same worm as before, that's why she's...” She halted, taking small pity upon him.

“So, would you rather bleed to death, or have me kill you now?” He looked up the blade and into her hollow eyes, words finally screeched from his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh...”

“Well... what's your name?”

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

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

“This is being dead?”

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

“...Limbo?”

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

“...oh.”

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

“And?”

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

“Are you saying... you could let me live.”

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

“But... you said I shouldn't die...”

“Well...” She paused for a moment. “...Would you like to live?”

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

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

Is rodo divum stolu,
Oqud custulf lacgoi.

Liasdus som roves,
Oqud naplles som doca.

Adoc tu tesriv engua,
Oqud arepo suus esjasati.

Flectino tu rex.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, sorry old friend, you jus... you looked dead.” Dyarl appeared genially gleeful at his return.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Those lights over there, could it be...” Markus moved around her and looked in the shame direction in which she pointed. In the distant night sky, flew five glowing lights, they moved off to the left, but seemed to be slowly coming in. Markus could also make out odd shadowed figures carrying the lights, he ran back to the campfire where the rest of the group were sitting.

“We've gotta go, right now!” Dyarl swallowed the last of his bread.

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

“Wyvern riders, over the hills, heading over here. We should get going.”

“You sure? You're still injured.”

“Well if they see us, the whole area will be swarming by...” Markus looked around at the lazy group, with Shinzou and Mahlo not even taking paying attention, and the Humenves reading books. “...COULD YOU ALTEAST PUT THE FIRE OUT!” The five snapped back to reality and glared at Markus. Shinzou taking the chance to jab at him.

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

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

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

“I'll tell... on one condition.”

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

“Well, I can't be friends with someone I barely know. So hows about telling my a bit about yourself, starting with explaining to us who your girlfriend is...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Shuuda]

Chapter Three: The Saint's Shadow.

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

“I though you had a plan...”

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

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

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

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

Fly away with the winds.
Eighteen: Gale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, I'll come...” He was rudely interrupted by Shinzou, whom took no interesting in their conversation, or Marku's identity.

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

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

“Eh? What gives?”

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

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

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

“Of course Lord Vincent.”

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

“I shall be leaving now. Head back to the camp.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? But it's such a rare book and...”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey Elissa should we...”

“Quiet. You want them to see us?” He covered his mouth, not wanting to have to deal with Varon again. They ran toward the lake in the distance with Mahlo trailing behind. Dyarl, stilling not realising their disappearance, wanted to cure his boredom during the ride by playing his usual game.

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

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

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

“Quit it, she was five when I met her.”

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

“Oh... forgive me Sir Vincent. We were just joking around.”

Varon took a deep breath, and was able to clear his thoughts before speaking.

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

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

“This sure looks like a nice place.”

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

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

“Where are they!” Markus could not understand his frustration.

“What's so bad, you don't like them, and now their gone, it's a good thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I gladly welcome you all to The Avitasin Palace1. Shortly, these men will take you to the guest rooms. Lord Horuston and Sir Dyarl, your meeting with His Majesty will occur tomorrow at noon. All four of you are welcome to eat in the presents of His Majesty tonight, I recommend that you prepare if you wish to attend.” Markus cared not for the welcome, or the schedule.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you like knights in shining armour.”

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

“I guess, but here, we're not...” He looked up at the guards escorting him, who seemed to be paying close attention to him. “... It's nothing.

The escorts stopped and opened a door.

“This will be your room, Lord Horuston. We hope you will enjoy your stay. We shall inform the Lady Lirina of your arrival immediately, please wait here.” He did not thank them or respond in any way other than to walk into the room and shut the door on them. The room itself was large, with the same design as the rest of the building. There was a double bed with a purple blanket that Markus laid upon as soon as the door was shut. A chilling wind blew through the two open windows, blowing the purple curtains, and sending shivers down his spine. He got up from the short lie down, taking off his battered armour and letting it fall to the floor, causing loud bangs. He was reaching to close a window, when snow flakes flew into the room, touching his face and dampening his shirt. He stared out from the window, seeing that beyond the city, the pine tree forests were already covered in an enchanted white, though any beauty in it did not strike him. Instead, he felt more depressed, remembering all that had happened, the sounds of battle were still rang like background noises, nor could keep the cold hatred of Elbenor, who did not even have the respect to give him a warrior's death, out of his mind. He stood at the window for a long while, pondering when a knock on the door came.

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

“You don't need to do that...” He closed his mouth, but did not stand up. His mother had stopped smiling, seeing the state of Markus, his torn clothes and cuts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But...”

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

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

“That's wonderful, I'll leave you to get ready.” She opened the door and went on her way giving Markus a sweet nod goodbye. He looked around, trying to find any clothes that he could use to replace his own worn outfit. He appeared much more positive than, the burden of his promise was finally lifted. But there was still the concern of his suspicious allies, though for his mother, he would put them aside for the night. He checked the wardrobe, where he found a long formal white coat, the edges and sleeve ends were lined in black and gold. Unfortunately, there was nothing else in the room for him to wear, so he put the coat over his shirt, there was no lapel, nor anyway any buttons to close the coat with, so his worn clothes still showed prominently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well it's the truth.”

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

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

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

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

“Now see here boy...”

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

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

“Father, please may I be excused.” He looked at with suspicion.

“And what would be your reason to leave?”

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

“At this hour? Jalinr wouldn't...”

“I volunteered to father. He was desperately looking for someone to help with his special service tonight.” She started to put on a sweeter voice. “Wouldn't be a wonderful treat for them people if I helped them.” Her tactic put her father on the ropes.

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

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

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

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

“So... Gerald. How long did you own that inn for?” Gerald sprang into action.

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

“And what did you do before?”

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

“You don't say... that's really something.” Henrietta joined in uninvited.

“Isn't he just wonderful!”

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

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

“Any luck there My Lady?” She looked to the ground depressed. “...Nothing. Well, I told you...” He invoked a stinging slap from Lirina.

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

“Forgive me.” Lirina returned to her position of sorrow, increasing Varon's guilt. “Erm... Is there any way I can help you My Lady?”

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

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

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

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

“As you may or may not have heard, I have a task for you two. There will be three hundred Orihal2 for you each, if you can find Markus Horuston and inform him of his mother worry.” They gave the same stiff response before going to perform the task given.

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

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

“Hmm...what happened to you?”

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

“Where? When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what choice do they have!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Shuuda]

Chapter Four: The “Promised” Land.

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

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

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

“When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You may.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

“That's a laugh coming from the guy who can't stop eyeing someone's wife” Dyarl stammered, em brassed by the sudden attack.

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

“I was just joking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say Markus, shouldn't we help them?”

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

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

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

“W-w-w-we got caught in a snow storm last night. W-w-we're lucky to still be alive.” Markus was disappointed by that news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” A timid Mahlo bowed and followed in his companions path. Markus was confused and irritated nonetheless.

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

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

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

“I suppose you'd know.” She was unphased by his cheap shot.

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

“Arrgh! You did that AGAIN!”

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

“Why are you doing this?”

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

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

Jistine was the “Promised land” formed from Searans civil war ten years ago, named after the great Saint Zeliss Jistine the healer. The land here were characterised by tall rocky cliffs, pure golden sands and a cold, rough sea. It made Markus ill inside to have to come here, but he was sure it was he only place that was suitable for him to work from. Dyarl was optimistic as usual, brushing his hair with his fingers.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

“I know it doesn't mean as much has it used to, but I hope it reassures you good gentlemen.” They looked up at his face with pride, and without any other requests they stood aside, and saluted him by raising their spears in the air. “Thank you, what wonderful soldiers you are.” Morgan smile widened in praise before he entered the camp. The two guards stared at his humanoid pet as she went by. Apart from a black cloth that wrapped around her waist and covering her thighs, she was nude, with skin like a ghost, long ebony hair that reached all down her back and curled at the end, nippless breasts and golden eyes. She was oblivious to the stares she earned from the other guards. Morgan went towards a much larger, sturdier tent flanked by yet more guards. By the time he had reached the entrance to the tent, the red haired lieutenant came out to meet him. Nolman was curious, the figure that greeted him was familiar, yet he could not remember who it was. Morgan struck the first blow in their talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough, time to end this. You'll be pushing daisies like that bitch of yours.” Morgan still appeared to be calm and cheerful, but now he drew is weapon, blocking Nolman's charge. With a single push, he threw Nolman back a considerable distance, knocking them both off balance. Once they regained stance, they clashed once more, Morgan being the offensive, though Nolman competently parried his attacks. A crowd had gathered around them, but no one interfered with the battle or spoke out against it. After many blows were dealt hitting only their weapons, they stepped back for a short rest, but Morgan had yet to use the ace up his sleeve. He positioned his spear horizontally infront of him and ran his left hand up the pole and tapping the blade once he had reached the end. The spear burst in the flames and vanished into the air, he then took a stance as though he was about to thrust an invisible spear. Nolman was clueless, but wasted no more time in charging, hoping to strike the final blow. But before he could swing his blade, a giant lance of flame rocketed from above Morgan and engulfed him, swallowing him whole. He screamed in agony as the fires burnt his flesh and and raced through his entire body. The fires shrank in a whirlwind, reforming into the spear that was piecing the ash body that was once a man, the other end appeared his the right hand of Morgan.

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

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

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


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

“Markus...” The boy was too tired to answer. “Markus!”

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

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

“Well, the people are getting tired, I doubt they could go on for much longer without a break.” Markus sighed, he wanted only to press onwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don't you have to a warrior to join them?” She giggled, trying to keep a hold of the book that fell to the ground.

“Well, I'm no warrior, but I helped them with a few things a couple years back.” Markus sighed in the face of her cheerfulness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But my father is not here.”

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

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

“Hail His Mejesty! Long live the King.” He. withdrew his sword and kneeled.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Markus was restless when he went to bed that night.

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

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

“WHAT!? WHAT IS IT!?” He clenched his jaw tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why isn't he hearing me...”

[Shuuda]

Chapter Five: Gaze Below.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“JUST A BAD MOVE!” Signash tried his best to ignore her childish fury. “You horrible horrible man, letting poor Helen get hurt like that.”

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

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

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

“I though you were a captain?”

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

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

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

“Is he okay?”

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

“Young love huh.” Spoke a soft yet masculine voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We're never going to reach Evallence at this rate.” Markus was annoyed, but the fire appeared only as a distraction to him. The blaze chased them, trying to trap them whenever possible. Soon it became clear they would not reach their destination in time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what are doing here?” Markus asked.

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

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

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

“JASON?!” Markus shouted.

“We're okay!” Dyarl replied.

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

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

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

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

“Oh... I just wish to help Markus.” Her tone was cold, but without lies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And maybe that was a mistake.”

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

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


Back at the camp, a crowd of people spend their day staring fearfully at the rising black smog. Away from the crowd, sat on a small outgrowth was Shinzou. He was resting his chin into the palm of his hand, watching the swirling dark mass with little interest. Mahlo on the other hand was worrisome.

“This is not good, not at all... I means it's just bad. Are they going to be okay? He stammered around in a circle, fidgeting his fingers.

“Well...” Shinzou thought out aloud. Mahlo turned his attention to him, trying to distract himself from stressing out. “We would be better off leaving now.”

“Erm... well maybe, but we should wait of Elissa to comeback.” Mahlo said, but Shinzou made no acknowledgement of what he was talking about. “Wait... you're not actually going to abandon her are you?”

“Why not? She's the one wasting our time, forgetting that we were sent down here for a reason.” Shinzou's voice was bitter when he spoke of her. “Besides, I didn't want to leave Mezu alone for so long.” Mahlo had a sad face while he listened to him.

“And you can't stand being around that woman either...” Mahlo added on, though Shinzou brushed off the idea.

“Get our stuff, we'll sneak past them Garollen's and head back home.” Shinzou jumped off the outgrowth and causally walked back to the crowd to find their sacks, though he was stopped by the ferocious charge of a horse that raced in front of him. The rider appeared vaguely familiar to the two of them: it was Lord Varon, with his white cloak flapping in the wind.

“Your kind should leave this place.” Varon ordered, he pointed at Shinzou to make himself more clear.

“Bah, it's you again!” Shinzou shook his fist at him.

“Again? My apologies, I don't really remember every piece of dirt I come across.” Varon did infact recognise him, though he put him down eitherway. Shinzou drew his crud blade and charged forth with blood-thirst, but he found himself being blocked by Varon's maid, wielding a long wooden pole. The blond haired woman glared deep into Shinzou's villainous eyes, and pushed him back with magnificent strength. Shinzou charge again, though directing his attack towards her. Annabel span her poll above her head, and swung it at his legs, producing a loud cracking noise. Shinzou dropped his sword and rolled onto the ground, grasping his left leg in agony.

“YOU! YOU! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD YOU BITCH!” Annabel took no notice of his foul curses and bowed to her amused master.

“Thank you, but you did not need to involve yourself like that.” Varon was struggling to hold back his laughter. He then turned to the blue haired Northerner that cautiously made his way to help his friend.

“It was foolish of him to do that.” Varon told him.

“E-Even so... there was no need for that.” Mahlo trembled when he looked into Varon's eyes.

“Perhaps not, but I feel that he deserved it, don't you?” Varon continued to mock them, though seeing the young man stand up to him impressed him, however little. “You seem decent, for a Northerner... would you like to see a little display?” He kindly offered.

“What kind of display?” Mahlo asked.

“One of power.” Varon stretched out his right hand towards the ocean in the distance. With his left hand he drew into the air, leaving a blue trail was he wrote. After a long while, patterns had formed a large, complex set of runic symbols with the face of a wicked wolf as the centrepiece.

Hear the thunder clamour in rage,
Release the Storm Wolf from his cage.
With the breath of gale,
And spit of hail,
All in his path shall fail.
Without wing he flies high.
And with jagged fangs, rip the sky!

Ninety-seven: Vidum Lance!

The runes swirled together into an orb that shrank into nothing. A white cracking beam shot from his right hand, and with incredible speed it flew across the land and sea. It tool five seconds for the energy to hit the horizon, sending up a towering column of water accompanied by a lasting white flash. The coastline was attacked by waves that fled from the epicentre, and the winds blasted the faces of the speechless Northerners who's breath had become strained.

“Is that something that the two of you can understand? Raw power.” Varon looked down upon them proudly.

“T-T-That was... impress... impressive...” Mahlo struggled to put a sentence together. “...But... your not the only one... I can... I've got some tricks too.” He placed his shaking hand infront of him. Varon raised his eyebrow, feeling unthreatened by the scrawny mage.

“Interesting...” Varon pondered. “Judging by how weak them bones are, you've been practising on too many high end techniques at a young age... Save yourself a few years on your live and stop while your ahead.” Mahlo put his hand down and rested it, still trembling. “Not that you have that long mind you.” He could almost see Mahlo shrink as he stepped away.

“LORD VARON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” A woman's voice yelled out. Varon turned his horse around, finding that Lirina was running up to him in her simple red and white dress, waving her arms at him. Once she had reached him, Lirina took a moment to catch her breath. “What is the meaning of this? People here are worried enough without you causing a big scene!” Varon had been knocked off his high horse.

“Oh... well, my apologies...” He stuttered, trying to avoid any unusual reactions.

“You should be, we have an emergency situation here.”

“As do I.” Varon retorted with regained confidence. “Lady Lirina, I would hate to think that you are a villainous soul, therefore, if you tell me anything you know, do so now.”

“Anything about what?” Lirina asked. Varon read her confused expression as he came down from his horse.

“I see... is your son Markus here?”

“No he is not. He is dealing with an important crisis right now.” She pointed to the cloud of black smoke that continued to grow and rise.

“A fire in Rephall?” Varon showed little concern for it, finding his own task to be far more important. “Would you mind if I were to take a good look around?”

“Of course... though I do wish you would tell what you are looking for.” Lirina was suspicious, but could not find a reason not to let him. Varon turned away from her stabbing eyes to address his servant.

“Annabel, you shall stay here. Take care of my steed.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Annabel bowed and watched as Varon walked away to inspect the camp. She Moved over to Shinzou who was still grasping his leg and knelt down to check his injury.

“Is it broken?” She asked in her monotone voice.

“No it ain't broke. What the heck do think you're doing?” Shinzou shuffled away from her, twitching in pain.

“Forgive me for hurting you like that, but those you threaten Lord Varon must be detained.” She placed her hands on his leg and gripped tightly.

“OWW! You idiot!” He rolled around, trying to knock her off. “I'll be fine here seriously, Mahlo will...” He spun his head around, not finding his frail friend anywhere. “Hey Mahlo! Where'd you go!”

“Didn't you see him walk off?” She rubbed Shinzou's leg, easing the pain into a mild numbness. “Aren't you his friend? Didn't you pay attention to him?”

“Of course I did! That's why I gotta talk to him, about that stuff that jerk was on about!” Annabel gripped his leg even tighter, giving an unusually fearsome glare.

“Lord Varon is not a 'jerk', you should show some respect.” Shinzou moved back again, kicking her away with his other leg. “Do you have to do that? Don't you know when someone is being nice.”

“Nice? Don't most nice guys do things with a smile?” He gave Annabel his twisted grin, sticking his tongue out and laughed with vemon. Annabel looked into the eyes of the cruel Northerner and curved her small lips upwards. “W-Wha... you call that a smile?”

“Well, it's nice to see an interesting face.” Shinzou backed away, his wicked grin was now drooped downwards. “What's your name Mister Northerner?”

“It's... Shinzou... Kurzang.”

“That's an odd name... Mister Shinzou.” Annabel caught him again and started massaging.

“You... your the odd one! First you hit me, now your helping me...” Annabel was too focused on healing his leg to take notice of his ranting. “...Will you just listen! I gotta go see Mahlo and ask him what all that was about. You got any clue what that jerk was on abou...OWW!” Annabel dug into leg again, the smile had vanished.

“I'm sorry Mister Shinzou, I do not know much about how sorcery and energy works. I would call Lord Varon to tell you, but he is busy.”

“Oh yeah, like he'd tell me anyway. What's he even doing here, not to just make fun of us that's for sure.”

“An investigation.”

“What kind?” He leaned backwards and relaxed while Annabel continued to work her fingers on his injured leg.

“I'm afraid I cannot tell you, Mister Shinzou.”

Varon marched around the camp with Lirina in tow. He checked inside all the tents, keeping an eye out for anything the least bit suspicious. Seeing the two Northerners in the group served only to lower his opinion of Markus further.

“Why don't you just explain what's going on?” Lirina grabbed a hold on Varon's arm desperately. He sighed and released himself.

“Fine, can we go somewhere private.” Lirina lead him into a larger green tent away from the chattering crowd. They sat down on wooden stools, each taking a canister of water off the large box between them and started the discussion again. Lirina asked her simple question first.

“So, why have you come here?” Varon took a short drink of water, trying not to savour the tangy yet sweet taste.

“The reason I have come here is because Her Highness Yenallesa-Selena Vincent has... disappeared.” Lirina placed her hand over her mouth, keeping in her gasps. Varon waited as she tried to respond to the news.

“My goodness that's... and you think that Markus has something to do with it?”

“Well, did your son not claim to have exacted revenge upon my brother when they last met?” Lirina did not answer suddenly, thinking back to how he acted at the palace. It did seem unusual to her, yet the image of her son being such a criminal could not form in her mind.

“Well... maybe he said somethings, but do you honestly think he'd commit such acts?” Varon got up off his stool and strode around as he talked.

“Those two... your son would allow their kind to travel with his people?”

“WHAT!” Lirina burst out of her stillness. “You can't use that against him like that!” Varon chuckled cynically.

“What kind of a leader would make his people be around them kind?” Lirina slapped around his left cheek, her eyes red with fury.

“How dare you, you petty man!” Varon was becalmed, holding his face away from her. “What would Her Highness say if she saw that? Watching to take whatever cheap shots you can, against a man who has done nothing wrong! He may not be some famous wizard but... don't you dare belittle him like that.” Varon moved away, dented by her wrath he gave up on her.

“Very well...” His voice had become hoar frost. “If you have nothing worth saying, I will simple get the answers from Markus himself. If he is as innocent as you say he is, well then you have nothing to fear, Lady Lirina.” He marched to the exit, no even looking back. Once he had gone, Lirina, still burning hot, sank to her knees in tears.

The peasant crowd stared at Varon as he went past, pretending not to of heard anything. Varon was shaken on the inside, unprepared for such passionate defence, though on the other hand it made him nervously laugh as well. Once he had ascended the hill, he found his servant Annabel still conversing with the injured Shinzou. Varon found the sight disgusting, but could find no words in his state.

“Annabel!” She drove herself back to her master, kneeling down and lowering her head before him.

“My Lord Varon forgive me, I was merely tending to the wounded.”

“Do not worry, I have work for you: keep your eye on things here, especially on Lady Lirina.”

“Yes, My Lord!” She remained knelt until Varon had climbed back onto his horse. Her cold, still face served as his only goodbye as he rode to Rephall with haste. She glanced back at Shinzou, who was still laying on the ground, quietly watching as Varon left.

“Ah, I'm sorry Mister Shinzou.” Her lips curved into a sweet smile for him again. “I have to go now, you should be able to walk soon, but take it easy please.” She took no notice of the disgruntled face that she got in return. Shinzou let out a roaring sigh as she left him. He shuffled around, trying to pull himself up when he could, but it was no good. rolling over, he pressed his hands on the ground, and pushed himself away. He gently stood up on his injured leg, gasping in struggle. He limbed away from the camp in search of his missing friend.


In the sludgy streets of the city, Markus and Kalegar continued to navigate their way to the Halls of Evallence. The putrid smell ached their noses and drained their eyes of water.

“We're not getting anywhere with this!” Markus had to pinch his nostrils from the unbearable air around him.

“If the fire keeps on spreading we'll be trapped again.” Kalegar check his enchanted sword, the red blade was dissolving from the top. “And I can't just keep using this thing.” They made a right turn into an identical alleyway where they could spot the Halls on the faraway hill. Markus wanted to keep his mind off the foul stenches, even if it meant having to speak with a man he found annoyingly self-righteous.

“By the way, you said you business here?”

“That's right, I need to speak with the Jistine council as well.”

“I wouldn't have expected a bodyguard to be doing these kind of things.”

“I figured that, I guess I'm not quiet the obedient dog you probably thought I was.” Kalegar laughed in a cheerful manner that Markus found horrifying to listen too. “What is it you have against me?” Markus closed his eyes, the answer was hard to find.

“You're just... sheltered.” Kalegar stopped dead in his tracks, his lungs could not bare the laughter.

“That's... that's a funny thing for a prince to say.” He lost his breath at the very irony. “Do you honestly think being happy means I'm sheltered?” Markus rolled his eyes around.

“Well you certainly look like you've got it good. Working for a little girl all your life.” Markus scowled and stomped on past him. Kalegar was still in stitches.

“Got it good you say. Heck, coming here has pretty much put my head on the chopping block.” His chuckles had become nervous as he followed behind Markus.

After more running through the rat infested labyrinth, the duo had finally found a large grass clearing with the Halls closer than ever before. They climbed the steep hill, glancing behind them, seeing that the once grand port town was falling to the ground in a hellish blaze. Ships were escaping across rough seas and the demonic cloud started to bury the city with ash. A woman's voice suddenly entered Markus' ear.

“You finally made it.” Markus freaked out and fell over. The woman behind him was the green haired Northerner with a grin across her face.

“YOU!” Markus got up, spiting out the dirt between his teeth. “This isn't a time for messing around.”

“Oh... are you so easily surprised?” Dyarl came over from nearby, annoyed by Elissa inappropriate playfulness.

“Miss Elissa for goodness sake. In case you cannot see, this is an emergency.”

“So what? A few buildings never meant anything.” Markus rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Someone like you wouldn't understand.” He whispered under his breath. Their banter was soon interrupted by demands from mysterious figures from the windows of the Halls.

“Hear me!” He was a tall man, clad in a red and black robe that wrapped around his face, his eyes were completely white. He was directing his speech the man standing at the front of the gates with his soldiers, he wore thick steel armour with a red cape and brown facial hair that made a frame around his face. “If you do not leave within half an hour, we shall begin the execution of the councillors until we find the one we are looking for! We will succeed whatever you choose to do!” The group of ten men being addressed remained adamant in their position. The phantom figure cast out his hand out of the window. “How very foolish of you! Sacrifice the lives of these worthless men if you so wish!” He moved away from their vision, closing the tattered yellow curtains.

“Damn blast!” The leader of the guards stomped his feet, he snorted like a bull. Dyarl recognised the middled aged man.

“That must be Gesisburg. I guess we should speak with him.”

“Do you really think he'll want to?” Kalegar gulped, the sight of the angry knight was uninviting.

“We should just deal with this ourselves.” Elissa sneaked up to the fence, but Markus signalled her to return with a wave of his finger.

“Jason and I shall speak with him. You two shall wait here, understand?” Kalegar nodded, though Elissa merely sat down and sighed. Markus and Dyarl made their way on to the cobblestone road and marched up to the gates. Gesisburg turned his head at the sound of their footsteps, placing his suspecting blue eyes on the sweating men.

“And who are you?” He pointed.

“I am Markus Horuston of Searan.”

“And I am his servant, Jason Dyarl.”

“We have come to help assist you in this situation.” Said Markus, he and Dyarl bowed their heads, but Gesisburg was still weary of them, continuing to direct his finger at them.

“The Dog of Searan and little Jason.” Markus clenched his jaws and smacked Gesisburgs hand out of his face.

“Shut your mouth traitor.” They stared each other off, the air between them was electrifying. “Former general Rastus Gesisburg, commander of the rebellion. Perhaps you should just roll over and die, let us handle this.”

“I don't have the time for you brat.” Gesisburg patted Markus on the head. “You should go home... oh, I'm sorry.” Markus was frozen with rage, unable to even lift a finger. Dyarl came between them, voicing reason.

“Please, Sir Gesisburg, we did not come here to trade blows with you.”

“Why Jason, you sure have grown in ten years, but you're still the same clod you always were.” Dyarl said nothing, instead he focused his eyes, trying to strike the cruel man with his gaze. “Your eyes are too soft for that... but maybe you have changed.”

“My father, a real man taught me all I needed to know since then.” He reached out his hand in offering. “We do not have time for arguing, we must save the hostages correct?” Gesisburg's attitude to him had shifted, looking much more friendlier.

“That's correct.” Gesisburg clasp Dyarl's hand and shook heartily. Markus however, was not prepare to put things aside, even though Gesisburg made the next offer for a half hearted handshake.

“Don't get the wrong idea. I'd never think of touching a traitor like you.”

From other window in the Halls the shadowy figure observed their meeting. The red streaked black robe masked him from head to toe. A second figure approached him, wearing an armour of black chainmail and a crimson face wrap.

“Master Ulysses.” He knelt down and begged for forgiveness. “We are still unable to locate the Kaejiean Ambassador. I am sorry Master Ulysses, truly...”

“It matters not.” The cloaked figure spoke in a raspy voice. “You have given my ultimatum to our guests. If they do not tell us themselves, we shall rid of them and raze his grand structure to the ground.” Ulysses wafted down the cream corridor, talking as he went. “However, I do wish for you took keep your eye upon Jistine's descendent, I sense that he maybe craftier than he appears.”

“Yes, my Master Ulysses.” The minion left his presence. Ulysses now gazed out of another window, spying on the group below with a keen glimmer.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Six: Ulysses.

The city of Rephall was a skeleton of it's once grand self. An intense heat rose from the burning rubble, reaching for the black cloud. A tent had been set up on the hills away from the Halls of Evallence, where inside a map had been laid on the grass. Gesisburg was knelt down, pointing to locations on the large map.

“These are the original plans of the Halls, they should still be accurate. This here is the main entrance.” He pointed towards the south end of the map. Dyarl and Markus were also knelt down, paying attention with fine eyes. “Now, there are other ways into the Halls, some of them unknown to most. However, we know for a fact that the captors used one of the hidden passageways to enter, so they will be expecting us to infiltrate that way.” Dyarl was still lost on a few points.

“So what is it that these people want?” He asked.

“They've given us no demands or ransom. Though we believe they may be seeking an ambassador who was staying in the Halls for a short period of time.”Gesisburg took his finger off the map. Markus still did not understand.

“So what's so important about this person?”

“They came to this port to travel to Garequess. The ambassador from a neutral nation would negotiate peace between Garollen and Pedrotwae. Without this meeting, a war could happen between them.” That point stuck in Markus' mind, but saying nothing he lets Gesisburg continue on about their plans. “Now then, they are most likely keeping any hostages in the dining room. It's the largest room in the building with only one entrance.”

“But how do we get inside?” Asked Dyarl.

“Well, like I said: There are a few entrances which are hidden, and they came through one of them. I could gamble that while they are aware of that way, they do not know of the others. But,” Gesisburg explained. Markus pondered on that idea for a short moment.

“Is there anything else we could try?” He said.

“You could try coming with me.” A man entered the tent, addressing Markus. The three of them looked up, seeing a lock of blue hair flapping along with the tent doors.

“Lord Varon?” Dyarl tilted his head. Varon placed his right hand infront of himself, and drew a circle in the air. A while circle flashed rapidly.

Call forth the hunting snake,
Many prisoners may we take.

Twenty One: Serpent's Hold.

The three of them found their bodies being squeezed by and invisible force. It felt like thick ropes were binding them. The three of them rolled on the grass, trying to struggle free from the mystic force. Varon dragged Markus out of the time, taking him somewhere more private. Dyarl and Gesisburg were left, shouting for help. Once they had reached a short distance from the tent, Varon threw Markus back down, giving him a few scraps off the ground.

“What the heck are you doing?” Markus yelled.

“Markus Horuston of Searan, you are under arrest as a suspect of an abduction.”

“WHAT!” Markus tried to move his arms, balling up his fists. “Why don't you try actually telling me what this is about?!” Varon did not answer, but instead picked him put again.

“If you tell me where Her Highness is, I might spare some mercy for you.” Markus wormed around, trying anything to break free.

“Listen! I don't know where she is, so you can let me go.” Varon sighed, pointing his finger point blank in Markus' face.

“I am afraid that is not good enough. If you cannot give me an acceptable answer,” his finger cracked with lightning. “I shall just have to interrogate you further.” Markus' throat closed up with one large gulp.

“Now now Lord Varon, don't you think that's a bit extreme?” Kalegar planted his hand on Varon's right shoulder. Varon let go of Markus, calming down his furious finger tip. He looked over his shoulder, giving Kalegar a sharp glare.

“Markus is a prime suspect: He harbours intentions against His Majesty and...”

“He's innocent,” Kalegar did not even flinch at the anger of the wizard. “for you see, I have been travelling with him for a few days now. I encountered him near the borders, I too suspected him, so I went along with him to see what I could find.” Varon had calmed down, giving complete attention to listening. “I looked under every crack, and found nothing. I assure you that Lord Markus is not the one you are after.” Varon was speechless, turning back to Markus, whom was baffled. He took a deep breath.

“I... I understand.” Varon spread out his hand above Markus and focused hard. The invisible bonds vanished, earning a gasp of relief from Markus. Varon stroked back his frizzing hair and knelt down before his former prisoner. “I... am truly sorry for my actions here. I beseech you for forgiveness.” His sombre plea made Markus fidget around. Varon, with nothing else to say, left them to free the other two in the tent.

“I guess I should thank you.” Markus looked up at the white knight. Kalegar extended his hand out to return Markus to his feet. “Though I'm surprise you'd go as far as to lie for me.”

“I thought I told you, I still needed to thank you.” Kalegar replied. Markus pondered as Varon came out the tent, loud cursing could be heard, but Varon ignored it.

“Wait there Varon!” Markus grinned as he approached him. “Maybe we could work something out. Here's the deal, you help us out, you know: a few tricks here and there. And in return, I'll forgive you.”

“No.” Varon answered with a plain face. Markus stumbled back.

“But... but...”

“Finding Her Highness is of far greater priority to me.” Varon walked away, but was stopped by more requests.

“Please, Lord Varon. I understand you have a task of incredible importance,” Dyarl caught his attention by kneeling down before him. “but the lives of many are at stake. Even a drop of assistance would prove vital to us.” Varon sighed, inspecting them both with a fine gaze.

“Half an hour,” Markus and Dyarl perked up with a smile. “I shall grant you my aid for half an hour, as my apology.” He sat on the floor and began counting the seconds with his eyes closed. Markus started explaining his simple plan.

“All you have to do is use that spell or whatever to get us, and the other men inside the dining room and then...”

“That is impossible, unless I can synchronise combination seventy five with another. Alone, I can only use that spell on myself or one other person.” His explanation made Markus curse and stomp his feet.

“For goodness sake! You offer to help, and you can't do anything! Are you ever not against me!?” Varon got back up on his feet.

“Well, if you must know, I already have a plan.” He smiled and stroked his hair back. “I shall simply use that spell to locate the hostages unseen. Once I have reached them, I will use another spell to keep everyone in the room suppressed to the floor. At the same time, Gesisburg's men will storm the halls and kill the foe.”

“That might work, but I still don't know.”

“I doubt you'd think of anything better in time.” Elissa said, she had seen everything as she sat on the top of the tent. “You may as well just do it.”

“I guess your right, whatever works fastest.” Markus nodded, but Dyarl just let out a big puff of breath.

“You're not actually going to do it JUST because she says so?” He asked. Markus ignored him, addressing Gesisburg about the plan.

“Get your men back in action right now. It's the only plan we have right now, I won't have any arguments over it.” Gesisburg tilted his head with a raised eyebrow.

“You forget your place Horuston. I'm in charge here.” He walked over to Varon, who was still counting the time pass. “Lord Varon, what are the chances of your plan working?”

“I can't say for sure. But with enough luck... it should claim victory.” Varon moved away, hoping for them to hurry up. Gesisburg scratched his chin, and before long he had reached his decision.

“We'll do it!” He raised his fist in the air and yelled out.

“What? Why didn't you just...?” Markus twitched his fingers that desired to be around his throat.

“Do you think someone like me would take orders from you? It would be an insult to everything I represent. Come Little Jason, we must get a move on!” He charged away to rally his troops. Kalegar approached the tent.

“Come on, let's not waste anymore time.” He said, Markus agreed, but Dyarl was thinking about other things.

“Miss Elissa, are you fighting as well? Or just stay there?”

“Staying here.” He pats the bandages over her face. Dyarl frowned and scratched his head. “Seriously, I can't fight.” She laid back and relaxed.

“Just leave her and lets get this over with.” Markus stormed off with Kalegar in tow. Dyarl still gazed at the tent roof, that woman lay there without a care. He knew it was pointless to ask her anything, so Dyarl went to join with the rest of his friends.

A group of twenty men were over the hill, preparing their spears for battle. Gesisburg stood at the peak of the hill and commanded.

“Get into line men!” He raised his fist. They all stood up and saluted.

“YES SIR!” They called, gathering into rows of five.

“We may have lost the city, but we won't lose what matters. We shall storm the Halls and take them back!” He drew his sword and pointed it to the sky. “IN THE NAME OF JISTINE!” The men cheered and followed their leader in the march to battle.

“Those men must really trust him to follow him like that.” Kalegar watched them as they moved out.


From the windows, Uysses watched as the forces came down the hill between the ruins and the Halls. He moved down the corridor until he reached a wide set of stairs. Two of his servants stood at the bottom.

“It would seem that they have a plan. A direct attack is coming.” He extended an arm that was wrapped in a worn bandage. “Prepare for it.”

“Should we kill the hostages Master?”

“No... using them will work no longer, their plan is clearly something more. Let me see.” He drew purple runes into the space in front of him. An eye with many tentacles waving out if it. He hummed a tune, the words were unintelligible.

Ruevr So.

He lowed his arm and there was silence. A purple beam of light flowed from his eyes and escaped through the walls. The two servants looked across the room, waiting to see what would happen.

“I see now.” Uysses regained conciousness. “Varon is with them.”

“What does that mean Master?”

“He is preparing a spell away from the rest. He could be planning to teleport inside.” He stroked the end of robe with his right hand. The men gasped.

“Should we kill them now Master?”

“No, do not. Instead, get all of our forces to engage little puppet boy and his merry men. I can handle Lord Varon.” He spread out his arms and mediated. He used both hands to then draw a pair of amber wings that shone brighter and brighter.

Break apart the flesh, and become as the spirits,
Be boundless and everywhere.
See the land of you desire and go find it,
None shall bar your path there.
Ride the lightning and winds through the sky,
Be anywhere your eye could stare.

Seventy Five, Pormatou's Wings.

The light filled his body, changing his form into a glowing gold orb. He shrank and vanished from the sight of his men who were began organising the others for combat.

Ulysses was stood in the same place as always, but himself and the world around him were a ghostly blue. He hovered above the reception area, crossing his arms and humming. Varon entered the Halls, walking through the doors that stayed shut. He looked up at the dark figure in mid air.

“You must be the one who was watching me. Using an unnumbered technique... impressive but foolish.” He walked on, ascending the stairs. “Thankfully for you, I have no time to waste here.”

“Why the rush? I no longer have any intention of killing the captives, and my men will not defeat your allies. You may as well go and keep looking for your dear niece.” He floated toward Varon, who was ignoring him. “Wise of you, but I do wish you to stop.”

Erover fusocin nox octisn,
Hid ex lagiac Recber.
Quamnun.

Umbraoctis.

Black smoke poured from his finger tips and engulfed them both. Varon drew a shortsword from his belt and stepped around, but he could see nothing past the curtain of mist. Ulysses' fist appeared from nowhere and smacked Varon into the wall. He stood back up, with his left hand he started drawing runes.

Take this power and burn...

Another fist came through the mist. Varon stopped his incantation to swiftly cast a simpler spell: a click of his glowing fingers, causing Ulysses' attack to be knocked off course, hitting the wall. Varon thrust his blade through the mist, seemingly stabbing something. The fog washed away, revealing that Ulysses had grab the blade with his left hand, only inches from his face. He threw the blade away from him, blood dripped from his fingers. Grabbing Varon he pulled him down through the floor. Through bricks and soil they travelled downwards into the basement level. Varon broke free of his grasp and aimed for a second strike. Ulysses flew back and dodge. Running his fingers up and down his blood soaked arm he spoke another spell. His wound lit up white.

Sixty Three: Gumiomucro.

The blood on this left arm was pulled into his over hand, hardening into a scabby sword. The Pormatou's Wings had end, returning them both to the normal world where the basement walls were dark and stone. They swords clashed, neither one able to best the other. The leap back from each other to take a breather. Varon hurried to cast the next attack, writing a red rune.

Take this power and burn brightly,
and burst into the air frightfully.

Twenty five, Incendia cannon.

Searing energy began building up in his aiming hand. Ulysses brought forth his left and and chanted.

Erover fusocin nox octisn,
Hid ex lagiac Recber.
Quamnun.

Umbraoctis.

The black smoke shot from his fingers again, cloaking himself. Varon blasted a fire ball into the smoke, exploding on the other end. The smoke had cleared revealing nothing, Ulysses had vanished.

Varon wasted no time in finding a way out. Running down a long tunnel, he saw a set of stairs that lead up. He slowed down as he approached them, keeping his eyes on the move. He placed one foot on the first step before feeling disturbed. He swung around, blocking an chop from Ulysses' blood sword. They struggled and panted, their blades scrapping together.

“You seek to ignite war, why? Is peace not enough for you?”

“Is that what you call peace? Trying to freeze time, letting people live in eternal fear of the war.” Ulysses' sword started to crack as he spoke. “Though, one who is afraid of the future would not understand the importance of progress.” The blood sword smashed into shards, and Varon gave Ulysses' cloak a tear. The battered figure flew back and knelt down, panting.

“Ulysses, did you think that a few words would beat me?” Varon said, placing is sword at Ulysses' neck. Ulysses' laughed, bring chills to the room.

“So, for how long had you figured me out?”

“Killing you would be wrong, but...” Varon drew back his sword for the killing blow.

“But you can't have me running my mouth.” Ulysses leaped back, barely dodging the blow. He summon another wave of mist from his fingers to get away. “It would seem that the Kaejiean ambassador was out of my grasp quite sometime ago. But it was good to see you again. Good luck finding your dear niece.” His voice faded away, leaving Varon alone in the dank basement.

The large double doors at the entrance we cracking, a strong force pounded against it on the other side. The hooded warriors of Ulysses drew their swords and formed a defensive line.

“We should just slaughter them hostages, that'll show them.”

“Fool, Master Ulysses commanded us not to. You must obey his judgement.”

“Where is he?” The doors burst open and the armoured soldiers charged in. Both sides collided, and many masked men were gored upon sharp spears. More of Ulysses' men came from the sides to flank the enemy, but found themselves on the end of a second charge lead by Dyarl and Gesisburg. One attempted to attack Dyarl, swinging their sword for his neck. Dyarl parried and swiped the deflected sword out of his foe's hand. As he tried to back away, the masked man felt Dyarl's sword piece his stomach. Gesisburg drew his claymore with both hands and swung with incredible force: bringing another three to their knees.

“Goodness, you sure don't get worse with age.” Dyarl watched his attacks.

“Well, haven't you got a good eye.” Gesisburg laughed, even as he blocked more attacks from incoming foe. “Looking for a gap in my moves?” He knocked another foe down with one push.

“No! Nothing like that!”

“Don't be shy. Your father and I considered each other rivals. It's only natural you'd see me as an opponent.” He stopped while overlooking his troops. Kalegar led the main group up the stairs where they continued to slay the enemy. A pair of Ulysses' men fled the battle, running up the stairs and down the corridor. When an exhausted Varon appeared before them, they charged with their swords. Varon held out his palm forward and focused tripping the two men forward with an invisible force.

The air is standing still,
Strike the foe with incredible will.

Twenty Seven: Storm Fangs.

White lightning pulsed from his hand, connecting to the pair on the floor. The agonising shocks continued as more lightning came forth, burning their bodies. The spell came to an abrupt halt, releasing the two smoking corpses. Varon careful stepped over them, wafting the smell away with his hand. He meet with Kalegar at the top of the stairs.

“Lord Varon,” he looked at Varon's wore cloak.

“The councillors are safe, you and I are done here.” He descended without giving a second look back, utterly focused.

“Forgive me Lord Varon, but this is where we part. I still,” Kalegar was stunned when he saw Varon ignoring him. “okay, good luck!” He signed and turned away, Varon had disappeared from the scene.

Not long after the victorious battle, the hostages were found in the ground floor dining room. The opened the tall double doors to find more than thirty men and women bound on the polished floor. The soldiers all cheered with relief but the hostages were in much panic as they were being untied.

“Sir Gesisburg... the city.” Said a grey haired, middle aged man.

“It is gone Sir Jistine. We have yet to perform any death count Sir.” He knelt down and lowed his head. “I'm truly sorry.”

“There's no need for that Rastus...” Jistine forced a smile.

“What about the ambassador?” Gesisburg interrupted in quirky style.

“He's safe. I managed to show Jaeri a way out before they caught me. He's on route to St Jistine's Mount.” Gesisburg let out a sigh and relaxed. Markus was stood a short distance away, listening in on their conversion. He thought on the situation, not realising the hand tapping him on the shoulder. The tapping became harder, before the hand simply slapped him around the face. Markus gasped and swung his fist.

“So, things turned out good?” Elissa caught his hand and smirked.

“When did you... no, it's not good.” He continued to think, not even trying to free is hand. “But I'm glad your here actually. I have just the task for someone like you.” He lead her out of the room to speak in private, dragging her around the door.

Dyarl, like many other, looked at the ruined city through the tall windows. The fire still raged, and dark clouds continued swirling and mixing. A woman came and stood beside him, she was the same height but was a good eight years older. She wore her short brown hair tied back, and kept her sly eyes behind a pair of glasses. She wore a plain, but smart beige dress with a black belt and a silver necklace.

“You wouldn't happened to have the time on you?” She asked, straightening her glasses with her left hand.

“Erm... well, last I can recall, it's late afternoon.” Dyarl smiled and faced her, but was surprised by the familiar woman. “Ursula!” He jumped back at pointed at the now grinning woman. Jason took a breather to calm down. “It's been ten years, you sure look different.”

“You've barely changed at all Jason.” She place her hand on his shoulder pad and shuck him. Dyarl chuckled but at the same time, he tried to back away. When he look into her eyes through the glasses, he could stop droplets of water forming. “It's... I'm glad you're alright. When I heard about the attack on Searan, I couldn't stop wondering if you were safe.”

“Come on now, you didn't have to worry so much. We should really be thinking about Rephall now.” He smiled sheepishly.

“It's a tragedy.” Ursula looked back through the window and watched the fires burn as she spoke. “That was our largest port, and Jistine barely produces enough harvest to properly feed the entire population.”

“You've still got imports from Bremoe.” Dyarl scratched his head.

“But we greatly value our... partnership with Dalbron. I suppose the important thing to do is rehouse the people.” She analysed Dyarl's fiddling with his fingers and the way he move his eyes away from her. “You came here to ask us a favour, didn't you?”

“Prince Markus and I brought a few people with us. But it's really not important right now.” He could see the irritation behind her glasses, a small vein had appeared on her forehead.

Markus had re-entered the room alone, seemingly happier than before. He came up to Dyarl, unaware of the conversation he was having.

“Ah Jason, isn't it about time we spoke to some of these people about our business here?” He had completely ignored Ursula's presence.

“I don't think this is the best time.” Dyarl replied. Markus put his hands on his hips and sighed.

“But we came here for a reason, and we cannot let our people down, right?”

“I'm afraid it doesn't work like that.” Ursula glared at him, tilting her head up slightly, as though to look down her nose at him. “Your not in Searan anymore, you can't just ask for things and get them Your Highness.” She frowned at turned to Dyarl. “It was nice to see you again Jason, such a shame you're still clinging to that family.” She left them, making sure not to notice Markus' taunting as she passed him. Markus stringed a few curses together and blew off some steam. He glanced around the room, noticing someone missing.

“I wonder where Kalegar went to?” He still looked around, trying to find the white knight.

“It does seem odd for someone like him to just disappear like that. Maybe he just decided to wait before speaking to the Councillors, like we should.”

“I don't recall asking you when the right time to speak with them is.” Markus walked off and dismissed Dyarl.

“Well, it is my job to give that kind of... Markus?” He followed behind, trying hard to regain his attention.

On the outside, walking away from the Halls and the city up the grassy hill was Kalegar. He dusted off his cape and inspected his stained blade. At the top, he met with a figure, cloaked with a brown hood.

“This didn't turn out well. Forgive me.” He bowed and sheathed his sword. “What do you wish to do now?” He figure put down their hood, revealing themselves to be the blue haired princess in the flesh. She bore signs of rough nights, small grey bags under her eyes.

“We should travel to St Jistine's Mount. The Councillors will be heading there aswell.” She yawned and pulled her hood up again.

“Your Highness you need to rest, it has been a long journey for you.” He knelt down to take out a bed roll roll a large bag that laid on the ground.

“That's not necessary Rai, I'm,” she yawned again. “perhaps I should take a rest.” She laid herself on the thin mattress and drew the blanket over herself. Kalegar sat down and kept a keen watch on the surrounds to keep her safe. After a short while he noticed that Yenallesa was still wide awake.

“Is there something wrong, Your Highness?”

“That's a horrible scene, I've never seen anything like it.” She shuffled around, keeping her eyes fixed on the ruined city.

“Indeed.” Spoke a raspy voice. They both turned to find the cloaked Ulysses was stood behind them. “A tragedy really.”

“You!” Kalegar yelled, drawing his sword from his belt and pointed it squarely at Ulysses. “You're with them aren't you?” Ulysses stroked his hood and chuckled.

“There is no need to be so hostile, I simply thought I might warn you two.”

“What about?” Kalegar still held his sword out.

“Did you think you had Varon fooled? He probably suspects you already, it's only a matter of time he will come for you.” He began to walk away from them, when Yenallesa leap from the bed and called to him.

“You know my Uncle!?” She tried to run to him, but was catch on the shoulder by Kalegar. Ulysses waved his hand back at them as they grew further apart.

“Worry not dear, I just thought I'd give you that warning.” He started to fade away into the gathering mist, still waving his arm out. Neither one of them spoke, but instead they sat down and tried to rest.

The Royal Castle of Searan had become fully enshrouded in mist. The courtyard was still littered with the melted corpses of the wall archers. Outside, rows of soldiers without their armour were making laps around the castle walls. As they passed the entrance for the next lap, Elbenor would command them.

“Ten more, then prepare yourselves for sentry duties.” She wore a long white dress which had a tint of green, the long sleeves trailed at the ends, hiding her fingers.

“Yes, House Lord!” The men yelled as the passed her, making sure that their posture was straight as possible. A man came out of the fog behind Elbenor, he had thick, short greying hair and a goatee. His gentle blue eyes hid behind a pair of slim glasses that had a gold rim on the top. He wore tidy brown robe with a belt carrying many rolls of parchment.

“House Lord, I've bring messages of some significance.” His voice was clear and smooth. He took one of the scrolls from his belt and unrolled it. “First of all: Lieutenant Nolman appears to have met an unfortunate end. It would seem that he was engaged in seedy practices...”

“I would like a full report on this, and begin searching for a replacement. ” Elbenor's interruption had not irritated him in the least.

“No worries House Lord, I have already prepared a short list of potential people. It's such a shame that Nolman could not follow simple orders.” He continued to read down the scroll, sliding it through his fingers. “Lord Valenhearth has made a request that you to gather some information and send it to him.” He pulled out a second scroll and skimmed it. “It looks rather complex, perhaps I should handle this.” He smiled.

“What are implying Arhen?” She crossed her arms.

“It looks like a time consuming task, I'm sure that you would be too busy for such things.” He kept a straight and innocent face to temper he anger, but Elbenor continued to pout.

“Let me see that!” She asked. Arhen handed out the scrolls, which she swiped out of his light grip. Elbenor tried to read each word carefully, trying to grasp the meanings of the many long terms. “What the heck is dropping things off walls meant to prove?” Her face started sweating.

“I believe he wishes to see if his erm... 'pulling force', to simply put it, is the same strength everywhere.”

“ENOUGH! You go and sort this out!” Elbenor shoved the scroll back into Arhen's hands. “Who could honestly care about some pulling force? I mean, where is it?” She stomped her feet.

“I don't think it works that way.” Arhen corrected his glasses, and straightened out the scrunched scrolls. “Moving on: I also received a message from Lord Taslsin,” he paused while Elbenor moaned at the mention of that name. “but it was merely the usual, so I did away with it.”

“Thank you, anything else” She said, almost with a smile on her face.

“Well, there was one last thing: High Priest Reitzo wishes to confirm whether you will be attending this years Founding Day celebrations at the capital. Since you intend to stay here at Searan for as long as possible, should I tell him you will not be attending?”

“That's right.” She nodded her head.

“I will write the reply and have it delivered for you House Lord.” Arhen rolled up his scrolls and bowed.

“Thank you Arhen.” She dismissed him and walked away, entering back into the court yard. As she disappeared from his sight, Arhen waved her farewell.

As Elbenor walked down the stone path, passed the thick hedges, she encountered a squad of ten archers who were packing away their bows and target boards. The sound of her footsteps caught their attention, stopping their conversation dead.

“Who ordered you to end your practice early?” Elbenor clenched her fists, causing the men to straighten up.

“Well, the conditions are too bad House Lord.”

“Exactly! All the more reason for you to practice now!” She started yelling, and the men trembled. “If you cannot perform well in the worst of conditions, then perhaps you are unworthy to fight in the name of Garollen!”

“But House Lord, we can't possibly do it, it's impossible.” One man was able to summon the courage to speak up.

“You cannot do it because it's impossible? Then impossibility is the enemy, defeat it!” She stared into all their eyes, trying to instil her message. The men did not reply, they looked each other nervously. “I order to you defeat it!”

“Yes! House Lord!” They saluted in unison, and started unpacking their equipment again. She left them to their practice, heading towards the inside.

Elbenor continued down the long stone corridor, a red carpet mapped the floor that forked to side paths, an exit could be seen at the far end. She now stood in a small garden surrounded by tall walls on all sides,the sky was blocked out by the fog. The clearing way filled by rows of gravestones. She inspected them, reading each name was she passed. She stopped at the final grave on the final row and read the name again and again. Rythia E. Horuston.

“It's been too long since I've visited, please forgive me Rythia.” Elbenor knelt down and rubbed the patches of dirt off the gravestone. “I would have come more often, but I kept thinking about what you would have said: visiting a grave is a waste of time, it's just the most depressing way of remembering someone.” She laughed once before returning to her usual demeanour. “I'm sorry, but this is the it has to be. I know you'd tell me not to; but if you love Markus, then rejoice that you will be seeing him again, even though he may deserve that less than living. And, I will set everything right with Searan, I promise it's in good hands.” She sat back on the damp grass and stared upwards. “Hmm...maybe I should sent for some emerald roses,” she shut her eyes and smiled. “those would nice around here. I should go and see if Arhen's still around.” She rose back up, not noticing the wet patch down the back of her dress, and left the small garden.

When Elbenor had made her way back to the main courtyard, she found the archers still trying to practice, and the other men were ready to receive new orders.

“We are ready to be given our positions House Lord.” One of the centre men told her.

“I wish for you to guard Ser Wain, not far south of here. You are not likely to encounter any major threats, a few scouting parties and drafted peasants, meagre resistance. Go now! And if you see Arhen on your way, tell him to return here as soon as possible.” She turned around and left.

Elbenor had take one of the left corridors to find a staircase. Once she had reached the next floor she checked all the rooms until she found the one she wished to be in. It was a dust covered bedroom with a large white canopy bed. Wardrobes and chests that had been kept shut for years, with no keys to be found anywhere. Elbenor laid herself onto the bed, but there was no comfort. It felt like daggers in her throat, but she remained on the bed nonetheless.

“I can see why they didn't want to see this room again. It's hard to believe this is where...” She looked over to a mirror on the other side of the room. Though she tried hard to keep an apathetic face, she could not hold back the thin stream of tears.

[Shuuda]

Chapter Seven: Hawk and Black Horse.

In a small dark room, a man found himself tied to a chair. He was thin, with dark skin and black hair that had two tails running in front of his shoulders. He did not struggle, but he stayed wide awake. He could hear footsteps approaching. A door opened and light shone on his face.

“You doing alright?” A woman's voice asked.

“What do you think.” His voice was quiet and worried. The door shut again and the woman came closer, he could not see her face. “What is it you want?” The man shuffled around, trying to move his arms.

“I don't want anything from you... Jaeri wasn't it?” The woman put her face point blank of his own. He could not keep his eye's off her bandaged mug. “What?!” Elissa grunted.

“It's... just you face, it's...” before he could finish, Elissa backed up and punched him across the face, sending his spit to the other side of the room.

“Oh, I'm sorry if I hit you, I have trouble seeing.” Elissa scoffed. She took out a small lump of bread out of her pocket and shoved it into Jaeri's mouth. “I'll be back later, if your lucky I might not accidentally hit you again.” She left the room, which was infact an old shack in a forest which no path lead to. It was a cool morning, and the air was damp. After a short walked, she found herself on the edge of the woods. There were many fields of churned mud, and in the distance was a camp of tents.

The peasants were lined up in a disorderly cue to get their small rashons for the day. Markus was stood on the grass next to his tent wearing his black top, choking down a slice of solid bread. When Dyarl walked nearby, he called out to him.

“Soooo any word on whether it's the right time to talk to them yet?”

“Please, their're going through a time of hardship and...”

“And we're not?!” Markus leaped up. “I swear that we are not staying here much longer!”

“It's not so bad here.” Dyarl smiled, but it only increased Markus' frown.

“Not so bad! Let me tell you just three of the things that bad about this place: Firstly, wolves travel near here at night. Secondly, the farmers won't stop giving me an earful over being here. And finally, the mud is most dreadful here after last nights rain. Oh, and rats! Always rats!”

“Well, atleast we found somewhere to stay, look on the bright side.” Dyarl said.

“Oh yes! The bright side that is of course being surrounded by empty fields!” Markus sighed and took another bite of his breakfast.

“Well, St Jistine's Mount is not too far away. Perhaps we could make a short trip to see what the situation is like.”

“We? I'm sorry, but if I am to go, I wish to take some others with me instead of you.” Markus smirked when he noticed how surprised Dyarl was.

“Who do you have in mind?” He asked, raising his eyebrow. Markus glanced around the camp, until some familiar figures came into his line of sight.

“Aha! Gerald and that woman: two lovely faces to liven the day up.”

“Why them... and Mrs Henrietta has a name.” Dyarl flustered, with a hint of red on his cheeks. Markus came up to him and firmly patted Dyarl's shoulder.

“Funny, you always make a joke about me, but it would seem you're the lecherous one.” He chuckled as he watched Dyarl blush deepen. Markus left him to calm down, and gave his offer to Gerald and Henrietta.

“How would two like to accompany me to the capital?”

“Oh really Your Highness! Yes please!” Henrietta burst out. “I-I-I've just got to visit their market! It's really great! I hope I get a copy of The Encyclopaedia of Ceran History: Volumn Three.”

“Don't you already have that?”Gerald scratched his head and counted with his other hand.

“No no, I've only got first two volumes and Arhen Grimfold's Third Era of Cera.”

“I doesn't matter what you have, I wish to hurry.” Markus tapped his foot while he wait for their response. Gerald was stuff thinking to himself, stumbling around.

“What about Jason, isn't he coming?” Henrietta asked, she had caught Dyarl in the corner of her eye, walking away around a tent.

“He's... got things to do here. So, will you be joining me? I'll be leaving shortly.” Markus' tapping hastened. Henrietta nodded and took her husband back into their tent, appearing intimidated by Markus' expressions. When Markus turned around, he saw that his mother was brooding in wait. “Mother, is there a problem?”

“I believe that is what I should be asking. If you are going to the Mount, you should have asked me to join you, I could speak with the councillors for you.” Her answer puzzled Markus, who took his time before speaking again.

“Please mother, I wouldn't want to put you in harms way.” He spoke with a much calmer tone than usual.

“Forgive, but I shall not accept any other option.” She could still notice the confusion. “My son, you are not the only one who wishes to have their home back. Leadership is a terrible burden, especially in these times.” She tried to reassure him with a warm smile, but Markus was preoccupied with her words.

“Very well. But I cannot bring Jason; after all, someone has to keep the people safe from those Northerners.” He laughed.

“I was hoping you might do the honour of protecting me, but I'll be sure to try and blend in.” She laughed lightly with him before leaving to change dress.

Markus guided his eye's around the camp, paying close attention in between the tents. He caught Elissa sneaking near the east side. They made eye contact but nothing more before she vanished into a green tent.

He continued looking around, seeing the people in their tatty clothes, feasting on whatever food they had. He then looked down his own clothes, scrubbing out the dirt and fiddling with the small holes at the seams. Cautiously avoiding detection, he moved back to his own tent. Inside a sack were what was left of his clothes: the white coat, a second shirt hat seemed to atleast smell better than the one he wore and two pairs of trousers. After a quick change he stepped outside again, wearing a different set of clothes, trying to hide whatever holes there were with his coat. He met with the rest of the group, who waited nearby with backpacks and coats.

Dyarl came out of his tent just in time to see Markus' and Lirina leave with the others. He was prepared to chase after them when he caught another figure in the corner of his eye; Elissa was skulking around. He slipped inbetween a pair of tents to intercept her. When he rushed out in front of her, Elissa stepped back to head in the opposite direction; but it was too late.

“And where have you been Miss Elissa?” He crossed his arms and sighed.

“Ah, Markus wanted me to do look out duty for the night,” she yawned, trying to make it as convincing as possible. “I was just heading for some sleep.”

“Your guile is second to none Miss Elissa.” He raised his eye brow and lent forward, but Elissa merely giggled.

“Why Jason, you're making me sound like a rotten egg!”

“And why should you be that lucky?” Dyarl clenched his fist at her. “You disappeared after the battle, and now to turn up with blood on your clothes.” He pointed to her skirt where small splatters of blood and sweat had set in.

“Oh that! Well, I was hungry so I found a few bandits for a meal. The blood gets places.” She tried to walk away, but Dyarl persisted with his chastising.

“I'm afraid that such attitude will not be tolerated. You have yet to even explain what you are doing here and...”

“I told you,” Elissa swung back round “I'm helping Markus.”

“Someone of your nature is unfit to train His Majesty in fighting.”

“His Majesty huh...and I suppose the one who is fit to teach him would be you?” They stared each other down, their muscles tensed up. “Since your feelings are as clear, there is only one way to solve our differences: we shall fight, first to drop their sword loses. The winner will be the one to teach His Majesty how to fight.”

“Since you have proposed the challenge, I shall accept. There is to an hour of preparation before we meet at say... that ploughed field.” He pointed to the north. They both agreed and left in the opposite direction from each other.

Neither of them had realised that Mahlo had been eavesdropping on them. He stepped out from between the tents, struggling to keep his footing in the mud. He slipped and fell towards the ground with a shriek, but something had caught his arm before his face reached the mud.

“Looks like she's not the only one who can disappear.” Shinzou pulled him up and continued to speak. “Where the heck did you go? You got a spell that makes you unseeable or what?”

“I just wanted to look around on my own.” Mahlo forced a smile.

“I guess that's what you came for. But this doesn't have anything with what that man said does it? He must have a yiezr's parse for a mouth to speak to you like that.”

“Please Shinzou, it's nothing like that. I was just a bit shaken by that spell, and you were injured so I didn't want to be a bother.” Mahlo back away, chuckling to reassure Shinzou.

“Well, didn't sound like what he was saying was friendly banter. I ain't having that! If I ever see him again, I'll make him sorry for ever living.” He gripped his blade and swung it in the air.

“Please, spilling blood just on my account? What would Mezu say?”

“Don't try that, you know Mezu would cry if see saw someone putting you down!” Shinzou grabbed him by the collar. “Do even know how much she thinks about you?!”

“I know... but she's just a girl, she'll grow up.”

“And what, find nobody better?”

“I'm flattered, but it's a personal problem. You two would not need to worry.” Mahlo still had a smile plastered to his face. Shinzou let him down gently before limping off, kicking up the mud and pouting.

“First that damn woman won't stop bugging me and now this!”


In the field of wet mud, Dyarl and Elissa met up again. Dyarl carried two swords with him, one of which he handed over to his confident opponent.

“I see you've been relaxed, you're not even wearing protection.” He said. Elissa clutched the sword he gave her. They both stood silently, pointing their swords with both hands. Elissa moved first; she sloshed through the mud to get away. She looked back to find Dyarl still stood in the same spot: so she came to a halt. Dyarl began to walk towards her, pressing his feet hard into the ground. As he closed on her, Elissa scooped up balls of mud and threw them at his face; laughing as Dyarl wiped them away. Their blades finally met when Dyarl's slash was blocked; but the force of his swing pushed her back, slipping on the mud. Elissa fell to the ground, but rolled away before her neck was at blade point. A moment she had gotten up, another attack came at her. She parried and stepped back, panting. With a desperate lunge, Elissa thrust her sword at his neck. Dyarl sidestepped her attack and grab a hold of her wrist, trying to squeeze the sword out of her hand. Elissa pulled hard, unable to free herself.

“Just drop your sword, you'd be dead in a real fight.” Dyarl sighed, but Elissa still resisted. He let go of her wrist, pushing her to the ground in the process. Once she had stood up, their blades collided again; both pushed as their feet slid in the mud. They clashed several times before Dyarl slipped onto his kneels. Elissa readied to point her sword at his neck, but was tripped up when Dyarl grabbed her leg. He stood back up and trap her sword under his foot. Elissa looked up to meet the point of his sword in front of her.

“Fine fine I give!” She moaned as her hand let go of the sword. “Goodness sake!”

“You played pretty foul and still lost, I guess that settles the matter.” Dyarl offered her a hand getting up. Elissa had got up and began wiping the mud off her clothes.

“Pfft, what's foul play?” She grinned.

“I choose this place to fight because I knew you would pull a trick. Seeing that I was not mistaken only proves my skills over yours.” Dyarl waved her goodbye as he walked away. “I hope that you did not hit your head too hard, I wouldn't want you to forget your bet.”

“Yeah yeah! You can teach him whatever you want!” She sat back down, muttering under her breath “Not like that's anything to do with me.” She chuckled. A drop of rain knocked her on the head, grey clouds were gathering in the sky.


Markus stopped on the hilltop. In the far distance he could see a large city, built in rings around a tall green hill.

“My goodness! There it is!” Henrietta leaped up behind him and pointed. Gerald and Lirina were much more relaxed, welcoming the chance to rest.

“So Mister Markus, how much longer?” Gerald asked.

“About an hour or so to...” Markus was interrupted when four men came passed. They were dressed in light armour with backpacks of travelling equipment. “Hey! You're scouts aren't you?” Markus called out to them.

“We've no time to speak; and urgent matter needs our attention.”

“What's going on?” Gerald leant on Markus' shoulder, without noticing his annoyance.

“An important foreign ambassador was en route to the Mount, and has not shown up. His guard was found dead; stabbed in the back.” Once the man had explained, everyone looked shocked.

“I'm guessing that the council is in an uproar over this.” Markus scratched his head.

“If that's true, we might have a hard time trying to speak with them.” Lirina told him, remaining stern. Markus turned to her and replied.

“But heading back now would be a wasted effort.” Markus remarked. The scouts left them, taking a near side road towards the coast, only Gerald and Henrietta seemed to notice. “So we shall press on.”

“Very well, but please allow me to decide on our actions once we arrive.” Lirina turned around to tell the others, only to find they had already gone ahead. She was dumbfounded, but then quietly followed behind. Gerald and Henrietta were chattering merrily, lightly pushing at one another and laughing. Markus and Lirina walked silently, listening to happy couple.

“Is there a problem mother?” Markus' looked at her sorrow filled face.

“It's nothing dear, I was just thinking.” She changed her face into a soft smile.

“About father?”

“Well, more than just that... he's still alive, the King.” Her eyes gazed into the sky longingly. Markus turned away to hide his suspecting expression.

“Of course he is, no matter what happens.” He smiled, but it only made Lirina more uneasy.

Once they reached the city gates, a pair of guards approached them.

“Due to recent events you will be required to hand over all arms to us.” They both extended their hands out to collect. Markus took a small dagger from his belt and gave to the guards; Henrietta and Gerald opened up their coats, their bags and pulled their pockets out, showing the guards they possessed no weapons. “Very well, you may move on. Have a nice day.” They both stepped back and saluted.

The city was crammed with activity in every corner. The main street circling the city was full of market stalls, selling fruit, fish, wines and exotic trinkets from everywhere. People flocked for bartering and auctions: screaming, cheering, yelling and shoving.

“Markus and I will head towards the council manner district, you two can look around for a while and do as you please.” Lirina stood in the centre of the group as she commanded them. “We will meet up at this gate in say... four or five hours.”

“Yes Your Highness!” Henrietta exploded into joy, grabbing Gerald's arm and dragging away. “Come on dear, we've got to hurry before the best buys go.” Gerald's attempts to resist were futile. She started off a stall which had no crowd; the table was full of hand made wooden ornaments. After a short glance at each, Henrietta found one that tugged her eyes: a sitting dog with it's tongue sticking out.

“Oh much for that one?” She asked the shopkeeper who hid his eyes behind a large hat. She pulled out a small sack from the side of her backpack.

“Erm, dear, I thought you wanted to buy...” Gerald tugged on her arm, but she did not notice.

“Fifty five orihal.” The shopkeeper interrupted, making sure his customer listened to no one else.

“For that! Blind robbery!” Gerald shouted.

“These are finest around, imported all the way from the north of Linisiu.” The shopkeeper picked up the dog and turned it upside down “You can see fine craftsmanship and this little mark here is the signature of Ceite Zileca, he's famous you know.” Henrietta raised her eye brow and paused for a moment.

“But Zileca is a charcoal artist. Five orihal!” She smiled, but despite her non threatening look the shopkeeper back away and drop the statue; breaking it on the ground. “Oh, it's broken!” She walked away, and after a shake of his fist, Gerald left the shopkeeper in a state.

After a short walk passed the stalls of bread and oddly shaped fruit, they came out an outdoor book shop. The air was full of dust and the smell of decay. Henrietta started lifting books from their piles and reading the titles.

“Advanced Study of Constructs... Saints of the Second Era... Laphal's Study of Tasceran Caverns... ” She flicked through the pages of each. “My good, this place is a mountain of treasure.”

“Pick two!” Gerald put his foot down. Henrietta sighed, placing the first two books back. The shopkeeper of this stall was relaxing behind a tower of books.

“Excuse me their Sir,” Henrietta approached him, holding the last book against her chest. “you wouldn't happened to have The Encyclopaedia of Ceran History: Volumn Three?”

“Aww... I've got it somewhere.” The tall, greying man got up off his chair and started checking the books surrounding him. “This might take a while Miss.”

“Well I won't be waiting here. Come on dear, we can come back later. I want to see some sights.” Gerald said, waving the old dust away.

“You can go alone, I'll stay here.” She grinned, but Gerald just looked around at the landscape of pages, confused by her enjoyment. He back away slowly. Henrietta helped the man with the search for the lost book.

“Aha! It's here!” The man pulled it out from a underneath a large pile that collapsed on top of him.

“A-a-are you...” Henrietta's face was red with laughter. They both started cleaning up the mess when two men, wearing brown leather and chainmail came into the shop.

“How might I help you two.” He was intimidated by their tough stature.

“Mister Galvin, the Department of Funding has sent us here because the payment of your taxes is long overdue now. I believe you know the rules: pay up or we have no choice but to seize your property.”

“But but I paid them before harvest season! You can't do this, I-I-I want to see some identification!” Galvin trembled, waggling his finger at them two men. The pair drew out scrolls from their belt pockets, and held them in Galvin's face.

“Stamped orders from both the Department and the Arms.” They grabbed Galvin by his arms and dragged him out of the stall. “You and your friend will have to wait 'till we've got what we came for.” They pushed him away, bringing him to his knees.

“I'm not going anywhere!” Henrietta stood firm when they soon approached her, placing her backpack on the floor. The left man reached for her arm, but she resisted with a push back.

“Listen Miss, if you don't step out we have orders to use force.” The other man gripped the sword on his back; however, she still refused to move. The man drew his sword and placed against Henrietta's neck. She ducked and sidestepped away, tripping the swordsman up with a swing of her leg. Before he could even hit the floor, Henrietta leaped towards him and chopped his wrist; sending the sword flying across the stall.

The second man drew his sword and slashed at her. Each furious attack was dodged, but Henrietta soon found her self back up against the table. The man grabbed her by the throat and lifted off her feet.

“Now then Miss, are you going to come along quietl...” He shrieked when Henrietta dug her nails into his naked hand; drawing trickles of blood. She pried herself free, gasping for air. The attacker shook his bleeding left hand and swung his blade again. Henrietta span around, collecting a book off the table and blocked his sword, which had now wedged itself in the book. As the man struggled to unlodge his weapon, Henrietta lent forward and struck his chest flat with her palm.

Both of the men had now been bested, though they did not surrender. They launched their next attack together. Though their blows still could not connect, they surely had her on the ropes. She panted and stumbled. Henrietta flung her white coat and threw it at the pair. The distraction gave her time to leave the stall into the open street, where people stood far back and watched: some cheering, some panicking. The men charged again, thrusting their swords; but she dodged still, with back flips, twists and twirls. A small troop of armoured guards rushed to the scene.

“Halt!” One shouted. They drew their swords and spears to threaten the trouble-makers, who stopped their battle. One of the two swordsmen sheathed his blade.

“Guards! This woman is defying our legal orders, take her away!” He whipped out his form and showed it to the guard captain.

“We'll have to ask all of you to come with us.” The guards surrounded them, closing in around them. The two men came peacefully, bowing in respect of the law. Henrietta rushed around, trying to escape; but their was no opening. She relaxed and let a pair of guards bind her hands, she sighed. The crowd broke away, except for the odd strangler who gawked at the events. Galvin had pulled himself off the floor just in time to testify.

“Please guards, this is all my fault, really. These men were being very forceful...” his voice was weak, and his fingers twiddled.

“Perhaps you should come with us to the office as well.” The guard responded. The whole group stepped down the street.


The road Markus and Lirina travelled slopped up the hill, the buildings appeared to get grander with each pass. The finest guards patrolled the streets, their movement unnerved the pair.

“I believe that's their meeting place.” Lirina pointed to a large stone building. “It doesn't seem busy now.” They both came before the door guards, who stared at them though their helmets.

“I am Prince Markus of Searan, I wish to enter.” The guards looked at each other. “Is there are problem?”

“You don't look like a prince.” They chuckled. Makus looked down on his clothes.

“It's nothing to worry about dear. I will be able handle this by myself. You would do well to buy some clean clothes.” She laughed when Markus' face scrunched up. “Oh don't worry dear! Go and enjoy your day, my treat.” She handed Markus a small bag of coins and sent him on his way. Lirina then addressed the guards.

“You will allow me to meet with the Council.” She bowed. The guards were about to respond when she took off a pendant which was hidden under her clothes. It too the shape of a small orb covered with gold and ebony.

“I am Lirina Horuston, Queen of Searan and Lady of Pelius. I believe this should suffice as proof of my heritage.” She handed the pendant over for inspection. After their examination of her heirloom, they handed it back and opened the two wooden doors.

“Right this way Milady.” The halls were covered with dark polished wood and red velvet carpets. They directed her to a row of chairs that sat outside another pair of doors. “You will have to wait there until someone else comes to assist you, I shall alert the office immediately.”

“Thank you.” Lirina sat in the middle of five chairs. The two guards left in opposite directions. Lirina rested back for a while before noticing someone else was nearby. Ursula stared at her from a distance, trying not to be seen. “There's no need to hide. This is the day you've been waiting for all your life isn't it?”

“Hmph, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Ursula approached and down a chair away from Lirina. “I'm surprised you didn't bring anyone else with you. I mean, I can understand why you wouldn't want to bring that half-wit you call a son, but surely you didn't intend to just walk in here and talk us over.” She sighed mockingly. “But I guess it's natural for someone like you to think that way.” Lirina simply looked back and smiled.

“That's nice, but you'll find that no everybody have such spiteful minds.” Her voice was calm.

“With that attitude you're just wasting time here.” Ursula corrected her glasses, hiding her eye's behind the reflection of light.

“Come now, you can tell me what your real reason for this is.” When Lirina extended her hand in welcome, Ursula got up and stormed away. “That's a shame, I was hoping you'd have kept me company for longer. Shall I tell Dyarl you said hello?” Ursual turned on her heel.

“No you shall not! Now if you don't mind, some of us do important work around here.”

“How nice, you sure have come along way.” Lirina widened her smile, sending Ursula away flustered.


Down the slopping road, Markus meet a familiar person. Gerald walked up and patted him on the shoulder.

“What a surprise, I thought you were busy.”

“They wouldn't let me in.” Markus clenched his jaw.

“Why... I couldn't imagine why.” Gerald chuckled as he inspected Markus' rags.

“YES! I'm going to get it sorted! Don't you have a wife half your age to tend to!” Markus shouted, but Gerald laughed hearty.

“Oh, she'll be fine.” Gerald patted Markus' shoulder a few more time, almost forcing him to his knees. “I'm sorry, I guess being kicked out bothered that much huh?”

“Not really, I was never really taught about politics... but that's not the point!” Markus strolled down the street with Gerald, keeping a look out for any interesting shops as they entered the commercial district. Each stall sold everything from everywhere. “Jeez, no where else in the world does so much junk come together in one place.” He wandered to a stall at random, and started eyeing items. “Who would buy things like this?” he picked up a lute from the table with both hands. The wood was smooth, but covered with dust.

“A fine looking instrument that is.”Gerald look over Markus' shoulder to admire the lute's artistic craftsmanship. “I've got an uncle who can play one of those.”

“That sounds wonderful, maybe I should buy this then.” Markus grinned, but Gerald was confused, scratching his head as he wondered whether Markus had meant it. “No...” Markus put the lute down, waking up the tired old lady who owned the shop.

“What'd you want you brutish knuckle heads?!” She shook her fist at the pair.

“Nothing dear, you just go back to keep to keeping a vigilant eye on things.” Markus sniggered.

“Oh I am! Don't you worry about that!” The woman leant back on her chair and shut her eyes. Markus rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Maybe we should just leave her alone.” Said Gerald. Markus walked away from the shop, putting his hands into the pockets of his coat. As the pair continued forward, the crowds of people became larger, and ruder: bumping together and shoving their way past each other.

“Did you see what happened near 90b...” gossip spread among the people like wildfire, it filled the air and choked Markus and Gerald. When they could take it no more, they started asking around for what the talk was about.

“Oh, something happened at the bookstore at 90b, I hear some girl had a fight with a pair of tax-collectors. I think the guards took them away.” A washer woman told Gerald. His face became red with fury, his teeth scrapped together.

“That woman!” Gerald roared. The woman who told him tried to back away, but Gerald was not finished. “Where would they have taken them?!”

“Oh, I think the it might have been the guard towers at 10b: the closest holding cells from 90b.” She hurried away. Gerald stormed off like a rouge beast, the people who bumped into him were quickly blown aside. Markus followed behind, smiling curiously.

“Surely you don't think she could fight off a bunch of men now do you?”

“Listen lad, I'm going have to go alone. You mind splitting?” Gerald did not wait for an answer, speeding down the road. Markus stood and watched, rain dropped from the sky and hit him on the nose. The droplets became showers, and people began fleeing into buildings and under shelters. Markus' rags became soaked, and water dropped from the end of his hairs. He splashed through the street, astounded by quickly the way had cleared.

Just when he was relaxing, a parasol hit Markus on the back of his head.

“Watch where you're standing boy.” Said the same old woman who he met at the store. She wore a tattered cloak, and her grey hair was tied back.

“Don't you have a shop to keep watch of?” Markus smirked.

“Ho ho, no need to worry about that. By the way, that shop with the red sign over there, you should find some nice new clothes there.” She walked around him and continued on her way, rambling and mumbling.

“Hold on, how did you...” Markus reach his hand out, but the woman had vanished through the downpour and fog. He started snivelling and coughing, so on the advice of the old woman he headed to the shop on the right hand side with the red sign, Ilrei's Fine Clothing.

The store was full of clothe racks, a rainbow of styles. Taking his mind of this confusion, Markus browsed through the shop, his own clothes dripped on the wooden floorboards. Markus ended is browsing, not finding a single thing that caught his eye he sighed. An odd looking man in glasses approached him from behind.

“Greetings young Sir, is there anyway I could assist?” He asked. Markus leaped forward with fright. “I am Ilrei, owner of this establishment. I could not help but notice that you are having a hard time picking some new clothes out. Perhaps I could assist you.” Markus stepped away from the rack and shrugged, and Ilrei began inspecting his measurements with a tape. Markus span his arms so that his chest could be measured; while he waited he glanced around the shop, it was empty.

“Bad business as of late?” He remarked.

“Oh no, just the with the rain and people probably getting home before nightime, scared and all that.” Ilrei pulled the tape tightly across Markus' chest, speaking in a light-hearted voice.

“Of what?”

“Oh, it happened last night. I saw it with my own eyes: something was prowling the streets, and under the moonlight it had an eerie white glow. I was quite some distance way, so I couldn't make out it's shape. There wasn't any harm caused by this thing, but with the recent happening at Rephall people are getting very worrisome.” He took a breather while he took the length of Markus' arms. “Tonight is predicted to be a full moon, and some are warning that his might cause this phenomenon to have more dire effects.” Ilrei put the tape measure back into his waistcoat pocket. “all done, now you just wait and I'll pick out your perfect suit.”

Markus decided to take a peek out of the shop. The sky was clearing up and the sun was close to setting, bringing tones of orange that mixed with the dimming blues.

“I suppose we should be hurrying up.”

“What is the problem young Sir, you take those superstitions seriously?” Ilrei chuckled.

“Of course not!” Markus snapped. “But, I have places I need to be. Who could take such things seriously?”

“Heh, the local priests do, that's for sure. They've already sent a message to the temple in Vinceles, no doubt Jalinr and the King will discuss how if it fits into the Nine Illnesses and Blessings and Feltie's predictions...” Ilrei rambled on, even when Markus wandered away. “Aha!” He picked out a light gray top and a pair of black trousers. Ilrei brought the items over to Markus. “These should fit you just right, and they're made from some of the most durable material around.” Markus inspected the clothes, frowning slightly.

“Those look rather plain, don't you think?”

“Oh well, they're designed for travelling in mind. You look as if could use something to last. Atleast be a sport and try them on.”

Markus took the clothes into the nearest changing room and shut the curtain behind him. In the cramped space with a mirror on each wall Markus removed his coat and tattered top. In the mirrors two things caught his eye: the first being the scar he received from Elbenor, the next was a complete mystery. A marking could be seen upon his lower back, a small black rune. Markus attempted to rub it away with his old top, but it did not even smudge.

“Are you done yet young Sir?” Ilrei asked as he stood by the changing room. Markus stepped out, wearing the new trousers and shirt under his coat, carrying the old rags in his arms. “Splendid! Do you wish to buy them?”

“Y-yes... I'll take them. How much?” Markus stammered in confusion, taking out the bag of coins.

“Oh now lets see.” Ilrei pulls out a small list from his waistcoat pocket. “Together the cost should be seventy five orihal.” Markus counted in tens as he collected the money needed. Ilrei cupped his hands like a beggar and Markus dropped the money in: seven round brass coins and one smaller copper. Ilrei grinned. “A fine trip on the mountain I see.”

Markus left the shop without so much as a goodbye. He searched for any path that lead up the hill, but soon found himself being followed; the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing was never far behind. Markus slipped into an alley and waited to ambush his stalker. As the footsteps reached a crescendo Markus emerged from the shadows to surprise them, but he found himself on the end of a fist to the face.

“Oh, it was just you.” A woman laughed and panted at the sight of Markus falling to the ground. When he looked up he saw the one-eyed Northerner, the left half of her body was covered in mud.

“What happened to you? And what are you doing here?”

“Oh this? It's was nothing. I came here as fast I could 'cause I needed to speak to you.” She helped Markus on to his feet. “It's kinda important: I need to know what you me to do with... you know.” Markus turned his head, confirming that they were alone.

“I would of hoped you could have used your imagination there. It's a trifling matter, don't bother me with any further.” Markus dismissed her, but she would not leave. As Markus raced back up the slop, Elissa followed him in the distance.