Chaos of Choice

BOOK TWO

Death’s Paradox

“A democracy is all well and good, if it is done properly. More often than not though it ends up being a bunch of old men squabbling along with all the common folk complaining that the party in power is not doing what they said they would do. Politics is all about who can lie the most convincingly, as far as I am concerned. The High Commission has the right idea, I tell you, I’ve had enough of the rulers of each realm arguing and starting stupid wars. Give the High Commission complete rule over the six kingdoms and have done. They pretty much have it anyway.”

-Unknown

“Family is what holds us together, it is what supports us when all else falls. Without family we are nothing. Family believe us when all else think you are mad, family gives us strength and courage when we are weak. Family encourages us to strive for the best when everyone else gives us scorn.

There are different forms of family, the one you create with others that are far closer than friends, those beside you when you go into battle, who you rely on to watch your flank. There is the family formed through the faith of The Five. But the most important of all is family formed by blood. This is the family you will do anything for, you will steal for your family, you will wage wars for your family and you will kill for your family with no seconds thought.”

-Blood of My Ancestors by Lord Antworn Wataven,

First Lord of Port Na’brath

Chapter One

Cold steel and bright monitors filled the dark room each with flashing lights and dials, each designed for a specific purpose and at each of them someone sat, staring at the dials and lights. In a room full of sounds of machinery and technology it was hard to believe the level of silence there. Not a word could be heard from the silhouettes watching the screens so intently, their focus was fixed and they had learnt not to let it slip from their tasks.

Discipline had been drilled into them since the first time they set foot into the world, the weak fell and the strong continued on. Only the best survived in this world, and here they were, in a small room staring at monitors, such menial tasks set for Warriors of great skill. After years of brutal training they had reached great heights of physical and mental ability, and yet here they were sitting in front of a data screen, their faces stamped with relative boredom.

An urgent flashing light and incessant beep tore her from her daydreaming. Immediately she knew something bad had happened, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, and in the slight twinge of her muscles.  

“Commander,” She called hurriedly, “Number Two is showing a ‘System Fail’.”

The Commander was never far away, and he came quickly, a concerned look upon his face.

“Is it the same as what happened to Number One?” He asked, but the tone of his voice showed he thought otherwise.

“No. I have done a complete internal scan, and there no life signs. The scan also shows massive trauma to the chest and back.”

The Commander studied her data screen, his brow furrowed, “Was the mission successful, had it completed its mission objective?”

“The report is coming in now, sir,” She replied, and hurried to take the paper that was being produced by the machine beside her.

“The mission was completed,” She reported after a quick scan of the paper.

There came the sound of several sighs of relief around the room, by now most were listening intently to what was passing between the Commander and their associate.

“But there was a complication,” She continued and took a deep breath. “It seems that Number Two sent an addition to the mission log just as he died, there is not much we can make of it.”

“What does it say?” The Commander prompted curiously.

“It just says: ‘Nen’on. . .’” She said with a shrug and handed the Commander the report.

“Is that all?” The Commander inquired as he took the paper to see for himself.

Many seconds past as the Commander considered what to make of it, and what the next course of action should be. By now everyone in the room was listening and waiting anxiously for an answer to this riddle.

The Commander looked to her, concern riddling his features. “Jar’nesh, are you able to revive the PBE’s?”

“No,” She replied after a few seconds of searching the data, “Without the host they quickly perished.”

“I thought as much,” The Commander nodded grimly, “Make a full report and send it directly to the High King, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Jar’nesh replied with a nod.

“Back to work everyone,” The Commander said to the curious onlookers around the room.

“Of all the times this one was bound to be the most complicated,” Jar’nesh heard the Commander mumble to himself as he walked away from her station.

She turned her attention to the report that was to be made to the High King, confusion racking her mind. Something very odd was happening, firstly the brief off-line incident with Number One and now Number Two being completely destroyed. As Jar’nesh thought on it she found herself agreeing with the Commander’s mumbled remark. Of the many times they had done this, something felt very wrong about this one.

***********************************************

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the thirty-third day of Summer

Slowly his golden eyes peeled open as he came from his stupor, the whole of his head ached and he could feel his left check was caked in dried blood. Groggily Lieut shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs in his mind.

“Finally awake, ay,” said a fat Sesserrechien soldier who was sitting at an old wooden table several feet in front of him.

It was then Lieut realised that his wrists were chained to the stone behind him and that he only wore his blue linen pants, all else had been stripped from him, including his precious sword.

The burly guard pushed back his chair waddled towards him wiping beer from his grimy chin as his did.

“Surprised to be ‘ere?” the guard asked, coming right up to his face, “Ya shouldn’t be, seeing ye killed the Grand Magi.”

The guard glared at him before punching him in the gut with a mailed fist.

Lieut tensed his stomach muscles and shrugged away the blow, which of course made the guard punch him again. Lieut looked impassively at the guard, which made the burly man even angrier. The guard’s next punch collected him on the side of the head, and once again Lieut fell into unconsciousness.

When Lieut had regained his wits, he kept his eyes closed so to appear still unconscious.

“His head should be on a spike already,” he heard a new guard remark.

“No, the Regional Commander wants to see ‘im,” the burly guard replied.

“Looks like ye gave him a bit of a beating there, Bo,” the other guard laughed.

“He deserves more,” Bo replied, “When he wakes up again ye have go Mik.”

A few moments of silence drifted by, and Lieut kept his eyes closed.

“Still can’t believe this guy killed Grand Magi Cardonian,” Mik remarked.

Bo made a noise in agreement, “Good thing the Grand Magi killed the other one.”

“High Lord Cardonian is furious,” Mik said, “You know he’s accusing house Varrintine, ‘cause just the other day there was word that their middle son Vythe had returned. Lord Cardonian thinks there is a connection.”

Bo snorted, “Didn’t that Vythe guy kill his fiancé, and get sent to Gaia Prison.”

“I heard he died there”.

“So, what’s the go?” Bo asked, “Did he get released or something?”

“Who cares?”

“Lord Cardonian does,” Bo laughed, “But he’s cracked in the head.”

The two guards had a good laugh at that.

“Did ya hear that Vythe brought a girl back to the city with him,” said Mik, “A bloody elf at that.”

“Damn elves,” Bo spat.

“I’ll tell ya what though, I like to have an elf’s legs wrapped around me,” laughed Mik, “Damn, they are all so fine.”

“That’s ‘cause they use witchcraft on ye, ya fool,” Bo replied, “Makes the illusion they are all plough-able. Like as not, they are all hideously ugly with weird deformities.”

“You listen too much to the sermons of Father Ploss over at the chapel of The Five,” Mik snorted, “All elf woman are beautiful and I’d plough them all.”

“You’d plough anything wouldn’t you,” Bo laughed back, “Elf, Yineth, Sātor, Mōrgul, no doubt even a dwarf wench with a beard down to her belly.”

“By The Five I’d do a Yineth,” agreed Mik.

“You what?” Bo balked, “They don’t even have woman parts.”

“They do so to,” countered Mik, “How else did the King of Krnōrel have a daughter with a Yineth?”

“Witchcraft and illusion, that is,” Bo said stubbornly.

“Mate, you are full of it,” Mik laughed.

“You too,” Bo snickered back.

“C’mon, let’s have a game or something,” Mik suggested, “Got any dice?”

There was the sound of many die rattling on the wooden table followed by curses and happy laughs as Mik lost the first game.

Lieut heard the footsteps of someone else entering, there were a couple of greetings and he heard the sound of plates being put down on wood. The footsteps left and he could hear the guards eating noisily, and burping occasionally.

It was clear that he had been imprisoned and somehow Vythe had met up with his family. But truthfully Lieut did not care where he was, or what was going on in the world. He did not care about anything. The only thing that seemed important was the fact that his brother, his own blood, had turned on him and tried to kill him.

It was so much for him to take in, after trekking all this way from the Gaia Mountains in hope that his brother could help cure the illness that had crept into his mind, only to find his brother rejecting him and regarding him as a traitor.

“Roll again damn ya,” Bo cursed, grabbing Lieut’s attention, “The dice didn’t roll.”

“You saying I’m a cheat?” Mik snapped back, “Stop crying like a woman and pay up.”

“Double or nothing, next game,” Bo suggested.

“Fine, I’ll take more gold off ya.”

Lieut thought about escaping this new prison, but was there any point? If he did escape, what would he do? He would still have the Fog in his mind and confusing his thoughts. There was no point tracking down his other brother in Crydon, for likely the same thing would happen. His mission seemed utterly pointless now, so there was no point completing that. Perhaps it would be best to just let these people kill him for assassinating the Grand Magi.

The chatter between the guards seemed to have halted and some more footsteps could be heard coming down some stone steps.

“What do ye want then?” Bo asked harshly.

“I wish to see the assassin who killed the Grand Magi,” replied a voice Lieut recognised.

“Well ya can’t,” snapped Mik.

“Come now, I just want a bit of entertainment,” the familiar voice replied, “Can we not work something out?”

Lieut heard the clink of coins in a pouch.

“Perhaps we can come to an understanding,” Mik remarked.

“What are ya on about,” Bo snapped, “They says there is to be no visiting the murderer.”

“I will speak to my father about this if I have to,” said the voice he knew.

“Well come now Master Varrintine,” Bo quickly replied, “Ya don’t need to do that, ye can see the scum if ya really want.”

“Thank you kind sir,” Master Varrintine replied, and Lieut heard the coins being passed between hands.

“Wake up scum,” he heard Mik yell, and a bucket of cold water splashed into his face.

Lieut shook the water from his face and opened his eyes to see Vythe, Fairris and even Bārdin standing before him.

“Ye have two minutes,” Mik said holding up three fingers.

Vythe was once again wearing his family vest as well as some bruising around his eye and cheek where Lieut had elbowed him.

“Are you hurt, Lieut?” Fairris asked quietly.

Lieut shook his head, despite one of his eyes being swollen and the many welts on his torso. “Why are you here?”

“To free ya, of course,” Bārdin replied in hushed tones.

“We cannot do that,” Vythe cut in, “Besides we would not get far if we tried.”

“So, why are you here?” Lieut asked seriously as he studied Vythe’s eyes.

“Did you know your brother was going there to kill the Grand Magi?” Vythe asked seriously, taking a step closer to him.

Lieut nodded.

“Why did he?” Vythe pressed.

“Because that was what he was instructed to do,” Lieut replied, his gaze falling to the grimy stone ground.

“Who ordered him?” Vythe was quick to ask.

“Our King,” shrugged Lieut, still looking at the floor.

“Why?” Fairris asked.

Lieut looked at Fairris, “How am I to know? He did what he was instructed to do, we do not ask questions.”

“And what have you been commanded to do?” asked Vythe, his eyes narrowing.

“It does not matter,” Lieut replied with a sigh. “None of it matters anymore.”

“It might concern the next person on your list to die,” Vythe replied seriously.

Lieut shrugged again and looked back to the ground.

“Lieut, who else is to die?” Vythe implored him.

Lieut let out a sigh, “Some Princess in Crydon.”

A quizzical look came to Vythe features, and Lieut could see Vythe’s mind working furiously to connect the dots.

“Why did we come here if we aren’t getting him out?” Bārdin cut in irritably.

“Regrettably there is no way to free him,” Vythe said sadly, coming from his thoughts.

“Why not?” argued Bārdin.

“Because Lord Cardonian is livid, and it has been implied that it was the King of Krnōrel that ordered the assassination of the Grand Magi,” Vythe replied in a hushed tone.

“Two minutes is up,” the guard Mik called from across the cell.

Vythe waved the guard away and turned back to Lieut.

“We will try to find a way to have you released,” Vythe whispered to him.

Lieut looked at them in confusion, but he did not get the chance to ask why, for the guards ushered the trio quickly out of the dungeon.

Confusingly new life seemed to build within him as he watched them leave the dungeon looking back over their shoulders as they did. Perhaps not everything was pointless, perhaps there was a reason to escape this prison.

Lieut looked up from the stone floor with a spark in his golden just in time to see a mailed fist sail into his ribs, followed by another to his head.

 Lieut was woken again many hours later by the splash of cold water in his face, causing him to choke and cough. The water stung his swollen eye and split lip but its cool touch felt good against his battered body. Torture and pain had never been a problem for him, he could take any sort of beating and his body would be stronger for it. But recently his body had not been repairing itself as quickly as it had used to.

“Wake up scum,” Bo sneered and dropped the bucket in the corner, “Gotta look nice for ya court appearance today.”

“Why are they even giving him a trial, Bo?” asked Mik who was sitting at the table opposite.

“Cause they want to appear all justified when they chop his head off,” replied Bo, “Waste of time if ya ask me. They should just execute him and have done.”

Mik voiced his agreement and Bo returned to the table and the game of dice poker they were playing.

Lieut could see that he was in a predicament here, and if he was going to escape it had to be now. There was no time to try and work out the routine of the guards, he would have to improvise.

“Hey pig, where is my breakfast?” Lieut called out to the two guards.

Bo and Mik glared at him, before looking to each other in surprise.

“Well now Mik, the bastard does talk,” Bo said with an evil grin.

“Perhaps we should teach ‘im to say please,” Mik replied, and Bo pushed himself up from the seat and waddled over to him.

Bo wiped a hand over his greasy chin, staring at Lieut angrily and setting himself to begin punching him.

Lieut struck first, he snapped his feet into Bo’s face, locking one foot behind the guard’s head while he slammed the heel of his other foot into Bo’s face. He felt Bo’s nose break and the wetness of the man’s blood on his foot, but he did not stop. Continuously his heel blasted into the guard’s face shattering teeth and crushing bone. Before Mik had time to realise what was happening Lieut had already turned Bo’s face into a bloody mess.

Mik charged with a yell of anger, Lieut quickly finished off the first guard with a heel into the man’s throat, crushing his larynx.

Mik charged past his dead comrade and swung a baton into Lieut’s ribs. Quicker than lightning Lieut pushed off Bo and hooked his knee over Mik’s arm, stopping the baton from hitting him. The steel shackles cut into Lieut’s wrists as his free foot slammed into Mik’s knee, breaking the bone. As the guards dropped to the ground Lieut wrapped his leg around Mik’s neck and dragged him close to the wall, snapping the man’s neck in the process.

Using his feet Lieut turned both of the bodies over looking for the keys to his shackles. He soon found them hanging from Bo’s belt and stretching out as far as he could Lieut was able to hook the iron ring of keys over his toe and bring them closer to him.

Now came the hard part of his escape, Lieut steadied his breath and with a flick of his foot he tossed the keys to his shackled hand.  The first time the ring of keys bounced off the stone and nearly fell out of reach of his foot. Lieut quickly tried again, this time not missing as badly, the third time they hit his hand, but because of the way his wrists were bound he could not grab hold of them. With a growl of frustration Lieut tried again, this time he caught the ring of keys and began trying each of the keys in the lock of the shackle. There were not many keys so he found the right one quickly and freed his hand, and then the other hand.

Now free Lieut suddenly collapsed to the ground, feeling uncharacteristically exhausted, blood ran freely down from the deep cuts in his wrists, but he pushed away the pain and looked to move on.

Before he headed for the exit of the cell, he grabbed the baton that Mik had dropped and he greedily gulped down some water from a flask on Bo’s belt. He could see that his sword and other possessions were not in here so he left only wearing his blue pants and nothing else.

Quickly Lieut moved to the only stairs that, hopefully, led from this dungeon. Silently he darted up the dimly lit stairs as they spiralled upwards. Several minutes later he moved into a small room where a desk and chair sat, it was unoccupied. Directly across from him was a closed wooden door, but as he moved towards it three men pushed through the entrance and looked at him in surprise.

Of the three men, the one wearing robes, who was likely a Magi was first to react and sent a wave of energy towards him. Lieut dived to the side and behind the desk as another wave of energy blew everything off the top of the table. No more blasts of energy came after that, and neither did the two guards that had accompanied the Magi.

“There is no point trying to fight,” Lieut heard the Magi say, “You cannot escape, so why do you not just put down the baton and come quietly.”

“I will die first,” Lieut replied simply.

“No doubt you will,” the Magi replied, “But hopefully not before we execute you ourselves.”

“Then you will have to come and get me yourself,” Lieut said stubbornly.

He heard the Magi sigh and then the heavy footsteps of one of the guards. Lieut clenched his jaw in determination as he waited for the guard to come closer to the desk.

As soon as the next step sounded he rushed from behind the desk too quick for the guard to realise and crush the man’s knee cap with the baton. The guard screamed and Lieut used the man as a shield as the Magi threw a ball energy at them. The energies hit the guard and Lieut dived into a roll towards the next guard, who was closer than the Magi. The next guard managed to block his first attack, but Lieut’s next strike broke the man’s jaw and sent his teeth to the other side of the room.

As soon as Lieut moved from the second guard the Magi’s next conjuration hit him and magickal bindings wrapped around his wrists and ankles and dropping him to the ground. With a wave of his hand the Magi caused the bindings around his ankles to break apart but remain connected by a short magickal chains.

“Get up,” the Magi sighed, “And walk in front of me if you will.”

Lieut clenched his jaw and sighed, before slowly getting to his feet and walking out the door in front of the Magi. He was well and truly caught with no chance for escape now.

“I commend you on your effort though,” the Magi remarked, “You have got further than others who have tried to escape.”

Lieut did not reply, and continued to walk past the rows of barred cells. Most of the occupants of the cells were elves and watched him pass with dead eyes, others sat in a corner crying or talking to themselves, a few swore at him and spat at his feet.

But Lieut ignored them all.

“Left here,” the Magi instructed as they came to a junction. “Take the stairs at the end of the corridor.”

More cells lined both sides, nearly all of them occupied, and not all were men. But still he ignored them, even when an elven woman was pulled screaming from her cell by two guards who were laughing.

“Just between you and me,” Lieut felt the hot breath of the Magi on the back of his neck, “I am glad that you did kill the Grand Magi, for now, I am a favourite to take his position.”

Lieut did not reply and he silently begun the ascent up the square staircase. He passed by a few exits but was directed from the stairwell once they came to the top, which was likely at ground level. The Magi directed him along several more corridors and through more rooms. Each time he passed through a doorway the stone work seemed to become better and everything seemed to become cleaner. To his surprise he was soon walking over marble tiles and thick rugs, down long hallways that were lined with hanging tapestries and paintings. He even passed by a few statues before he came to a large double door that led into a wide room where six men sat at a long table.

Lieut could tell from their dress that these were not ordinary men or guards of the city, their rich clothes and neat haircuts showed them to be men of status, and likely the ones who were going to conduct his trial.

Chapter Two

Lieut stopped in front of the long table and silently studied each of the Lords of Port Na’brath. The man at the centre did not seem a Lord, and in fact he was wearing a light blue military uniform with a golden eagle across his chest. Apart from that man the rest were typical Lords, with expensive clothes and soft skin. But one of the Lords did catch Lieut’s eye as being curious, for the man looked very similar to Vythe, the same dark eyes and facial structure. In all likelihood this Lord was in fact Vythe’s father, Lord Varrintine.

“Why are we here, Regional Commander?” the Lord to the left of the military man demanded, “This man killed my son, I want his head.”

“Lord Cardonian,” replied the Regional Commander sternly, “It is the due process of the Law and cannot be circumvented to sate your vengeance.”

“By all the evidence he is guilty,” said the fat Lord to the far left, “I am in agreement with High Lord Cardonian, have him executed already.”

“Thank you Lord Zanzier,” Lord Cardonian nodded.

“The evidence is indeed against him,” the Regional Commander agreed, “But this trial will commence none the less.”

“Let us begin then,” said a younger looking Lord to the far right, “I have my own business to be returning to.”

“Lord Terth is correct,” said the Lord sitting between Lord Cardonian and Lord Zanzier, “Let us be done with it, and chop his head off.”

“We cannot begin yet, Lord Barrestine,” said Lord Varrintine, “The accused has no council. The Law requires that he has one.”

“What does it matter?” snapped Lord Cardonian, “None were foolish enough to take his case anyway.”

“But due process requires he has one, Cardonian,” Lord Terth added with a nod of his head.

“Will no one be his defence?” asked the exasperated Regional Commander and he looked to the Lords on each side of him.

“Very well,” Lord Varrintine sighed, “Though it may be an unpopular role, I shall be his council.”

Lord Cardonian openly sneered as Lord Varrintine rose from his chair to stand beside Lieut, shooting him a knowing look as he did.

“We shall begin then,” the Regional Commander announced, “The accused will state his name for the record.”

Lieut did not reply.

“Do you have a name?” asked the Regional Commander, “Can you even speak?”

“I can speak,” Lieut replied simply.

“So do you have a name?”

“Yes.”

“Well what is it man?” Lord Barrestine demanded.

Lieut looked to the Lord, but did not reply.

“We need a name for the record,” sighed the Regional Commander.

Lieut did not reply.

Lord Cardonian let out a loud irate sigh, “What does it matter what his name may be? Give the assassin any name and let us continue.”

“Very well,” the Regional Commander nodded, “Because you were arrested with and ancient oversized Lieutenant’s sword, you will be called The Lieutenant on the record.”

Lieut smirked and shook his head in bemusement.

“Lieutenant, you have been charged with murdering the Grand Magi Fenard Cardonian,” the Regional Commander said officially, “How do you plead?”

Lieut did not reply.

The Regional Commander sighed heavily, “If you continue to make this hard and do not reply, you will be placed on the record as pleading guilty and we can move straight to the execution.”

“My client pleads not guilty,” Lord Varrintine cut in, causing Lord Cardonian to sneer angrily.

“You could not make it easy for us could you Lord Varrintine?” Lord Cardonian said bitterly.

“I have seen the evidence against The Lieutenant, as have we all,” replied Lord Varrintine, “I believe there is a strong case to prove this man’s innocence.”

Lord Cardonian slammed his fist into the stone table, “Damn it Vincent, he killed my son.”

“Did he?” Lord Varrintine countered, “Let us look at the evidence shall we? The defence would like to call the first witness: Commander Harneth of the city’s guard.”

 One of the large doors to the side opened and in walked a portly man with red cheeks. Commander Harneth took to a seat behind a small table that had been set to the side of the Lord’s table.

“Thank you for coming, Commander,” Lord Varrintine greeted the large man.

“Of course m’Lord,” the Commander replied courteously, “I want to see this assassin beheaded as much as the next man.”

Lord Varrintine sighed before speaking again, “Were you on duty when the slaughter in the city happened?”

“Yes m’Lord, all the guards were after the first alarm sounded,” Commander Harneth nodded.

“You were the lead investigator?”

“Yes m’Lord.”

“Would you tell the Court what happened?”

The Commander nodded, “I was sleeping quite soundly in me bed, with me wife alongside me like. But suddenly I heard the bells sounding, so I jumped to me feet I did. Me missus was also woken and terribly frightful like, pleading for me not to head off. I says: it’s me duty love. But that did little to calm he nerves, cause she is terrible delicate like.”

“Commander,” Lord Varrintine cut in, “Please, you have the court’s leave to skip straight to the time you came across the bodies.”

“Of course, sorry m’Lord,” Commander Harneth stammered and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“It was terribly gruesome,” the Commander continued after a pause, “In all me years as Commander, I had never seen anything like it. Blood was all over the place, along with limbs and entrails. By The Five the smell was horrid; two of me Captains came over faint and chucked up on the pavement it were that nasty.”

“Fortunate one was still alive,” the Commander continued, “But he did not live long.”

“Did he describe the assailant?” Lord Varrintine cut in.

“Most certainly did,” nodded Commander Harneth, “Afore he died he said they was attack by a huge man with short silver hair and red eyes, wielding a huge axe.”

Lord Varrintine nodded, “Does that match the description of the defendant in this court today?”

Commander Harneth looked surprised, and glance at Lieut, “Well, no it don’t.”

“Thank you Commander Harneth,” Lord Varrintine nodded to the portly man.

“Commander Harneth,” Lord Barristine said loudly, “Could it be possible that there were in fact two assailants who killed those guards, and because of the sheer size of the red eyed one your guardsman did not notice this smaller man before us?”

“Well yes, it is possible,” the Commander nodded.

“Thank you Commander,” said Lord Barristine with a smile, and he nodded subtly to Lord Cardonian beside him.

“But Commander,” Lord Varrintine spoke up, “How can you say, when you were not there?”

“Well,” Harneth stammered, “The wounded guard. . .”

“By your words he did not say anything about a second assailant,” Lord Varrintine continued.

“That does not mean there wasn’t one,” Lord Cardonian snapped.

“Perhaps not,” Lord Varrintine nodded, “But there is no proof that there was.”

“Commander Harneth just said,” Lord Barristine started to say.

Lord Terth interrupted, “The Commander can only speak on hearsay.”

“Considering there is no proof whether there was or was not a second assailant I recommend we continue to different evidence,” the Regional Commander said clearly before an argument could erupt, “Continue Lord Varrintine.”

Lord Varrintine nodded, “Commander Harneth, do you recall the wounds on the victims?”

“Yes,” nodded the Commander.

“What kind of weapon would you say made them?”

“Well, I know a bit about weapons,” the Commander said confidently, “And it would have had to be a very heavy weapon, and very sharp. And cause of the shape of the cuts it’s was likely a type of axe.”

“Thank you,” smiled Lord Varrintine, “I would like to turn the court’s attention to the weapons recovered. The defendant sword and the axe belonging to the red eyed man who died.”

“What does that prove?” snapped Lord Cardonian, “They could have got to my son from different paths.”

“Lord Cardonian,” the Regional Commander said loudly, “You may be the Ruling Lord of Sesserrech but I will still hold you in contempt if you do not control your emotions.”

“Thank you for pointing that out Lord Cardonian,” Lord Varrintine was quick to say, “It reinforces the fact that there was no second assailant on the guards.”

Lord Cardonian’s face turned red and he looked as if he wanted to say something, but he took a deep breath and sneered instead, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Commander Harneth,” Lord Varrintine continued with a smile, “Would you say that the same weapon made the cuts on the troll beneath the Magi Guild?”

“Yes, indeed,” nodded the Commander.

“And the wound in the Grand Magi’s chest?”

“The same weapon.”

The Commander’s eyes widened as he sucked in a breath, his eyes darting over to Lord Cardonian, who had a vile look on his face.

“Thank you Commander,” Lord Varrintine said, “No more questions.”

“Thank you Commander Harneth, you may leave,” said the Regional Commander, not looking up from the note he was taking.

Awkwardly the Commander got up and departed the hall, his eyes darting to Lord Cardonian as he wiped the sweat from his brow and left the room.

“I must say, that the Commander’s words only proved that the red eyed man was the one to land the final blow on the Grand Magi,” said Lord Zanzier, in an authoritative tone. “Fenard Cardonian was no novice in battle, why he was Grand Magi, which is why two assassins were sent to kill him, and why one died in the process.”

“You speak out of turn Lord Zanzier,” said Lord Terth.

“I will allow it,” the Regional Commander cut in, and he went back to writing his notes.

“Do you have more witnesses to call Lord Varrintine?” asked the Regional Commander.

“There were no others,” Lord Varrintine replied with shrug.

“What about your son Vythe who suddenly showed up out of the blue?” Lord Cardonian snapped.

“Are you making an accusation?” Lord Varrintine replied, looking darkly at Lord Cardonian.

“What about his murder of the Lady Hathnaria, are we just going to ignore that his sentence has not been completed?” Lord Cardonian asked, “It was a life sentence if I remember correctly.”

“I proved my son’s innocence shortly after he was sent to the Gaia Mountains Penitentiary without my vote or consent on this council,” Lord Varrintine snapped back, “Have you forgotten?”

“Enough gentlemen,” the Regional Commander cut in angrily, “We have more pressing issues to deal with at present.”

“You are right, Commander Delfin,” agreed Lord Terth, “Now that the evidence has been presented let us make a decision.”

“Yes,” nodded Regional Commander Delfin, “We shall adjourn to decide.”

“I hardly think we need to adjourn,” laughed Lord Zanzier, “He is guilty, and I vote as such.”

“As do I,” said Lord Cardonian loudly.

“He is guilty,” agreed Lord Barastine.

“I disagree,” said Lord Terth, “The evidence has convinced me to believe he is innocent of the murder. Perhaps not the assassination or the conspiracy to assassinate the Grand Magi, but this hearing is in regard to murder and I am convinced he was not the one to murder the Grand Magi.”

“I would not have put forward such a case as I did if I did not think he was innocent,” said Lord Varrintine.

“Three to two in favour of guilty,” Lord Cardonian smiled cruelly, “To the chopping block with him.”

“The accused known as The Lieutenant you have been found guilty by the ruling Lords of Sesserrech and Port Na’brath. You have no right to appeal and you will be executed by way of public beheading tomorrow morning,” Commander Delfin announced and banged a small gavel on the desk, “Magi Traund take this man to the holding cell to await the execution. This court is concluded.”

Lieut sighed to himself, expecting such an outcome, and he did not resist as the Magi pushed him towards the door to the side of the room. As Lieut walked towards the exit he caught the eyes of Lord Varrintine who looked on him apologetically.

Before he reached the door Lord Cardonian intercepted him, a sneer on his face.

“I hope the axe is blunt,” Lord Cardonian sneered, coming right up to Lieut’s face, the man’s nose barely inches from his. “I hope it takes several swing until your head comes off.”

Lieut looked at the Lord menacingly before head-butting him in the nose, crushing bone and sending blood flying all over the man’s expensive clothes. Lord Cardonian screamed and fell to the ground trying to stem the flow of blood.

Smiling subtly to himself Lieut felt a heavy shove in his back that moved him through the doorway into a long hallway.

“That was amusing,” laughed Magi Traund behind him as they moved along the hall. “If you were not going to the chopping block before you certainly would be now. Lord Cardonian is not an enemy you make twice.”

Lieut did not reply and he continued to walk quietly along the corridor. They came eventually to a smaller iron bound door that led into a smaller room with another iron door opposite and a few cell cages occupying the area. Magi Traund pushed him into one of the three cells in the room and locked the door.

The magicks binding Lieut’s wrist and ankles disappeared and he took a seat on the small bench in the cell. The other two cells were also occupied, one by a woman and the other by a man who had a black bag over his head and his hands bound behind his back. The woman sat on the bench staring into nothing and picking at her nails which were bleeding, but she did not seem to notice.

Lieut sighed and rubbed his hand across his face, his fingers running softly over the bruising around his eye and the swell of his lip.

Unlike the woman in the cell beside him he was not concerned with being executed, it was the risk he had always taken when completing each mission that came his way. Though, never before had he actually been caught, and he had always completed the objective of his mission.

Why had this time been so different?

It had not been the crash that had caused it, that had just been a minor setback. The real reason Lieut believed he was in this position at the moment was because of the Fog that was somehow inside his head and warping his thoughts.

But that was the way of things, and he was resolved to dying. After all a beheading would cure his illness and he would no longer have to worry that the Fog was in his head. Perhaps death would be for the best. No doubt Vythe had tried to free him, why else would Lord Varrintine, Vythe’s father, had defended his case. Lieut had known from the start there was nothing Vythe could have done.

When the guards came for the prisoners the next day and opened the cells doors Lieut walked out on his own with a slight smile on his face, glad that his endless troubles would soon be over.

********************************************

The plaza in front of the large court house was completely packed full of people, pushing and shoving each other as they all tried to find the best spot to watch the execution of the assassin that killed the Grand Magi. A line of guards stood at the base of the steps of the grand building that backed onto the eastern wall of the city in the Land of Lords. The golden dome of the roof glistened in the mid-morning light from Inüer, casting a glaring heat onto the heads of the people in the square. Shimmering in the light stood the tall marble statue of Justice in the middle of the stairs, her eyes blind folded and in one hands she held a sword and a set of unbalanced scales in the other.

The richer spectators had retreated to the shade of their palanquins or carriages, while the rest suffered in the morning heat. Not only was the square packed, but the balconies of the houses around the square were also crowded. Even some of the lower class had spent a lot of gold to buy a Writ of Passage just so they could see for themselves what the assassin looked like.

Vythe stood beside Fairris and Bārdin on a balcony under the shade of a green canvas cloth, hoping that his father had succeeded in proving Lieut’s innocence and all these people would go home disappointed. But he knew that it would not be the case, Lieut’s guilt had been decided long before he set foot in the court room.

Fairris stood beside him staring towards the large court house, her face marked with blank despair. Although he and Lieut did not initially see eye to eye, Vythe had to admit that he had become to like to the silver haired man, albeit not nearly as much as Fairris had.

The crowd cheered wildly as the headsman walked from a door and onto a raised area alongside the main stairs that was specifically designed for public executions. The large man wore a black skull cap and mask and carried at his side a large axe. The headsman placed a large melon on the chopping block, causing the crowd to cheer. Slowly and dramatically the executioner raised his axe above his head, holding it above his head for many seconds. Swiftly and suddenly the axe fell and the melon was cut in two. The crowd roared, and cheered all the more when the headsman threw the halves of the melon into the crowd.

“That oaf wouldn’t know the right end of the axe if someone hadn’t told him,” Bārdin huffed, “See the way he held it? Not much of an axe neither.” 

Vythe and Fairris did not reply, and Bārdin said no more.

Just then another man swaggered onto the stage, wearing a red satin top hat and a coat with tails, swinging a walking stick at his side. Painted on his face was the image of a skull that was as white as bone with black pits for eyes. He was the ringleader of this farce, the conductor of the entertainment, and how the crowd cheered to see his red hat. The man danced around for a few moments and played to the crowd, receiving cheers all the while.

Eventually the ambassador of death stopped showboating to the crowed and bid them to hush. Surprisingly the mass of people fell silent, so much so that you could hear the seagulls cry over head.

“Today is a day of reckoning. A day of vengeance,” the man screamed his voice booming across the square, and the audience cheered.

“Today we rid the world of the evil of a cold blooded assassin,” more cheers erupted.

“This assassin killed a dozen of the city’s finest guards on his bloody path through this city’s humble streets,” the ringmaster continued above the cheers, “Before taking the life of our beloved Grand Magi, Fenard Cardonian.”

A stream of curses and cries lifted up from the crowd.

“But this assassin, hired by our enemies in the east, could not disappear quietly into the darkness from whence he came,” the man declared, “We have him in shackles and on his knees before the people. Will you see him freed?”

Screams of NO erupted through the square.

“Will we send him to meet judgement by The Five?”

“YES!”

“May they take pity on his soul and cast him into the Abyss for eternal torture.” The ringleader screamed wildly.

“But before we can see the assassin’s head roll, it falls to us to pass judgement upon another,” the man said, suddenly serious. “This woman, a vile whore, made wild accusations that our good Lord Herschel VIII had an affair with her and is the father of her child. She blackmailed and slept her way around the city trying to scam our noble Lords out of their honest coin. Look at her now!”

A woman wearing a dirty and ripped silk dress was pushed out onto the stage, her face streaked with tears and she was picking furiously at her nails, causing blood to run down her arms.

“Foul, loathsome, despicable whore,” the top hatted man roared as he walked around the lady, licking her cheek and grabbing at her.

The crowd laughed and jeered, encouraging him further. So much so, that soon the ringleader had the woman bent over the chopping block while pretended to rape her from behind.

Vythe sigh in disgust and looked away, as did Fairris.

But the rest of the people in the square laughed all the more, some even screaming to rip off the woman’s clothes and plough her right there in front of the spectators.

“What a civilised world we live in,” Vythe spat bitterly.

The man with the top hat and skull painted on his face finally left the woman crying on the chopping block.

“Should we forgive her of her sins?” the man asked the crowed.

“NO!”

“NEVER!”

“KILL THE WHORE!”

The top hatted man laughed and went back to his mock intercourse with the woman as the headsman prepared himself to do his job. The headsman axe went high above his head and came down with a sickening thud, cleanly severing the woman head from her shoulders, and ending her torment. 

The man with the top hat leapt from behind and kicked the woman’s head into the crowd, which brought a roar of approval.

“Do not tire yourselves out just yet,” the man laughed loudly, “For now it is the assassin’s turn to face our judgement.”

The roar from the crowd was deafening as the next victim for the headsman was brought out. A dark hood was over his head and the prisoner had been stripped to the waist. The crowd instantly began to throw rotten food and animal excrement at the prisoner, and they swore and jeered loudly as the prisoner’s hood was removed.

Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin squinted into the distance.

“Is that him?” Vythe asked quizzically. “He looks different to my eyes.”

“Course he does,” Bārdin grumbled, “Look how beaten up he is. Those bastards had to torture him first. If I could get me hands on them, I’d rip ‘em apart.”

“No, Lieut,” Fairris gasped.

Vythe let out a deep sigh and rubbed a hand across his face, “Damn.”

“I cannot watch,” Fairris suddenly said and she fled into the house.

“I am sorry, Lieut,” Vythe whispered quietly, “Would that there was more we could have done.”

Vythe watched stoically as the man in the top hat danced around making the crowd scream. Vythe did not move from the balcony as Lieut was pushed to the chopping block, and he watched unblinking as the headsman’s axe went high and came down fast with a splash of crimson.

Chapter Three

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the forty-first day of Summer

There was a chill in the evening air as Vythe walked through the extensive gardens of his family home. The large mansion and acreage sat on the southern highland of Port Na’brath, where the land swept up to the Magi Guild. It was a long plateau with grassy fields and woody ends, and accommodated most of the richest families in The Port. None of the grounds of the mansions were overly large, and he could see the roof and chimneys of his family’s closest neighbours peaking over the line of trees that marked the edge of his family’s land. If he really wanted seclusion and expansive acreage he could always head to his family’s holiday estate in Elmnest to the south.

Elmnest had once been the seat of Delathain, a devout follower of Gildon during the War of Darkness during the Third Age. But when the war ended and Delathain was destroyed, along with Gildon and all his followers, Elmnest was turned in to a place of joy. The Wood Elves of Elm Forest alongside Lake Dwarthin played no small part of purifying the evil that had crept into the forest and buildings of Elmnest. To this day Elmnest was a town where predominantly Wood Elves lived. However, Vythe’s family had always been close the elves and humans of Elmnest and as such they were happy to see the Varrintines build a great estate on the banks of Lake Dwarthin.

Vythe’s mind then drifted to the night when the Grand Magi had been killed by Lieut’s brother, and when Lieut had subsequently been arrested, and where only luck had saved Vythe and Fairris from been caught as well. Vythe’s father must have known he was in the city for as soon as the fires that raged in the Grand Magi’s quarters had been extinguished a teleportation field had opened around them and brought them to this manor. But as Vythe knew would happen the demon he and Elardōre had betrayed in the Void seized him. Again, only luck saved Vythe for the demon was not prepared for him and Vythe managed to jump through the teleportation gate before it closed. Although he did materialise in front of his father badly singed, which of course he was compelled to explain later.

With news of Lieut’s capture and the Grand Magi’s assassination, Bārdin had shortly turned up at the door of Varrintine manor and all of them tried to think of a way to free Lieut. But of course they had found none.

Vythe sighed and rubbed a hand across his face as he walked the paved paths through a cluster of trees that grew at the back end of the grounds. It had been a long few days for him, despite the sadness of Lieut’s execution on the thirty-forth the rest of the time had been full of joy with his brothers all coming from different corners of Essinendeür to embrace the sibling they thought dead. Vythe had been delighted to see his youngest sibling and only sister now grown, and even at the young age of thirteen showing such remarkable talents with magicks.

The leaves of the tall trees fluttered down to the ground from their high bows, dislodged by a cool wind blowing in from the sea. The leaf litter crunched under Vythe’s feet as he absently followed the path as it wound through the small wilderness. The path past a few moss covered benches but Vythe was not partial to taking a seat and continued on through the trees and the coming evening.

At this time all his brothers had left, the two eldest returning to the estate in Elmnest and the other four heading off to wherever they had come from. Vythe had to smile as he thought of his brothers. Despite their father’s wishes none of his brothers, or himself, had become Grand Magi of the Guild, even though his father had pushed each of them very hard to develop their magickal skills.

Vythe still remembered the day his father had teleported him to a remote location in the Scarred Mountains to the north and left him there to fend for himself in hope that he would develop his Connexion to the Fog and increase his inner power called Quia. It had worked, though Vythe had only been five at the time he still remembered how scared he had been.

By now Vythe had come to the end of the clump of trees and the path led back through the rest of the gardens. Past the neatly trimmed hedges and perfectly cut turf the mansion loomed up ahead, its three story height and many chimneys towering over the gardens. In the coming gloom the lights of the house had been turned on and the golden glow reached out into the darkness welcoming him inside. The first of the stars had begun to shine as Vythe pushed through the side door that led into a down stairs wash room where he could scrape any mud or dirt from his boots.

Vythe moved straight through into the kitchen where the house servants were preparing dinner. Greeting them cheerfully Vythe exchanged several pleasant words with them all before moving through one of the many sitting rooms. He was on friendly terms with all the staff employed at the Varrintine mansion, and in fact his house and family was considered the best place to work at by the servant community.

Vythe found Bārdin snoring on the couch in front of the open fire in the next room with an empty beer mug in his hands. Ignoring the dwarf Vythe moved straight to the glass doors that led onto a patio where he would usually take his breakfast in the morning, and also where he knew he would find Fairris.

The Blood Elf sat quietly on one of the cushioned deck chairs her deep blue eyes staring out across the city, but she was not seeing any of it. Ever since the execution Fairris had been very depressed and said very little to anyone.

“It will be a cool night,” Vythe remarked as he sat down on another deck chair alongside Fairris.

Fairris did not reply, nor did she even seem to realise he was there, but Vythe was not concerned.

“I have decided to go to Crydon,” Vythe continued, “If I can stop the war brewing between Sesserrech and Krnōrel I will.”

Still Fairris did not reply.

“Lieut said that the princess in Crydon will also die,” Vythe remarked, “If I can stop her from dying perhaps I can stop this war from igniting.”

The mention of Lieut made Fairris look towards him.

“Here, how do you know there will be a war?” Bārdin asked, coming out onto the balcony.

“There is apparently evidence that implicates the King of Crydon in Fenard Cardonian’s assassination,” Vythe replied, “Lord Cardonian desires revenge, and if the King of Crydon’s daughter is also assassinated, war will be certain.”

“So,” Bārdin shrugged, “Let them fight, why should it bother us.”

Vythe sighed, “Both Krnōrel and Sesserrech are currently in a very delicate position, and a war would set both realms back centuries. And a war between the two most powerful regions would cripple all of Essinendeür.”

“Maybe for you humans,” Bārdin shrugged.

“Where do you think the war would take place?” Vythe asked, his frustration in the dwarf showing, “The armies would fight on the slopes of the Iron Mountains, the Morrow Plains, the woods of The Foglornt Forest, or even on the desert sand of Anastarā again. The world of dwarves and all other races would become caught within the bloody maelstrom.”

Bārdin snorted in response.

“Before the Summer Solstice I am heading for Crydon,” Vythe said looking back to Fairris, “Would you accompany me?”

Fairris sighed and nodded head before looking back to the city.

“Sure, I’ll go with you.” Bārdin said loudly, “Ain’t got nothing better to do, and while we’re sitting around here my axe is getting dull.”

Later that evening they all sat in one of the houses sitting rooms, and staring quietly into the fire. Vythe’s mother and sister, Valianna, were also with them talking softly. As she sat next to her mother Valianna had conjured a glowing ball of light that floated around the room. The glowing ball of light divided into many smaller orbs and begun spinning around each other creating patterns of light throughout the room. A slight smile came to Vythe’s face as he acknowledged that his sister was indeed talented with magicks, and just for fun Vythe created his own glowing globe and sent it crashing into his sisters, disrupting her flying orbs. 

“Hey,” Valianna laughed and sent her balls of light to fight back.

Vythe smiled as the two different coloured orbs darted around the room bouncing into each other, and spinning in interweaving dances. The orbs bounced off of the walls and onto Bārdin’s head making the dwarf grumble and swat at them. Suddenly both balls of light shattered and fell like rain into nothing as Lord Varrintine walked into the room.

“How many times have I told you both, magicks are a tool, not a toy,” Vythe’s father grumbled as he sat down in a chair.

“And yet you could have just made the orbs disappear without the spectacular explosion,” Vythe replied, causing his father to shoot him a sly glance. “What transpired at the meeting between the Lords?”

Lord Varrintine sighed and shook his head, “Cardonian wants war, but I am sure that is hardly news to you. Many of the other Lords, including myself, urged Lord Cardonian to not be so rash. But in the end we took a vote and the majority was in favour of Lord Cardonian. Although, Regional Commander Delfin stepped in and persuaded Lord Cardonian to stay his vengeance.”

Vythe cocked his head to the side, “That is surprising.”

Lord Varrintine nodded, “There is to be a peace moot between Lord Cardonian and King Lienthor of Crydon. Although, the location of this moot is yet to be decided.”

Lord Varrintine let out a great sigh and silence fell over the room.

“I have news of my own,” Vythe spoke up, “Fairris, Bārdin and I, am leaving for Crydon.”

His father looked at him sternly, but nodded, “You believe what your friend Lieut said, then?”

“Of course, he was no liar,” Fairris cut in, somewhat harshly.

“When will you depart for Krnōrel?” Lady Varrintine asked pleasantly.

“The day after tomorrow,” Vythe replied.

“Can I come?” Valianna piped in, her dark eyes sparkling.

“The Five forbid, no,” Lady Varrintine exclaimed, “I cannot have my only daughter walking off into danger.”

“Besides,” smiled Lord Varrintine, “You have study to do.”

“Father, I am not even at the Magi Guild yet,” Valianna laughed.

“No,” Lord Varrintine nodded, “But I was speaking with Magi Traund, who is predicted to be the next Grand Magi, and he spoke of your talents.”

“Really?” Valianna’s face brightened.

“If you study hard now you will have a solid lead on the other entire student when you start next month,” Lord Varrintine smiled back.

“That is such a stupid system,” Valianna huffed, “What grade you are in should be based on your level of skill.”

“It is way schooling is done my daughter,” Lord Varrintine smiled, “Though it may seem that it will hold you back, you can teach yourself through the thousands of old tomes in the Guild archives, as your siblings did before you.” 

The rest of the evening drifted by with idle conversation before they each decided to retire of the night.

The next morning came bright and clear, a thin mist lifted up from the sea and reached into the blue skies. It was still early when Vythe, Bārdin and Fairris set off into the city to buy provisions for their journey. With leave from Lord Varrintine, Valianna also joined them and was delighted to go on a shopping trip into the city. The house carriage took all four of them down the curving road and into the Land of Lords, straight to Cardonian Square where merchants from The Ladder set up their extensive stalls. At the square they spilt up as they each looked for items that they were after. Bārdin stomped off into the mass of people, shoving aside any who got in his way and Valianna decided to go with Fairris, leaving Vythe to wonder around the shops by himself.

Vythe’s first stops were at stalls that sold dry goods for travellers and onto other gear for adventurers. He bought a few things there, but he was confident that his magicks would get them past any obstacles on their journey. As he weaved through the crowd he found himself drawn to a weapon stall and he begun looking at the spears and glaives on sale.

“What metals do you use?” Vythe asked the merchant.

“Our smithy uses the finest of steel, m’Lord,” replied the merchant courteously.

“No Crimson or Mythrl then?” Vythe inquired seriously.

The merchant shook his head in surprise, “No, m’Lord. Rare metals such as those are awful hard to come by. Sorry to disappoint m’Lord.”

“No apology required,” Vythe shook his head, silently wondering why he had asked.

Vythe gave a brief nod to the merchant before heading into the crowd. Having already finished most of his shopping and instructed the merchants to send the goods to Varrintine Manor, and he wondered back to the carriage where the chauffer was waiting patiently. 

“Finished quickly, master Vythe,” smiled Caddy, the driver, “Are we to wait for the others?”

“Yes,” Vythe nodded, “But you go buy something for yourself Caddy. And once the others return, you may leave without me. I feel like walking back to the house.”

“Got a bit of thinking to do ay? Very well, and thank you kindly Master Vythe,” Caddy smiled widely. “I shall have a look about when I get the chance.”

Vythe followed his feet out of the markets and along the paved streets through the Land of Lords. He passed by Sārlien’s house, his former mentor from the Thieves Guild, but decided not to stop by. His thoughts continued to linger on recent events and the trouble brewing between the realms. There had to be more to the situation then he knew, but he could not work it out.

A paper boy tried to sell him the latest news but Vythe irritably waved the lad away. He hated being distracted when crucial contemplations occupied his thoughts. The paper boy persisted so Vythe angrily threw some coins at the lad and continued on without the paper.

When Vythe arrived at the estate he helped a few of the ground staff unload a wagon filled with the provisions he and the others had bought at the markets. Bārdin helped as well and grinned widely as he open the crate which was filled with the items he had bought. With a laugh the dwarf pulled out an iron helm and sat it immediately upon his head. Bārdin then pulled out a pair of gauntlets and heavy boots, which he also put on, along with the new chainmail and jerkin he had purchased. With another laugh he pulled out the other items, which included a small axe that he slipped into his belt behind his back and couple of leather pouches. The dwarf then tossed all his old items into the box and chucked it onto the back of the wagon giving a wink to Vythe.

As they finished unloading and continued to sort out the sundries, Valianna came and got one of the doormen to carry her purchases into the house to show mother. Vythe quickly sorted out the remaining items, most of which dropped nicely into one of his two extra-dimensional pouches, which Bārdin grumbled and shook his at the sight.

They gave the empty creates back to the men that had brought them and retired to the living room. The rest of the day went quickly with Vythe making further preparations for the journey, looking through some maps and plotting the trail they would take.

As they all ate dinner Vythe noticed that his sister had somehow brought a smile back on Fairris’s face, and she was even joining in conversations again. Together they also teased Bārdin for wearing his new helmet, gloves and boots at the dinner table. Vythe also joined in the jest and laughed aloud when the dwarf simply waved them away and made sure his helm was on straight and that no food fell on his new chainmail and tunic.

The night past quickly and before Vythe realised they were riding their steeds through the Southern Gate and heading off on the road to adventure.

****************************************************

Cold steel and bright monitors filled the dark room each with flashing lights and dials, each designed for a specific purpose and at each of them someone sat, staring at the dials and lights. In a room full of sounds of machinery and technology it was hard to believe the level of silence there.

Not a word could be heard from the silhouettes watching the screens so intently, their focus was fixed and they had learnt not to let it slip from their tasks.

Discipline had been drilled into them since the first time they set foot into the world, the weak fell and the strong continued. Only the best survived in this world, and here they were, in a small room staring at monitors, such menial tasks set for Warriors of great skill. After years of brutal training they had reached great heights of physical and mental ability, and yet here they were sitting in front of a data screen, their expressions reflecting the day’s monotony.

A light bell sounded through the room and a sigh of relief swept over each of them, the working hours had ended and now they could each go about their own business.

Jar’nesh gave little regard to the bell as she searched the floor for her ring she had been playing with and subsequently dropped.

“Coming Jar’nesh?” came the call from one of her friends.

“Give me a moment,” Jar’nesh replied, “You go on, I’ll catch up.”

“Don’t be too long, else you will miss the start of training,” her friend called back as she moved out the door.

Jar’nesh called her acknowledgement and went back to looking for her ring under the desks, but it was little use. The room was dimly lit so with a sigh she got down on her hands and knees and began searching under the desks for her ring. Lucky for her the white floors were always immaculately clean so her tight grey pants did not dirty as she crawled about the metal work station.

“It can’t have rolled too far,” she mumbled, as she climbed through the work station that sat opposite her own.

Just then the phone rang, its loud chimes echoing around the empty room. She was about to answer reluctantly and politely tell them that the working hours had ended when the Commander picked it up.

“Yes, it is me,” the Commander answered, “Yes, I am alone.”

Jar’nesh froze, she had been thinking of making her presence known and awkwardly apologising. She could not just stand up and greet him that would make things twice as embarrassing.

“No, still no word from Nen’on. But things are running smoothly besides. Ne’tra will be sent on his mission soon.”

Jar’nesh held her breath, if the Commander found out that she was here now she would be punished for eavesdropping on a private conversation. Although the conversation had grabbed her attention, just the other day she had been wondering about Nen’on, and thinking that the System Fail he showed when first landed was not just glitch in the hardware.

“Preparations are running smoothly. We will be running a simulation tomorrow. Although, I have been concerned with Nen’on, yes I know that there should not be any communication with him until he has destroyed the target. But after the transmission we received from Nar’to I was. . .”

The voice on the phone cut him off, Jar’nesh strained to hear, trying to discern what was being said, but it was no use. She would have to move closer for any chance of that, and she was far too scared to even breathe.

“Yes, I understand. Yes, of course.”

The Commander seemed agitated to her as she crouched on the floor quietly.

“Yes, preparations are going accordingly, you can count on me. I shall inform you if we learn more about the strange circumstances surrounding Nar’to’s destruction. Good day my Lie. . .”

The Commander cut himself short as the person on the other end of the phone must have hung up on him. She heard him mutter something under his breath and his heavy footsteps left the room.  Jar’nesh breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled as her pale grey eyes spotted her ring lying at the base of one of the tables legs next to one of the thick electrical cords. Sliding it on to her finger she jumped to her feet and dusted her tight grey uniform off, but she need not have bothered as there was not dust in these halls. 

Before she headed for the door she found herself being drawn to the phone the Commander had just been talking on, beside the earphone and speaker there was a small screen that would tell her who the Commander had just been talking with. Jar’nesh shook her head, she should not be prying into other people’s business, but her curiosity was too strong and pushing back her silver hair she read the identification dial.

“The High King,” she read aloud in surprise.

Even though the High King was the ruler of Kor’vir, and had practically orchestrated everything, she thought it strange that he would contact the Commander directly.

“Surely he has people to do the administrative work for him,” she thought aloud.

Her thoughts troubled her as she quietly left the room.

She let out a sigh and tried to dismiss the concerning queries, it was not her place to question the High King, or the Commander. She was a Warrior and would follow her orders, especially now with the infiltration stage imminent when she would form part of the main attacking force. The thought of battle brought a smile to her face and she picked her pace through the white corridors, eager to challenge her friends in the sparring ring.

Chapter Four

Baelor moved through the large doubled door entrance into a wide silver stone foyer with large black marble pillars framing the entrance hall and holding up the second level of the keep. His black leather boots made no noise on the thick black rug as he made his way towards the ornate silver throne with black cushions. Twisting silver vines warped and turned making up the back of the throne and ended in two large antlers of a stag. The silver throne sat on a wide dais three steps up from the floor and behind it the silver and black steps continued up to the back of the hall before they split in two, each going the opposite direction up to the second floor.

He moved past the throne giving it little thought and continued up the stairs to the railed terrace that overlooked the throne room. Many ebony wood doors led off from the terrace and further into the palace, but he knew which way to go. Moving through one of these doors he came into a long hallway lined with silver tapestries with a prancing black stag up its field. This hall led into the private wings of the palace occupants and the King’s solace where he was due to be.

The hall ended in a large courtyard with a white marble fountain at its centre in the likeness of a noble elk. The courtyard was round and paved with white marble squares that allowed the green grass to come up through the cracks, small gardens full of bright flowers edged the courtyard adding their fragrances to the crisp morning air. Several marble benches circled the fountain and were a popular spot for the ladies of the court. As it was two ladies sat at one bench as Baelor moved into the yard, causing both women to stop talking and regard him in surprise.

“Forgive me my ladies, I meant no intrusion,” Baelor bowed politely.

“There is no intrusion, good sir,” said the lady wearing a light silver gown that flowed around her. A golden circlet sat at her temples drawing his eyes to her deep brown and purple orbs with diamond pupils and long delicate ears. “You are the Zirarien Baelor, are you not? Come to see my father?”

“Indeed my lady,” Baelor bowed again, “You must be Princess Xanthia, tales of your beauty hardly do you justice.”   

The Princess smiled brightly and her cheeks flushed with red, “You are kind to say, Commander,” Xanthia smiled. “But tell me, why is the Regional Commander of Cientrasis coming to call on the King of Krnōrel?”

“I am sorry to say that I am here on military business,” Baelor replied politely, not to be rude.

“How intriguing,” Xanthia giggled to her hand maiden. “I implore you to tell me more.”

“I cannot my Lady,” Baelor replied, an amused smile coming to his face, “But I am sure you already know why I am here. Let us not play games. Our meeting was not by chance, so what would you have of me?”

Xanthia’s smile disappeared and she gave a slight nod to her maid, who quickly left the courtyard.

“I would beseech you to dissuade my father from starting this war,” the princess said grimly as she moved closer to him.

“As you said my lady, I am the Regional Commander of Cientrasis,” replied Baelor, “What could I do?”

“I am not a fool, Commander,” Xanthia snapped, “The High Commission has more influence than they would have everyone else believe. You could end this war as simply as putting on your coat.”

Baelor nodded slowly, “But what if this war was in the interest of the High Commission? What then, Princess, would you still ask this of me?”

“Yes,” Xanthia insisted, “I love the people of this city, and could not bear to see them die because of my father’s pride. I would have this war end before it has begun at any cost.”

“Am I to be used as your instrument,” Baelor smiled, “Is that your idea?”

“If I can, yes.”

“You are very brave, Princess,” Baelor smiled.

“Is it bravery to want to protect your people?” Xanthia looked shocked.

“Yes.” Baelor nodded seriously.

Xanthia seemed taken aback by the reply and could not find any words to say in response.

“Let us suppose that I agree with you,” Baelor continued after a few moments, “And that I will do as you ask. How would that benefit me?”

“I will pay you if that is what you desire,” Xanthia said bitterly.

Baelor smiled to himself as he wondered how far he could push this young idealist.

“And what if I desire something else,” Baelor smiled as he brushed a finger across the princesses cheek, but she quickly slapped it away.

Baelor laughed, “You say you love your people and cannot bear to see them die, yet you will not give everything to save them. You are as ignorant and foolish as every other princess.”

“How dare you sir,” Xanthia snapped viciously.

“How dare I?” Baelor smiled, “I was not the one who just tried to bribe a member of the High Commission.”

The Princess looked distressed. Apparently she had not expected this encounter to take such a turn. Baelor laughed to himself at the idealism of young queens who want to make a difference in the world but do not realise what needs to be done to achieve it.

“I fear I am late for the meeting with your Lord father,” Baelor bowed, “Good day little princess.”

He left briskly, leaving Xanthia lost for words in the middle of the courtyard.

Baelor continued along the hall a smile on his face and pushed through a pair of large black doors into another long room. The black carpet continued ahead of him and under a balcony that two stairs on opposite side of the hall led up to. The lower path led into the King and Queens private rooms. Taking one of the stairs leading up to another large door that was guarded by two knights in black plate armour lined with silver, across their chests was enamelled a prancing silver stag, each wore a full visor helm with silver horns of an elk. On their shoulders was draped a long flowing cloak of silver and black satin. They were members of the King’s elite guard and stood blocking his path, each holding an eight foot halberd crossed in front of the door.

As Baelor neared the entrance the guards moved aside their spears allowing him to push through the double doors. The room he entered was quite small compared to all the others in the castle, but like the others it was beautifully decorated in silvers and blacks, tapestries lined the walls alongside lovely paintings. Rich rugs were on the floors and large windows looked out over the castle gardens and out across the Golden Sea. Opposite the entrance sat a large black wood desk at which sat the King of Krnōrel and beside him stood the half elf Lethain Rook, the Regional Commander of Krnōrel, as beautiful as ever.

“Commander, it is good of you to come,” King Lienthor greeted, “I expected you sooner.”

“I was delayed by your beautiful daughter,” Baelor smiled and bowed, never taking his pale green eyes off the King.

King Lienthor was strong looking man, with broad shoulders and a straight back, when standing he was a little over six foot, but his perfect posture made him look several inches taller. He had handsome features, a narrow nose and strong jaw, but his eyes were hard and his brow always creased. He was a man created to be a King, just, kind, and strong, but also compassionate, his people loved and respected him, and he returned their loyalty in kind.

“Xanthia is young and headstrong, too much like I was when I was her age,” the King nodded and motioned Baelor to sit at one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“Thankfully she has her mother’s beauty,” smiled Baelor as he took the seat. “But also her mother’s heart, she only wants peace for her people.”

“The people love her in return,” the King nodded, “But she is naïve to think that there can be peace without war.”

“Perhaps you should marry her off,” Baelor suggested with a smile, “A man might quench her fires.”

“There is no lack of suitors,” the King replied, “But she is too much like her mother, she will not go with a man unless she loves him.” 

“To be young and innocent, and wealthy,” Baelor laughed, “But I think she would give all she had to have peace in her kingdom.”

“I would gladly give her and the people peace,” King Lienthor sighed angrily, “But Cardonian has the audacity to accuse me of ordering the assassination of his son.”

“And he accuses you openly and readily, your Grace,” Rook added and she shot a smile to Baelor.

“Damn him,” the King spat, “Damn him to the Abyss, I will have his head if he says it to my face.”

“There will be no beheading in Elestarl, your Grace,” Baelor added sternly.

“Which brings us to why you are here, Baelor,” the King calmed down, “Why should I consent to the location of Cardonian’s choosing for this peace summit?”

“Cientrasis is neutral ground,” Rook explained politely.

“It needs to be in Cientrasis or Gaianaus,” Baelor added, “Anywhere else would promote dissent. Especially because of the military treaty between Sesserrech and Norrendōrel, and the one between Krnōrel and I’ender.” 

“Why not in Pentra, where the High Commission sits,” asked the King.

“That would be unwise,” Baelor quickly said, “If you suggested Pentra to Lord Cardonian, he could read that as the High Commission interfering when it is sworn not to. The High Commission and Regional Commanders are here to offer guidance and peace, not to choose sides.”

The King sighed angrily, “Elestarl it must be then.”

“You are wise your Grace,” Rook said softly.

“Excellent,” Baelor smiled, “How big will your entourage be?”

“I assume I cannot bring my whole army?” joked the King, and Baelor shook his head and smiled. “Then it will have to be ten of my elite guard and my three stewards, good?”

“Elestarl will be happy to accommodate them,” Baelor nodded.

“Before you go, tell me Baelor,” the King said before the Blood Elf could move to leave. “How many is Cardonian bringing?”

“I am not sure I should say your grace,” Baelor hesitated.

“As long as you are in Krnōrel, he is your King, Baelor,” Rook jumped in, “It is the code of the High Commission to obey the ruler of the realm you are in.”

“I should have remembered,” Baelor apologised, “Thank you Commander Rook. As for Cardonian, he has decided to bring five of his household guard and his wife.”

“Only five,” Rook balked, “Has he no respect?”

“Come now Commander, there is no need for that,” Baelor quickly said, “Lord Cardonian obviously does not fear any attack from King Lienthor.”

“He mocks me even at a peace summit,” the King growled and rose angrily from his chair. “Baelor, I have changed my mind, I shall only bring five of my guards with me as well as my stewards.”

“As you say,” Baelor nodded, “But I do not see the necessity to reduce the number, there is more than enough room for the ten in Elestarl.”

“The amount of space you can accommodate is of no matter,” the King snapped back, “If Cardonian wants to play this game I will oblige, I am not one to back down when my honour is challenged.”

“I whole heartedly agree with you, your Grace,” Baelor nodded, “Now I must ask for your leave, that I may depart and ready Elestarl for your coming.”

“One more thing before you depart, Baelor,” the King quickly said before he stood up. “If you could, tell me what Cardonian is bringing to this meeting that I may prepare myself and find a way to make terms for peace.”

Baelor paused and considered his words carefully, “Lord Cardonian brings anger and grief. His heart desires vengeance, more than justice.”

King Lienthor nodded grimly as he considered Baelor’s words.

“He also brings evidence,” Baelor continued cautiously, “An assassination contract signed with the royal seal of Krnōrel.”

“Impossible,” the King roared, “It is a forgery. That swine, does he think I will stand for this?”

“No doubt it is a forgery,” Baelor replied calmly, “But who made it, and why?”
Baelor let his words hang in the air and allowed King Lienthor consider them gravely, he hid his smile and could see that Rook was doing the same.

“Good day your Grace,” Baelor said as he rose from the chair and headed for the door. “I look forwards to your arrival at Elestarl on the sixty-eighth.”

King Lienthor did not reply and slumped into his chair a ponderous and grave look upon his face.

As Baelor moved through the door and down the step to the hallway that led out across the courtyard, he flicked his black leather coat out behind him, his boots making no sound on the pave stones. That meeting could not have gone any better in his mind, Rook had played her part well and soon the High Commission’s plans would blossom.

Chapter Five

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the fifty-sixth day of Summer

It had been a long trek from The Port and across the Yineth Plateau and through the dense forests that grew in huge clumps all over the grass lands. But not a normal forests of woody trees, on the Yineth Plateau the forests resembled overgrown flowers with fleshy trunks and huge flowers for canopies. The undergrowth was covered with dense leafy plants of different colours, and during the nights all the plants would glow brightly with colourful designs and patterns.

During the days in the forest, butterflies drifted happily through the dense under growth and strange lizards scuttled over the wide tree stems. The light from Inüer would cascade through the gaps in the canopy coming down in brilliant shafts of light casting the forest in a magickal glow.

In these types of forests many foul creatures also lurked. Riding along Vythe remembered an account of Dional Atborogh’s venture through the Yineth lands. Atborogh had claimed to have seen and Endreager the size of a horse and its poisonous barbed tail over two meters in length. That was not something Vythe was too keen on facing so he wearily kept his eyes to the canopy of the trees and listened intently for the tell-tale hiss of an Endreager.

During the nights, despite the glowing plants, it was dark and unwelcoming, and Vythe always heard a low growl from an unseen predator and the rustle of leaves followed by a painful scream of a dying animal.

As Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin rode their horses through the trees during the day hours it was quite pleasant, as had been the trip so far from The Port. Fairris and Bārdin had finally begun to overlook the ancient disagreement between their races and the weather had been pleasant, if not a bit hot. Bārdin had taken up a recent love of grumbling to himself about the ‘infernal forest’, as he put it, and every time he wiped the sweat from his brow or adjusted his sweaty top he would grumble.

As the days moved past they moved further in the dense forest they came across pockets of cold air trapped under the canopy which made them shiver and their breaths turn to steam. Thankfully the cold pockets were short and they could warm themselves in the small clearings of the jungle. The paths also became narrower and Vythe kept on getting the feeling that the trees were trying to trip up his grey stallion or knock him from his saddle.  With the trees moving closer around them and the ground had become uneven with wide ravines opening up and clumps of earth towering over them.

The unnatural earth formation had been caused by the Yineth at the beginning of the Third Age when King Elvaar of Krnōrel and Lord Thenridred of Sesserrech did battle on these very plains. After years of their fighting the Yineth grew tired of the human’s war and told the armies to leave, but the leaders refused and killed the emissaries of the Yineth. The Yineth then grew angry and summoned the ground to swallow the armies’ whole, leaving behind these great scars in the earth. 

As the days wore on, still the forest grew dense and the trees roots twisted over the ravines and across the face of the rocks.

“This ain’t no natural forest,” Bārdin grumbled in his beard, “Infernal place it is.”

Thankfully the tree stems suddenly parted to reveal a large clearing where the plants had been cut down. The three travellers paused at the entrance of the clearing, and with concern they looked across to an encampment.

The ground sloped down from the right to a lake in the far left corner of the clearing. The dirt road continued on in front of them and through a group of houses that had been built from the felled trees, to the hill behind the houses where several of the fleshy trunked trees which had deep grooves spiralling up and down their trunks collecting the sap in large troughs at the bottom. The tree’s sap would then be dried and crushed into a powder to be sold illegally.

“Sappers,” Bārdin spat on the ground. “Damned drug dealers.”

“Quite the criminal establishment they have here,” Vythe remarked.

“Bastard scum,” Fairris swore viciously.

“We should be able to pass through without any trouble,” Vythe said to his companions.

“We should kill them all,” Bārdin replied as he stroked the handle of his axe.

“For once you speak sense Bārdin,” Fairris nodded her agreement.

“We are outnumbered,” Vythe reminded them, “But I agree that these drug dealers should be killed. I also think that we should not look for trouble.”

“An’ if they start trouble?” Bārdin asked.

Vythe shot a smile to the dwarf, “Oblige them.”

“Happily,” said Fairris her eyes burning with hatred as she looked towards the Sapper’s camp site.

Vythe urged his grey stallion into a trot down the dusty path and into the group of buildings. Everything was going smoothly, and none of the drug harvesters had accosted them, Vythe was even beginning to think that they would pass the encampment without being stopped. But just as they came alongside the last building a dozen men surrounded them and stopped their horses. One of the Sappers, a Mōrgul cat form the Morrow Plains, moved in front of Vythe’s horse, drawing deeply on a cigarette of tobacco made of the dried leaves of the trees they were harvesting. The Mōrgul breathed out the greenish smoke and spat to the side before smiling at Vythe, his catlike teeth showing the greenish tint that all abusers of the Sap drug bore. The Mōrgul ran a clawed hand through his thick grey hair, which had patches of gold throughout, and idly played with one of the many braids that hung around his cat-like ears.

“Relc’tar welcomes you to his town,” the Mōrgul smiled widely, “But why is it that you have come?”

“Merely passing through,” Vythe replied quickly.

Relc’tar’s yellow cat eyes glinted, “Passing requires paying.”

“We have gold,” Vythe said stiffly.

The Mōrgul took a long drag of his cigarette, “Relc’tar has gold, and much more gold to come.”

“If you don’t like it you can have me axe in your face,” Bārdin grumbled, causing Relc’tar to smile widely.

“What payment do you desire, then?” asked Vythe ignoring Bārdin.

The Mōrgul’s lime green teeth flashed, “Relc’tar was only just this morning considering how much Relc’tar was in need of horses.”

Vythe clenched his jaw, he was very fond of his horse, which he had seen grow from a foal. But with a sigh and a glance around at the men that encircled them he dropped down from the saddle and instructed Fairris and Bārdin to do the same. They were just as hesitant as he was, but soon one of the men from the side led the two horses and Bārdin’s pony to the side of one of the cabins.

Just as Relc’tar shot them another green smile and butted out his cigarette with a sandaled foot, the door of the last cabin burst open and a Yineth staggered out, her hands bound in front of her. The Yineth fell to the dirt several times, clearly in a state of delirium as she headed towards the tree line.

“You fools,” Relc’tar, yelled at the men around him, “I told you to tie her down. Well don’t just stand there, after that bunny.”

Two men rushed to catch up to the Yineth and wacked her hard over the head, before dragging her back to the cabin from which she had ran.

Vythe looked over his shoulder to Bārdin and Fairris, both of which wore the same expression of anger and bloodlust. He gave them both a subtle nod before whirling around and conjuring his spear so it stabbed right into Relc’tar’s throat.

Both Fairris and Bārdin raced into the surprised Sappers their own weapons turning the ground red with blood.

Vythe twisted his spear free and moved past the dying Mōrgul cat and towards the two who had recaptured the Yineth. Both of which had dropped the unconscious Yineth and were charging towards him.

A line of rocks and dusty shot forwards across the ground from a motion of Vythe’s hand and sent a spear of earth into to the chest of one of the Sappers. The second man stopped and looked to his friend impaled on an earthy spear in horror, before turning to flee.

Vythe quickly cast another elemental spell, and punched the palm of his hand in front of his eyes. At the same time a wall of rock exploded out of the ground and crushed the Sapper as he tried to flee. Vythe summoned his spear again and turned to see how his friends had faired, making sure the man impaled on the rock spear stayed that way.

Two Sappers charged from one of the houses towards Vythe, Fog swords in their hands. When the closest attacker was barely five steps away Vythe flicked his wrists and his Fog spear shot forward and through the Sapper’s chest. With a simple thought the spear returned to normal length and Vythe set his feet to face the second Sapper.

The crazed female Sapper lunged at him, her eyes wide, the whites tinted with green. Vythe skipped away from the quick slashes, sending his double ended spear into the defensive spin. Planting his back foot Vyth attacked with a series of fast stabs at the woman’s face. The Sapper desperately defended but his jabs got through and dug a deep line in the addicts face. The woman jumped back with a scream and clutched her sliced face before screaming again and lunging at Vythe.

The Sapper’s sword darted for his face and Vythe slapped the heavy strike aside using the momentum of the attack Vythe pirouetted to the side spinning his spear above his head and decapitating the female Sapper’s head from her body.

The addict fell to the ground atop the body to Relc’tar as her head rolled down the hill and Vythe turned his attention to the other fight at hand.

Vythe saw that both Bārdin and Fairris had easily dispatched the remaining Sappers. Bārdin charging ahead like only a dwarf could, severing heads and limbs in his wake. Fairris just as easily spun around her attackers slicing them apart and shooting them down with her marvellous twin gunblades.

“Kazārk Karoül,” Bārdin shouted in dwarven as he ducked under an attack and crushed his axe into a Sapper’s chest.

Fairris soon finished the Sappers that she was battling by blasting apart the human’s flesh with a stream of magickal bullets at point blank range.

Vythe let his spear dissipate and quickly hurried over to where the two Sappers had dropped the Yineth. Gently picking the Yineth up Vythe carried her into the hut from whence she had run. Inside there were three beds, two of them occupied and he placed the Yineth on the third before untying the binding around her wrists. Her skin was cold and damp, and her hands were shaking from a result of the drug that the Sappers had been forcing upon her.

Vythe quickly checked on the other two people, but he could see that they were dead, overdosed on the Sap drug.

With a sigh Vythe turned back to the Yineth and knelt by the bed, concentrating his magickal energies into the only healing spell he knew. It was not powerful spell but he hoped that it would be enough to rid her system of the drug. As he cast the spell magickal lights washed over the Yineth’s body lighting up her laced leaf clothing that covered very little skin. As the lights disappeared there was no change to the Yineth, so Vythe clenched his jaw and continued to cast the spell.

Just then Fairris and Bārdin pushed through the door and came alongside him.

“How is the Yineth?” Fairris asked with concern.

“Not well,” Vythe replied grimly, and he cast the healing spell again, “Hopefully my magicks will help.”

“I don’t think I would much use helping,” Fairris lamented, “The healing spell I know is very minor, like most peoples.”

Vythe nodded slightly as he cast more magicks upon the Yineth.

Fairris looked to the two dead bodies on the other beds, “Bastards,” she cursed, “What are these needles in their arms?”

Vythe looked over and shrugged, “A new form of Sap perhaps.”

Bārdin spat, “Come on elf, we need to return their bodies to the Earth.”

Fairris agreed and she and Bārdin dragged the bodies outside, leaving Vythe to continue and try and heal the Yineth.

Sweat was starting to form on Vythe’s brow, but he continued to cast the healing spell onto the Yineth. Her hands had stopped shaking, which was reassuring, but still her skin was clammy and her breathing rapid.

Thankfully, by the time Fairris and Bārdin returned her breathing had calmed. But now it was his turn to be breathing heavily from the exhaustion from continuously casting the spell.

“We found and destroyed the Sapper’s store of drugs,” Fairris remarked as she walked in and sat on one of the beds.

“Also found a nice stash of coins,” Bārdin smiled and jumped onto the other bed.

“Any improvement?” asked Fairris.

“Some,” Vythe replied, “Did you find any trace of the drug they were using on her?”

Fairris nodded, a dark look coming to her face, “It was some form of liquid Sap, so they can inject it direct into the blood system. Bypassing the time it takes when snorted in powder form.”

Vythe cursed and shook his head.

“And you wanted to move through the encampment without killing them,” Bārdin snorted, “What do you think of your idea now Vythe?”

“I am glad that my plan did not eventuate,” Vythe replied with a slight smile, “But I also hope that this Yineth will live.”

Vythe was confident that she would, even now her breathing had evened and no longer was she in a cold sweat. The Yineth, thankfully, appeared as of someone deep in sleep.

“But it was a good fight wasn’t it,” laughed Bārdin, “I was just starting to think how boring this trip of ours was. Did you see the elf Vythe? She ripped through five of them with such ferocity it would make a dwarf proud.”

Bārdin laughed again and slapped his thigh, but Fairris looked away seeming embarrassed.

“I did see her,” Vythe nodded, “Her sparring with Lieut must have benefited her skills.”

Fairris continued to look down at her hands, and purposely not at him or Bārdin.

“That is definitely some hatred to carry against Sappers,” Bārdin remarked.

“Of course I hate them,” Fairris flared, before quickly calming herself.

“Why such hate?” Vythe asked curiously.

“Do you really want to know?” Fairris sighed.

“Of course,” Vythe was quick to reply, and Bārdin also responded positively.

Fairris sighed again, “After my parents were killed, I became close with another orphan girl in Elestarl, she was a good friend. But one day she was slipped a dose of Sap in her drink. You see, that is one of the ways the dealers make people addicted, and soon became utterly dependant on the drug. I watched my friend be destroyed by the cursed Sap, doing anything just to get enough money for her next hit.”

“What happened to her?” Vythe asked softly.

“She died,” replied Fairris, staring at the sheets of the bed.

“And the dealer?” Bārdin asked.

“I killed him,” Fairris said simply, hints of fires burning in her blue eyes.

“Good,” Bārdin roared, “Finally an elf with sense, instead of being off with the fairies all the time.”

Vythe cocked his head towards Bārdin, “If I did not know any better, I would get the impression that you just complimented an elf.”

“Good thing you know better,” Bārdin was quick to say.

Vythe could not contain his laugh, and Fairris smiled, but Bārdin just waved his hand at them and grumbled in his beard.

The evening soon closed in around them and they could see the glow of the trees through the small windows of the cabin. Even the water of small lake down the hill glowed in the night, sending streams of small lights into the night sky. Fairris made a stew by the small fire in the cabin while Bārdin smoked his long black wood pipe.

“That is not Sap tobacco is it?” Vythe joked, pointing to Bārdin’s pipe.

“I don’t smoke that filth,” Bārdin roared back, “I only smoke the purist of pipe weed. Got myself a pouch of it back in The Port from a Halfling I met in the Golden Trough tavern. Everyone knows that he Halflings grow the best pipe weed, and of course everyone knows they were the ones that invented the smoking of dried leaf in a pipe.”

Vythe nodded his agreement, “It is odd to see a Halfling so far from the Grassy Downs.”

“That’s what sparked the conversation between me and he,” Bārdin replied. “I bought a couple of rounds of ale and he started to smoke his pipe. That’s not Tabaco from the Grassy Downs? I asked. Indeed it is, says he, Care for a taste? How could I refuse and after one drag I bought some off the little fella. He had plenty so he was happy to sell me some.”

Vythe shook his head, “I will never understand Halflings and dwarves love of the smoking of pipe weed.”

Fairris agreed with his remark, and Bārdin just snorted in response and puffed out a perfect smoke ring that floated peacefully through the air.

They supped soon after the night grew dark and the two moons crested the starry sky. Crickets and other night animals sang loudly around the house and they all sat quietly staring into the fire.

A shrill gasp brought them all from their dreaming as the Yineth suddenly awoke. Scrambling backwards into the corner where her bed touched the wall she looked around in fear and confusion. But she calmed almost instantly as her eyes fell upon the three of them.

“You are not the evil ones,” she said with a light and pleasant voice in common speech.

“No, we mean you know harm,” Vythe was quick to reply.

“Yeah, Vythe here was the one that spent hours healing you,” Bārdin said gruffly.

The Yineth’s peculiar dark blue and orange eyes moved between each of the companions her curiosity clear.

“I offer you my deepest gratitude then,” the Yineth replied, moving from her corner. “May I ask for a drink, my mouth is very dry?”

“Of course,” Fairris smiled and handed the Yineth her flask, “What is your name, daughter of M’Aierth?”

The Yineth practically drained the flask dry before replying, “I am called Lilth.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lilth” Vythe smiled, “Would that it were under better circumstances. My name is Vythe Varrintine; this is Fairris and Bārdin, son of Bain. How is it that you came to be captured here?”

“The evil men had been here for many moons,” Lilth began slowly, “Destroying our forest and twisting it to their fowl purpose. I came on behalf of the Family to tell them to leave. They responded by stealing my senses and forcing their drug into me. I remember little else.”

The Yineth looked away, tears coming to her eyes.

“You should be alright now,” Vythe smiled.

“Until she starts feeling the addiction take a hold,” Bārdin said seriously.

“Addictions have no sway over the Yineth,” Lilth replied with a smile, “But I thank you for your concern, Bārdin, son of the Dhror.”

The Yineth then rose from the bed, “I am sorry to leave your company so soon, but I must depart to find my sisters.”

“You will go now?” Fairris asked in surprise, “Should you not rest the night at least?”

Lilth smiled warmly and shook her head, “I can already hear my sisters calling to me. Sleep well my saviours, and know that the forest is watching over you and will aid in your journey when you depart in the morning. Hār bieth to each of you.”

Lilth then kissed each of them on the forehead and floated out the door and into the night.

Both Vythe and Fairris watched her leave in surprise, but Bārdin quickly wiped the kiss from his brow and snorted.

They soon tendered to the horses and let the fire burn low and before long they each drifted off to sleep in the small bed of the cabin and awoke early the next morning, feeling fully refreshed and cheerful. They broke their fast and quickly set off into the coming dawn. The mist that had crept in during the night began to lift and Vythe noticed that some plants had already started to grow again in the area where the Sapper’s had chopped them down. As they reached the tree line a group of Yineth emerged from the forest with Lilth among them.

“Bieth sa lin travellers,” the leader of the Yineth greeted them, “We extend our gratitude for saving our sister and give you gifts from our forest.”

One Yineth each went to one of the mounted companions and handed them a flask made of wood.

“We give to you a flask of Bragin da,” said the leader, “It is a syrup that will bring strength and replenishment to weary and hurt limbs.”

“Hār bieth travellers,” smiled the Yineth, “May the spirit of the forest watch over each of you.”

“Farewell, and thank you for such a valuable gift,” Vythe smiled in reply.

“Dun Noürg,” Bārdin said good bye in dwarven.

“Vun nāra,” Fairris bid the Yineth farewell in her own native language.

Vythe winked to Lilth and urged his horse along the path into the forest, Fairris and Bārdin close behind him. There trek became very easy in this part of the wood, and the path seemed to be a lot wider and easier for their horses to traverse. Also, the road was not winding in and around the trees, it was as if the trees had moved to the side and created an easy path for them to take. Their trip was so tranquil that they came to the end of the forest by the end of that day and were back out in the wide flat grasslands with the Amber Mountains standing tall in the east.

*************************************************

Baelor, the Blood Elf, sat comfortably on his terrace looking out of the city of Elestarl, sipping a cool drink of cactus milk. The drink was a thick syrup-like liquid that quenched the thirst and left a tingly and minty sensation on the pallet. The Blood Elves, or Zirarien, as they called themselves, of Anastarā could not farm animals that produced milk for the land was just too barren, they were in the middle of a desert after all. So instead they learnt the great cactus forest that grew from the sands produced much more than just a fleshy fruit.

It was a hot day in Elestarl and Inüer was glaring off the white houses of the city. Of the three races of elves the Zirarien were the most material minded. The Lithinüer lived in their lofty peaks of Thienlin and the Valenthōr hid within the dense jungle of Gālendress, the Foglornt Forest. Only Zirarien thought to build cities and find pleasure in personal gain, and what a city Elestarl was.

The expansive city stretched far and wide in a great circle that surrounded an oasis. Such a lake of water was a rare thing in the hot sands of the Crimson Wasteland and the Zirariens took full advantage of it. At the centre of the glistening lake stood a tall, thin and rocky massif with a grand palace at its top. Up and down the natural pillar, halls and houses were built into the rock face for the rich and important. Guarded bridges stretched over the lake so the aristocracy could go about the city, if they chose to. Though none of them really did, for the city streets were filled with the unclean and uncouth commoners.

The King of the Zirariens had tried to make the streets a cleaner place by dividing the city into classes with high walls that stood like rings around the Cārrak, the rocky column at the centre. Naturally the poor were forced to live in the outermost ring, furthest away from the lake Lien, and forced in to using the water that ran through the designed channels last. Needless to say that the lowest class were unhealthy and bordering on poverty with disease and drugs filling the streets, but the King did not care. In no other colony of elves would such a thing happen, but because of the harsh desert most of the Zirariens lived in the one city. Unlike the other races of elves, the Zirariens had the greatest number, and were characteristically more like humans then the others elves thought normal, and thus the Zirariens were looked down on by the other elves.

On his terrace on Cārrak underneath a canvas sail, Baelor constantly thought on these discriminations and short comings of his people. Ultimately he knew it to be the result of bad leadership within his city and the reluctance of the aristocracy to do anything to revive the Zirarien city. But all that would change soon, for he was making sure of it.

Just then Scaith, the Commander of the city guard, came through his door and joined him of the balcony.

“Nāra zien Commander,” Baelor greeted Scaith, “Can I interest you in a drink of Jairn?”

“Thank you,” Scaith nodded taking the glass of cactus milk from Baelor, and sat down.

“The season has been very hot,” Baelor remarked, “Ten sand fires and the Summer is not yet over.”

“Indeed,” Scaith agreed, “But the flames have kept the number of Darian raiders to a minimum.”

“Those barbarians will learn that they live longer in the cactus forests to the south,” Baelor nodded, “And perhaps they will stop coming north.”

“We can hope,” agreed Scaith.

“Has the outbreak of dysentery in the lower class been eradicated?” Baelor asked after a few quiet moments.

“We are trying,” replied Scaith, “Our best magicks users are trying hard to isolate and heal the effected. But more cases will continue to develop if the conditions do not improve. The good news is that we have brought under control the many Sap dealers. But this cannot continue, will the King not do anything?”
“No,” Baelor shook his head gravely, “He only cares if it affects him directly. Which is why we need our plan to succeed, more so than ever.”

 Scaith rubbed his brow, “But will the child be better ruler then his father? They have the same blood remember, and the nobles of the court will try and influence the child.”

“I have told you of those particular nobles,” Baelor lent forward in his seat, “And the boy’s mother will make sure he is raised honourably.”

“With you at his side?” Sciath smirked and shook his head.

Baelor rested back in his chair, “You are prepared then?”

“Should we be talking about this here?” Scaith asked quietly, glancing around the balcony and into the room behind them.

“Do not fear unfriendly ears,” Baelor reassured the Commander.

“As you say,” Scaith nodded, but still glanced around the area. “Yes, all is prepared. All the city guard is yours and most believe in your views.”

“Most?” Baelor asked in concern.

“Do not worry,” Scaith smiled, “I know which of my guard are on which noble’s pay roll. We will be ready to move at your command. When do we do this?”

“Soon,” Baelor said, “I will know by the sixty-fifth.”

Scaith looked suddenly worried, “So close to the peace summit between Sesserrech and Krnōrel. As you sure that is wise?”

“What does it matter?” Baelor shrugged, “The problems of humans are no concern to us. The survival of our people is paramount and that will not happen as long as our current King is in power.”

Scaith again looked around nervously, “As you say Baelor,” Scaith nodded.

Baelor and the guard Commander discussed some more pointed parts of their plan and the morning drifted into midday. They had finished discussing the important issues and were moving on to general conversation when another knock was heard at Baelor’s door and a sandy blonde haired man came onto the balcony.

“Regional Commander Delfin,” Baelor said with surprise, “This is an unexpected surprise. You should have sent word of your arrival. I did not expect you for another few days at least.”

“I do not apologise for my intrusion, but it is a matter of urgency,” the young Regional Commander said, and his blue eyes darted to Commander Scaith.

“Thank you for coming this morning Commander,” Baelor said to Scaith, “I shall contact you again soon.”

Scaith nodded and cast a curious look to Delfin, “Vun Nāra Baelor.”

Scaith left promptly and Delfin took up the Commander’s vacated seat, his face set with anxiety.

“Would you like a drink of Jairn?” Baelor asked when Delfin had not said anything.

“Of what?” Delfin asked.

“Cactus milk, it is quite refreshing,” Baelor replied, “And it relaxes the nerves.”

Delfin shook his head and still did not say anything.

“Delfin, you have been a good associate for the short time that you have been in the High Commission, but you are trying my patience,” sighed Baelor.

“I apologise, Baelor,” Deflin finally spoke, “You have aided me many times during my roll on the High Commission, and I have always valued your advice. But I find myself in quite a predicament, and I am not sure how I should start my explanation to you.”

Baelor suddenly became very interested, “I have always found that the beginning a good place to start.”

Delfin nodded his head in agreement, “Very well. It concerns the matters I was requested to overlook in Port Na’brath. Do you know of them?”

“Some,” Baelor nodded, “Only what was discussed at the meeting of the High Commission. But the details given to you I would find very interesting.”

Again Delfin nodded, but seemed hesitant.

“On the morning of the thirty-second I arrived in Port Na’brath on official business, as was the cover decided upon,” Delfin began. “Not much of note happened on that day and I spent most of the hours in my hotel room in the Land of the Lords. That evening a huge storm came in from the sea and I heard very little of the events transpiring. Captain Harneth of the guards came to me half way through the night with information that a large silver haired man had killed several of his guards. I got the impression that it was merely a courtesy call, but it confirmed the events for me. There was another attack later in the night and then news came that the Grand Magi had been killed.”

Baelor nodded his head understandingly as Delfin paused.

“As it turned out one of the assassin’s had also died,” Delfin continued.

“One?” Baelor was quick to ask, his eyebrow rising.

Delfin nodded his head, “Yes, there were two. The second was arrested.”

“But that’s not. . .”

“I know,” Delfin cut Baelor off, “I was then obligated to place the second assassin on trial for the murder. But from the evidence it was unsettlingly clear that he had not participated in the assassination. He must have been there and followed the first for some other reason.”

“What happened next?” Baelor asked curiously.

“Well, Lord Cardonian was desperate for blood to flow and so were the others that lick Cardonian’s boots,” Delfin replied, “I had to sentence him to death by execution.”

Baelor felt a sense of concern swell within him, “The other silver haired man is dead than?”

“That is the reason why I came to you,” Delfin replied sheepishly.

“Well?”

Delfin turned to Baelor’s assistant, “Show in the man that came with me, if you would.”

The assistant nodded and moved to the door and called into the hallway outside Baelor’s apartment.

Baelor’s pale green eyes widened in surprise and he rose from his chair as Delfin’s companion walked across the room and joined them on the balcony.

 “Nothing’s more annoying than an idealist. They walk about saying how things should be, how things ought to be, with complete disregard of what is. They say things like: ‘There should be peace between humans and the Elder Races.’ Now I would love that, but it ain’t ever going to happen. It’s like me saying ‘my beer mug should always be full.’ Nice idea, but the fact is that I gotta pay to keep it full, ain’t just going to happen. The other thing I hate about idealists is that they can’t be reasoned with. They have their idea and no matter what anyone says it’s not going to change. Nothings more incredibly annoying than an idealist I say.”

-A Commoners Theory: A Collection of Quotes by Jannisc Bowyan

Chapter Six

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the sixty-sixth day of Summer

What started off as a dreary trek through the remaining of the Yineth Plateau turned into a very hot ride through the Amber Mountains. The road had been wide and easy to travel and they came across no trouble on their journey. Nor did they see any signs of the dwarves that called the Mountains home where they mined for the red Croxide Ore. But that was hardly surprising considering the secretive nature of the dwarves, they could have gone right past the main entrance and been none the wiser.

Bārdin said little of his race, but he did explain that the dwarves use great highways under the earth that stretch between all of the great dwarven realms.

Vythe had expected that it might take them a week to get through the mountains, as it has done when they were coming down the Gaia Mountains. But here the path was wide and easy going, not like roads in the Gaia Mountains had been. As such, much to Vythe’s surprise, they found themselves on the other side of the Amber Mountains after only several days’ travel. The land on the eastern side of the mountains did not decline far into the desert of Anastarā, also known as The Crimson Wastelands.

The Crimson Wasteland was a barren desert, known for its fiercely hot days and extremely cold nights, where the wind is so dry it will evaporate your water bottle as soon as you opened it, at least that was what the stories claimed.  

Their journey’s experience did not create a contrary to the harsh tales of the desert and on the very first day they entered the deserts of the Crimson Wasteland they were nearly consumed by a sand fire that raced across the dunes at an incredible speed. They saw a herd of Slyzards race across the sands as they were being chased by a pack of Dune Cats. Another day they were swooped upon by a Wyvarn out of the skies, but the large beast pulled up at the last second realising that the travellers were not its usual meal.

They spent the night being nearly frozen by the snow that fell, and during the day they sweltered in the blistering heat. The going was slow as they tried not to exhaust the horses, and their water flasks became empty a lot quicker than thought possible. Thankfully Vythe was able to cast some magicks to replenish their water and keep their mounts hydrated. And Vythe also, along with Fairris, spent much time casting more magicks to ease the weather’s discomfort. But Bārdin, being a dwarf, did not use magicks, and he rode along without complaint, whilst sweating profusely under his helm and armour.

“Why do you not remove your helm and armour?” Vythe asked Bārdin on particularly hot day.

Bārdin gave him a look of horror, “What is a dwarf without a solid helm on his head? A dead one, that’s what. Who knows when a beasty will jump you in the wilder lands.”

Both Vythe and Fairris chuckled at that, but as soon as they did a Dune Cat bolted out from behind some rocks and nearly killed one of their horses. Luckily Fairris had the speed to quickly summon her gunblades and send a line of magickal bullets into the scale and fur hide of the animal. The beast was not wounded, but it fled off into the sands without its meal.

“Told you,” Bārdin smirked, even though his helm had done nothing to cause the Dune Cat to flee.

Suffice to say the Vythe was a lot more wary after that, but his caution soon gave way to exhaustion in the intense heat.

Fairris was the only one who did not seemed bothered by the hot weather, and in fact seemed to enjoy the midday furnace.

Fairris also proved to be an invaluable aid as they crossed the desert, showing them how to use the warmth of the sand dunes during the night, warmth which had been stored during the heat of the day. Of the few cacti they past Fairris showed them how to cut away the poisonous needles and eat the tasty fruit within. Fairris also went about telling them of all the uses the cacti had, the many dishes that could be made and the milky syrup squeezed from the pulp.

It was quite remarkable to Vythe to watch Fairris change so much as they ventured through the desert. For most of the trip she had still been greatly depressed, and had seemed to travel along in a daze until a fight was upon them. But now Fairris seemed happier, as if returning to Anastarā had awoken a love she had for the land and sparked the joy within her.

In fact, one morning she suggested that they have a group sparing session. Vythe had agreed with a shrug and Bārdin joined in as well, and together they had a mock battle over the sands. The sparing lasted a lot longer than the ones between Fairris and Lieut had, and they were each fairly evenly skilled. Although there was twice as much healing involved as neither of them could scratch the other with such precision as Lieut had done. In fact Bārdin almost lost his nose from a cut by Vythe, and they decided to end the session there.

With quite a bit of blood lost from Bārdin’s nose and a lot of healing magicks later they packed camp and set off again. As they rode along Bārdin kept feeling his nose and wiggling it about to make sure that it had not dropped off.

“Your nose is not going anywhere master dwarf,” Vythe remarked in amusement, “My healing magicks are quite efficient.”

“Damn magicks,” Bārdin swore, “Shouldn’t have had to heal it the first place. That be the last time I spar with you Vythe.”

“It was your fault,” Vythe replied light-heartedly, “You ducked into the strike.”

Bārdin glared at him, “You should have checked your arm.”

Vythe sighed, “Perhaps next time we should use a magickal protector to stop any such accidents from happening again.”

“You should not use Buffs, Vythe,” Fairris remarked sternly.

“Only while we train,” Vythe was quick to reply, “For I do not want Bārdin’s axe accidently severing my leg, or any other limb for that matter.”

“I suppose it might be a good idea,” Fairris conceded, “At least until we all improve.”

“What do you mean by improve?” Bārdin growl, “I be the best there is.”

“Is that why you nearly lost your nose?” laughed Vythe, who was joined by Fairris.

Bārdin snorted in response and waved them away, grumbling into his beard the whole time.

That evening as they sat around a small fire that Vythe had conjured to try and ward off the cold. Gentle flakes of snow fell about, piling on the sand a melting when they landed too close to the flames.

“This cold ain’t natural I tell ya,” Bārdin grumbled as he hugged himself and virtually put his toes into the fire. “Since when is it supposed to snow in a desert?”

“You cannot get more natural than this,” Fairris replied with a slight smile, “The cool night air refreshes the land after the brutal days. And look at those stars. Have you ever seen them so bright?”

“Snowing with no clouds overhead,” Bārdin huffed, “Yeah, that’s very natural.”

Vythe let out a small laugh, his breath sending a waft of steam into the air.

“I think I will have to agree with Bārdin,” Vythe remarked and shivered, “But those stars are beautiful. They seem so much closer than they do in The Port.”

Fairris was about to say something but a sudden rumble deep within the earth caused them to call out in alarm. In surprise they all jumped to their feet expecting the ground to crack apart beneath them and the horses’ whinnied nervously. A deafening crack then sounded to the north and they all scrambled up the side of a sand dune to see what was happening.

Far to the north the sky lit up with an orange and red glow as if a volcano was erupting and a pillar of fire shot into the heavens. The chill in the night air seemed to suddenly evaporate and Vythe could feel the heat from the torrent of flame on his checks.

“Daris cul: The Deserts Breath,” Fairris explained as they all watched, “Do not look too long at the light, else you will go blind.”

“What is it?” Bārdin asked his shock evident.

“An explosion of fire from deep within the earth,” replied Fairris, “Tis` a bad omen to my people.”

The torrent of fire soon subsided and a new greenish glow took its place as the sand caught alight and began to burn.

“I have only ever seen a glimpse of one once before,” Fairris said quietly, “Long ago, when I was still a child.”

Bārdin snorted and began down the sand dune, “I would rather never experience that again.”

The next morning came quickly and melted the layer of ice on the sand long before Inüer even crested the eastern horizon. They packed up their camp as early as they could and after another brief sparing session, this time using magickal Buffs to protect themselves from any accidents, and they headed off before the day became too hot. The day came with clear blue skies without a cloud to be seen, but as the day moved on a haze of smoke lifted into the air.

Just before midday they found themselves looking upon the city of Elestarl, an oasis in this unforgiving land, as it appeared through the haze of smoke and heat. Great white walls stood out of the horizon with tall turrets along its expanse. Red and gold flags could be seen flapping in the hot, dry wind and black plumes of smoke billowed up from behind the wall.

“The city burns,” Fairris exclaimed with concern.

“A Darien raid perhaps?” Vythe asked, with the same concern.

Fairris shook her head, “Dariens are not smart enough, or organised enough, or even strong enough.”

“Perhaps monsters attacked the city then?” Vythe shrugged, but again Fairris shook her head.

Bārdin snorted, “No use wondering, let’s go find out.”

They rode as quickly as their tired horses would go and soon came upon the gates which were wide open with no guards watching them. Concern etched on all their faces as they rode in to find the city in chaos.

Half a dozen fires could be seen throughout the streets, and groups of elves were yelling and racing quickly towards the centre, while others were looting the deserted homes. Just as they came through the gates a window of a close building smashed as looter fell through. A guard hoped through the window after him and conjured some magickal bindings on the looters wrists.

“I have another one,” the elf called out and two more guards came from around a corner to take the looter away.

“Travellers,” exclaimed the guardsman as he looked up to them, “With a Zirarien among you. Nāra zien kinsman.”

“What is happening?” Fairris asked in concern.

“The King is dead,” the guardsman stated simply, “A revolution is taking place and the class division is being destroyed. The dividing walls are being brought down as we speak. The people are massing together to support usurping of the King and his court. But looters are also prowling the streets and taking what they find.”

All the while he had been speaking the Blood Elf had been eyeing Fairris very curiously.

“I feel I know you Zirarien,” the guardsman finally said, “May I ask your name?”

“Fairris,” replied Fairris stiffly.

“Impossible,” the Blood Elf exclaimed, “I thought you dead, we all did. It is I, Delark your fellow member of the Elestarl Guard.”

A slight smile came to Fairris’s face, “Delark, it is you. I am sorry I did not recognise you. It has been so long.”

Fairris jumped down from her horse and moved over to the guardsman to give him a proper greeting.

“But how is it you are alive?” Delark asked with astonishment, “It has been near on two decades since your whole squadron was found dead in the Southern Growth.”

“Now is not the time for tales,” Fairris replied, avoiding the question, “My comrades and I are weary from a travel across the sands.”

“There is little chance of finding a soft bed at this time,” Delark sighed, “But perhaps there is a way. Follow my lead.”

Fairris nodded to Vythe and Bārdin and they dropped down from their saddles and led their horses as they followed Delark.

The streets were practically deserted as they walked along passing a few more arrests of looters. The main road lead straight through the city to Lake Lien and Cārrak, and as they neared the first wall they found only a pile of rubble that had been caused by some powerful magicks.

“What sparked all this?” Fairris asked Delark as they walked.

“The disruption has been building for many years now,” Delark explained, “The segregation of the city and the classes has been becoming worse. Disease, crime, drugs, and other disgusting evil has been spreading within the outer circle. The King ignored it all, ignored his people, and was only concerned with his own comforts. The city is better without his sickness, it is better without the segregation and discrimination within the walls.”

“Such organised revolution does not happen spontaneously,” Vythe remarked, and the guardsman nodded.

“I suppose it is safe to say it now that the revolution has all but ended,” Delark shrugged, “Baelor was the master mind that orchestrated it. He taught us how to destroy the dividing walls and get the civilians behind our fight.”

“The Regional Commander,” Fairris said with surprise.

“So it was not the civilians that instigate it?” Vythe asked curiously.

Delark shook his head, “As far as I know Baelor planned it all and brought most of the guards onto his side. The civilians jumped into the fray shortly after news of the Kings death reached their ears. Most of the fighting took place last night, you are just seeing the aftermath.”

“Where is everyone?” Fairris asked.

“Lake Lien,” Delark replied, “Waiting to see execution of most of the nobles in Harljim square. But there is still looting and other crimes happening throughout the city. Which brings me to my idea to find you three some accommodation.”

“Well, what do we have to do?” Bārdin asked loudly.

“So the dwarf does speak,” Delark laughed, “His voice is no secret that he must keep it from everyone.”

Bārdin cursed the elf under his breath, and looked darkly at Delark.

“I tease master dwarf,” the guardsman laughed, “The beds in the barracks are yours for as long as you like, and I would ask nothing in return. Our recruit numbers are down at the moment so the beds are unoccupied.”

Fairris smiled, “We thank you for your aid.”

Delark returned the smile, “Of course, but I expect to hear the tale of the fate of your squadron after. No doubt others will be curious to hear it as well.”

Delark led them from the main street and towards a walled complex with several large buildings within its walls.

It was the northern barracks for the guards, and once through the gate he had their horses taken to the stables and took them to the Captain of the barracks, who also knew Fairris and was surprised at her sudden arrival. The Captain conceded to Delark’s idea and agreed to permit them to stay in the barracks.

They were still weary from the road, but they were also interested in the events that were taking place in the city. So once they thanked the Captain and Delark they set out for Harljim square.

Fairris almost instantly took the lead as they moved swiftly through the deserted streets. The main road paved a direct line through the white washed houses and towards the lake at the centre of the city. The day was hot and no wind blew along the red stone streets, which made it seem quite a bit warmer than it actually was. They passed through another broken wall and moved into the former rich circle of the city.

By now more Blood Elves could be seen on the streets and more elves being arrested. Soon they found their way to Harljim square, which was overflowing with elves all trying to watch the spectacle from the bridge that arched out from the square and towards the tall, thin rocky mountain that stood at the centre of a clear, turquoise coloured lake.

Vythe stood on his toes in an effort to see across the wide square, but it was no use. Fairris, though, had an answer to their dilemma and she led them away from the plaza and into a side street where she climbed onto a stack of crates and up onto the roof of the building. Vythe easily followed, but Bārdin had a bit of trouble and he aggressively refused any assistance, so Vythe and Fairris had to wait for the dwarf.

Once they were all atop the white washed building with a dome roof Fairris skipped over the houses and towards the edge of marketplace near the bridge. It was clear that they were not the only ones who had thought to climb the buildings so even the roof tops were crowded. But the three of them found a good vantage point and looked to the bridge where the executions were taking place.

Atop a raised pedestal Regional Commander Baelor stood tall, a confident look in his stance and the sun light glistening in his dark red hair. Along the railings of the bridge stood many rich looking Zirarien with their hands tied behind their backs and thick ropes around their necks.

“Who are they?” Fairris asked a Blood Elf that stood beside them.

The elf gave Fairris a curious look, “Nobles of the late Kings court. All of them filled with greed which left no room for consideration for their people.”

“Why the woman and children as well?” Vythe asked seriously.

“The women are just as guilty as the men,” the Blood Elf replied, “And the children are old enough for vengeance to fill their hearts if left alive.” 

“The infants were spared then?” asked Vythe quickly, and the Blood Elf nodded.

Just than Baelor’s voiced boomed over the crowed bidding them to hush, which, after a few moments, they did.

“Elves of Elestarl, my people,” Baelor begun, “Too long have we lived under tyranny. Too long have we been ignored by the rulers of this fair city. For years we have lived in sickness, poverty and discrimination, but no longer.”

A huge cheer erupted from the gathered elves. 

Again Baelor hushed them, “We are deserving of more than nobles and a King that let greed fill their hearts and eat away their souls. But, the King is dead.”

Baelor lifted up a severed head with a golden wreath crowned upon its brow. The crowd went wild with cheers and screams and Baelor held the head even higher. The Regional Commander then walked to the edge of his dais and shoved the former King’s head onto a spear that had been anchored into the stone bridge.

Baelor calmed the cheers from the elves, “Only these traitors to the people remain.”

Baelor pointed accusingly at the elves that stood on the bridge railings and with a nod to the guards that stood behind each one, the greedy nobles and their families were shoved from the bridge. The nobles fell through the air towards the water before the ropes around their necks suddenly went taught and their necks snapped, leaving their feet twitching several metres above the crystal clear waters of Lake Lien.

The massive gathering of elves cheered wildly, celebrating the end of the tyranny. Baelor happily encouraged the elves and let the yelling continue on for many minutes. Baelor eventually hushed the screams and caught the crowd’s attention again.

“My people,” Baelor began, “Go now and celebrate the beginning of a new era for the Zirarien. Peace and freedom will fill this great city, and never again shall we see the segregation of class. Never again will the human disease of greed fill our souls. We are Zirarien elves, of the Elder Race. The blood of the High Elves, the first race upon M’Aierth, flows through the veins of each and every one of you. I implore you all to cast aside the bindings that humans have placed upon us and once again become the higher race of Essinendeür.”

An enormous cheer resounded around Harljim square, and Vythe suddenly felt very awkward being the only human within the city.

“Let the celebrations begin,” Baelor shouted above the sound of the gathering, and he threw his hands into the air.

Bright lights and fireworks flew into the air, showering the elves in a spectacular rain of light. Ribbons of ivy and decorations of flowers appeared out of thin air, lining the guttering of the building and the statues that stood around the plaza. The trees and other plants within the city were suddenly covered in bloom and the flowers sweet fragrance filled the air.

The guards began to wheel in carts of foods and drink and many of the Blood Elves took out musical instruments and pleasant tunes echoed through the buildings.

The Zirarien around Vythe and his friends quickly jumped down from the roof tops and joined the festivities. But Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin sat down on the roof and looked at each other in quiet surprise.

Throughout the city many more parties of a similar nature began and all the Blood Elves danced, drank and sung their way through the day. None of them with a second thought for the families of nobles that were swinging from the railing of the bridge, their feet still twitching.

“That Regional Commander makes quite the speech,” Vythe remarked, as they sat atop the building looking out across the plaza and lake.

“I do believe that there will bright days to come in Elestarl,” Fairris said with a wide smile.

“Considering staying?” asked Vythe.

“No,” Fairris quickly replied, “I do not think I will ever call this city home.”

“I’m starving,” Bārdin said loudly, “Let’s go find some food and ale.”

“I do not think an elven party is the best place for a dwarf,” Vythe said with a laugh.

“There has to be a pub around somewhere,” Bārdin snorted.

“You will not find any ale though,” Fairris replied, “Zirarien drink wine made from desert berries.”

Bārdin crinkled his nose at that, “Wine? I will not drink that fairy juice. What of the beer we brought with us?”

“You finished it the other night,” Vythe replied, causing Bārdin to grumbled into his beard.

“Let’s find some food at least,” said Bārdin, slapping his gut.

Fairris laughed and stood up, “Come on, I am sure we will find some food back at the barracks.”

Vythe and Bārdin followed Fairris from the roof tops and waded through the crowd of elves as they celebrated their liberation. Vythe noticed one or two dark looks from the Blood Elves as he hurriedly followed Fairris. Baelor’s speech had done much to awake a dormant fire that had been smouldering within many of the Zirarien. Little to say that he was much relieved once they had left the festivities far behind and moved into the barracks of the guards.

Delark met them there, with a smile on his face and took them to find some food and drink. The four of them found a seat in the main mess hall of the barracks, which was currently empty and would only see a large crowd at this evening’s meal. But despite it was only mid-afternoon Delark found them a large platter of food and a pitcher of drink.

Bārdin scrunched his nose up at the pale green coloured cactus fruit on the plate and even more at the pitcher of sweat smelling wine.

“Where’s the beer and meat?” Bārdin snorted.

“Show some manners, Bārdin,” Vythe scolded, “We are fortunate to have any food provided for us.”

But Delark was laughing, “I would be a poor host if I did not accommodate my guests. One moment and I will find something that will silence the roar in your gut.”

Delark left the table and returned soon with another plate of food, this one with some bread and cheese and a few slices of salted pork. This time Bārdin’s eye lit up and he happily grabbed at the food.

“Alas, we have no beer or ale,” Delark lamented.

Bārdin swallowed a mouthful of food, “You have been kind enough elf. It seems as if I will have to resign myself to water.”

“Why not try the wine?” Fairris suggested, taking a sip from her own glass.

Bārdin took another sniff of the pinkish liquid, but curled his nose up at it and shook his head.

“What a rude guest to refuse the offers of his host,” Vythe remarked light-heartedly.

“Very well,” Bārdin snorted, “I shall at least try the fairy juice, as I do not want to appear ungrateful of Delark’s hospitality.”

“I take no offense master dwarf,” Delark assured Bārdin, “And it would be my pleasure to offer you as much wine as you desire. Alas the Captain has only permitted the single pitcher, and you are welcome to as much of that as you desire.”

Bārdin wiped his hands on his chest and poured himself a glass. He sniffed at it again before taking a long swallow.

“Not bad,” Bārdin nodded to their surprised expressions, “A bit sweet though.”

Fairris laughed, “Ale and beer is meant for guzzling but wine is for sipping, Bārdin.”

The dwarf waved her away, “What difference does it make?”

“Wine is a lot more potent,” Vythe laughed, “And is sipped for the taste and enjoyment of the flavours.”

Bārdin shrugged and poured himself another glass, which he also gulped down in one mouthful. A third and fourth glass followed and the pitcher was almost empty. Then a sudden unease swept of Bārdin and the dwarf rubbed a hand across his brow.

“I did not, you had a twin, Vythie,” Bārdin slurred before falling off his chair and began snoring.

Vythe looked to Fairris and Delark and they all burst out laughing.

Chapter Seven

The afternoon swept by and the evening was quickly upon them, magickal lanterns sprung up around the mess hall casting a golden light throughout the large room. The guards who had been on duty soon began to return looking for something to eat. All who entered gave the four other them a curious look and laughed to themselves upon seeing Bārdin snoring on the tiled floor. A few greeted Delark in their own language but none stopped by their table until a young Zirarien came down from the stairs at the back of the hall.

“Fairris?” the elf exclaimed and raced through the hall to their table.

A wide smile spread across Fairris’s face as she saw the elf, “Darjien, it has been too long.”

“I thought you dead,” Darjien replied as she embraced Fairris in a exuberate hug, “We all did. How is it you live?”

Fairris looked away, “It is a long and unpleasant story, and one I would rather not tell here with so many ears about.”

“Very well,” Darjien smiled, “I am just overjoyed to see you again. Are you to stay?”

Fairris shook her head, “My companions and I are to depart once we are rested.”

Darjien looked to Vythe and Bārdin on the floor.

“You name a dwarf as your companion?” Darjien laughed, “Things have definitely changed.”

“Much more has Elestarl changed than myself,” replied Fairris as she took a seat and bade Darjien to do the same.

“Yes it is exciting,” Fairris’s friend nodded, “The greed filled King is dead along with the nobles.”

“Is Baelor to become the new King?” Vythe asked curiously.

Darjien shook her head, “Although I believe he should, but the son of the late King is to take the crown.”

“But he is too young at the moment,” Delark remarked, “Until he has come of age the Queen will rule.”

“But with Baelor close at her side,” Darjien added with a smirk, “And much closer if you believe the rumours.”

“I have never put much trust if gossip,” Delark shook his head, “But I do know that Baelor is keeping a close eye on the child, making sure he is raised in the right manner.”

They continued to talk as the evening turned to night and Darjien took Fairris to the side and to another table in the far corner so they could talk more between themselves.

“I think it is time I retire,” Vythe remarked with a yawn and a stretch, “You have been most kind to my companions and I, Delark, and I thank you immensely. But if I could ask one more thing of you, I shall request your aid in carrying this unconscious dwarf to a bed.”

Delark laughed, “Of course I shall help.”

They received quite a few smirks as they carried Bārdin from the mess hall and up the stairs at the far end of the hall. Vythe took the dwarf’s feet and Delark carried Bārdin by the wrists, but even together they had some trouble carrying the heavy dwarf to a bed.

“I shall also need to rest after that,” Delark laughed as they dropped Bārdin into the small but comfortable cot.

“I thank you,” Vythe sighed as he collapsed into his own bed, “Good night.”

“Ar bien,” Delark said to him and left the three bed room.

Vythe was fast asleep as soon as Delark closed the door of the room. He drifted through the night in a pleasant slumber only awakening when Fairris came into the room and slid into the third cot. Then Vythe slept very deeply and very soundly despite the loud snores from Bārdin echoing in the darkness.

The next day Vythe was awoken early by Delark who bid that they come with him.

“What? What is happening?” Vythe asked in between yawns.

“The Regional Commander wishes to see all three of you,” Delark replied with a shrug.

Much grumbling came from Bārdin who claimed he had a fierce headache, but he slowly got up. Vythe washed his face in a basin of cool water provided, as did Fairris, but Bārdin waved it away and Delark led them from the barracks. They were able to grab a few bits to eat on their way out but many of the guards were still asleep.

“What does the Regional Commander want with us, I wonder,” Vythe remarked as they left the large building.

“He did not say,” Delark shook his head.

Outside the celebrations were still happening, although the exuberance of the occasion had lessened with the night. Many songs were still being sung and much merry making was still happening. The morning was crisp and the sky a deep blue, the light from Inüer already had some warmth to it even though He was just poking His head above the eastern mountains. A cool breeze whisked through the streets coming from Lake Lien and blowing away the dust that had gathered from the riots and blowing away the cobwebs in Vythe’s mind.

Delark led them briskly through the main streets and onto Tharlim Bridge where the head of the previous King still stood on a spike for all to see. Vythe did not need to glance over the railings of the bridge to know that the nobles still swung from it. Tharlim Bridge was quite long as it stretched across the lake of deep blue water.

The edges of the lake were of emerald green and turned to a deep sapphire as it neared the middle where Cārrak proudly stood. Lake Lien was like a great eye at the centre of the city and the tower of natural rock as its pupil and the bridges arching out from it the lines of its iris.

The bridges themselves seemed like a natural a growth of the red rock from Cārrak, arching slightly across the wide lake at many different junctions.

Many plants grew in the cracks and crevices of Cārrak, among the naturally formed red rock and many streams and waterfalls fell from the high rocks showering the air with a clear spray witch turned into a wall of many colours as the light from Inüer caught them in their descent. The bridge led them into the bottom level of the natural tower where the stone was polished to a glassy finish causing it to sparkle from within. The entire level was a wide vestibule with a slopping stair twisting up into the rock and a large fountain at the centre of the room which looked as if it had grown up from the ground. In the stone of the floor and walls ran streams of green and blue and grew vines of opal and gold.

“I am loathed to say, but this stone work is marvellous,” Bārdin gapped wide eyed, “It is as if the dwarves of Nirüd built this themselves.”

“I can assure you that no dwarf ever had a hand in building Cārrak,” Delark replied, “The first of the Zirarien moulded it from the magicks of the Fog. In fact you are the first dwarf to ever gaze upon the shinning hall of Erhtwin.”

“Indeed it shines,” Bārdin nodded.

Just then Inüer cast its hand through one of the many entrances to Erhtwin and the tiny crystals beneath the surface of the red stone erupted in a bright flame. It was as if the star from the heavens were now around them filling the hall with red and golden firelights. They all stopped at the foot of the winding stars to gaze upon the marvel for a brief moment before Delark implored them to continue to follow him.

Reluctantly they followed Delark up the stairs and to the next floor of Cārrak. No wide halls were on this level, or any other level until the royal quarters on the very top of Cārrak. Instead there were many corridors burrowing throughout the stone of the tower, up more levels or out onto terraces overlooking the lake. Many of the corridors had doors upon them that led into the private rooms of the nobles of Elestarl, although many of these rooms were now empty. These hallways, like the entrance hall were polished to a red glassy finish with hundreds of diamond specks within the rock.

They walked past many windows and along balconies which looked out upon the city and across the lake, granting them a marvellous view. Vythe glanced out one of the north facing windows as they past and caught a glimpse of the city in the morning light. The whitewash buildings captured the golden light of Inüer and burst into a bright flame in the morning. The city seemed to glow with a fresh and bright light, as if it revealed in the new age that had come to Elestarl.   

Delark led them up many levels and through many hallways that upon them grew ivy of rich emerald with flowers of diamonds and pearl. They went into the highest floors of Cārrak, to the point that a whole level was entirely occupied by one living quarter that forced the stairs to move at the very edge of the tower and upon balconies covered in hanging plants.

It was at the first of these rooms they stopped and Delark knocked loudly upon the redwood door held in onyx vines. A few minutes passed and some voices could be heard from the other side, then they were bidden to entre only to find the room occupied by one person, the Regional Commander Baelor.

Baelor sat comfortably behind a large red stone desk leaning back in a relaxed pose in a large green leather chair. His red hair glowed in the morning light that streamed through the open doors that led onto a large balcony, and his pale green eyes bore into the guests.

“Bien arnath,” Baelor greeted them pleasantly, a slight smile on his dark face.

“Regional Commander,” Delark bowed his head, “I bring the travellers you requested. Fairris, Vythe Varrintine and Bārdin son of Bain.”

“Thank you, Delark,” Baelor nodded, “You may leave.”

Delark bowed his head again and shot a slight smile to Fairris before leaving.

“Not oft do you see a man, an elf and a dwarf traveling together,” Baelor mused, “And when you do a wise gambler will bet that something of importance is happening.”

“Only by a strange run of circumstance did we come into each other’s company,” Vythe replied with a shrug. “From there we became friends and have travelled with each other since.”

“I find it hard to believe that an elf and dwarf would become friends,” Baelor laughed, causing Bārdin to scowl. “I also do not believe in coincidences.”

“Be that as it may, Bārdin and I have become friends, of a kind,” Fairris replied seriously.

“What do you want anyhow?” Bārdin blurted out, “Can’t a dwarf sleep in peace?”

“You are fortunate that you can sleep peacefully in this city,” Baelor replied, “We have not had dealings with dwarfs for many centuries. And many would say that that was a good thing.”

“You aren’t the only ones,” Bārdin snapped back, “Now tell us why you have summoned us here and have done so we many continue on our way.”

“I was curious to meet your company,” Baelor shrugged, “And I wish to hear Fairris’s account of the events of her troupe which were found dead and rotting many months after they begun the hunt for a band of Darians. So, tell me Fairris, what happened and how did you survive? Why was it you did not feel it necessary to return to Elestarl and report the events?”

Fairris sighed and looked to the stone floor.

“I do not expect you to understand why I ran after the massacre,” Fairris replied her voice soft, “But perhaps if I tell the events from the beginning you might form some sympathy for the predicament I found myself in.”

Baelor nodded, “Good. Have a seat.”

“Could this not have waited until later in the day?” Vythe asked as he forced back another yawn.

“No,” Baelor replied simply and motioned for them all to sit on the cushioned chairs that sat in front of the desk, and he also took up on of the seats.

“Would each of you care for a drink of Jarin?” Baelor asked politely as they all sat down.

They all declined, so Baelor poured himself a glass.

“So, tell me the events of that fateful day,” Baelor said to Fairris after he took a sip of the greenish liquid.

Fairris nodded slowly, “For Vythe and Bārdin’s benefit the events of which we speak took place twelve years ago. I was barely a recruit in the Elestarl Guard and a squad of ten guards led by Captain Sylar and myself, we tracked a group of Darien raiders across the sand of Anastarā to the south.” 

“What is a Darien exactly?” Bārdin cut in.

“A race of nomads that live in the deserts around us,” Baelor replied, “Their skin is black as is their hair and thoughts, they constantly seek to raid and destroy caravans that move through our lands as well as any Zirarien outposts positioned throughout our land. Mostly they stay in the southern reaches of the desert but they have been known to venture far.

“The event which Fairris speaks of was a raid on a convoy of merchants just to the south of the walls of Elestarl.  No man or child was left alive after the raid and many of the goods stolen. I instructed Captain Sylar to track and destroy the Dariens and bring back any goods recovered, his squad of twelve, including Fairris, never returned.”

Baelor nodded to Fairris to continue.

“It was the year 3618, the nineteenth day of Winter. I remember it like it happened yesterday,” Fairris began slowly. “We had been tracking the Dariens for near on a week, across the central expanse and towards the south-west forest of cacti. They made no secret of the passing and fortunately the winds had not covered their trail. As part of my training under Captain Sylar I had been instructed to take point position during the chase. Being young and full of anger for the Dariens as they had been responsible for the death of my parents I was eager to kill this band of raiders.

“I paused at the top of a rocky hill and looked down upon the vast forest of giant cacti, waiting for Sylar and the rest of the squadron to accompany me, as I had been instructed.

‘Larcath forest,’ Sylar remarked as he came along side me. ‘They have moved quickly across the desert.’

‘No more than an hour ahead of us,’ I replied, ‘We will have them soon.’ 

‘It has been a long chase, Fairris. Long and tiresome.’

‘And it will soon be over,’ I insisted, ‘The forest will slow them down.’

‘It is also a good place for an ambush.’

‘But if we are ready for an ambush this hunt will be finished quickly,’ I argued, ‘And the goods they stole recovered.’

Sylar looked at me in silence for a few minutes.

‘Alright,’ he finally nodded, ‘But if we come across nothing within the first few hours we are turning back.’

“I smiled and nodded in response before leading the troupe down the rocky hill and plunged into the forest of eight foot cacti. Amongst the growth the trail was narrow and we were forced to move in single file. The ground was rocky which prevented the reading of any real tracks, but fortunately the path did not branch into many.

“The long needles of the cacti grabbed at us and pricked our skin, and as an hour past I was beginning to become nervous, as was the rest of the squad, for the forest was dense and oppressive, but we continued on. The second hour almost drifted by without incident, but we then came to a long sandy clearing. I easily found the tracks of the Dariens again going straight across to the other side of the clearing and back in to the forest without deterring.

“As we neared the other side the Dariens we were perusing burst forth from the cacti, but what we thought was only a ten raiders had turned into nearly two dozen. Having only minor skills with the Fog they bore clubs and short swords casting no other magicks, but their number was too much for us. For every Zirarien that fell we killed two Dariens. Sylar and I fought back to back and many raiders fell at our feet, but the numbers were too great. At the end Sylar fell bleeding from many wounds and somehow I was the only one left standing.

“With despair I searched the blood soaked sands for any other survivors, but there were none. All my companions were dead, and I knew it was my fault.

“I was too afraid to return to Elestarl, too ashamed,” Fairris finished her tale, “So I ran far away from Anastarā and my guilt.”

Silence filled the room and a tear ran down from Fairris’s deep blue eyes. For many minutes Baelor stared into nothing, but finally the acknowledged that Fairris had finished.

“It is a tale of courage and triumph, not despair and sadness,” Baelor finally said, “The battle of Larcath Grove shall live on in song as will the memories of the fallen. Only a dozen Zirarien against a horde of black skinned barbarians, it will be a victory of the Age. You need not have feared returning, Fairris. But I do understand your despair and why you ran.”

Fairris smiled slightly and wiped away her tears.

“Such a grand tale shall lift the spirits of our people,” Baelor continued as he returned to his desk, “You are a hero Fairris, and our people will know of it and how you stood against the darkness of the Dariens and were victorious.”

Fairris looked at Baelor surprised, and she did not find any words to reply.

“A metaphor for the people of Elestarl, perhaps,” Vythe commented with a sly smile.

Baelor returned his smile with a glint in his pale green eyes, but Baelor did not say any more.

“Can I not tempt any of you in a cool glass of Jarin?” Baelor asked, “It is quite refreshing, and the morning is growing warm.”

Again they all declined politely.

“Why are you making me out to be a hero?” Fairris asked Baelor.

The Regional commander smiled, “As your companion Vythe eluded to, our people are in need of a hero. We Zirariens are in a delicate frame of mind, even our own kin consider us the lessor of the elves. The people are in need of a symbol, a light in the darkness that they have trod for so long, ever since the Zirarien Gildon descended into evil. Your return and the tale you bring with it can be that beacon of light. Can you be that symbol of hope, Fairris?”

“I am hardly a great warrior,” Fairris balked in astonishment.

Baelor shook his head, “No you are not. But though your deeds were minor they just might be enough to bring hope to your people.”

Fairris became silent and stared at the floor.

“With all my heart I do not want this responsibility,” Fairris finally said, “But I grew up in Elestarl and know well the despair and anguish that lives within these walls. I will bare this responsibility that you ask of me.”

Baelor nodded and a subtle smile came to his face, “I shall have a song penned of your valour, and it shall be sung at the crowning of the new King on the seventieth of this month. It would be well if you were present.”

“We cannot linger here that long,” Vythe remarked, “Our business in Crydon is pressing.”

“You cannot teleport?” Baelor asked curiously.

“No, none of us have mastered the spell,” Vythe replied stiffly.

“Then I shall have someone cast it for you,” said Baelor.

“I don’t teleport,” Bārdin cut in.

Baelor looked thoughtful for a few minutes, and somewhat annoyed.

“Then the coronation must be tonight,” Baelor nodded to himself.

“Fanriel,” Baelor called out and an elfin maid came from one of the side rooms, “Let the word pass that the crowning of the new King shall be this evening at the Cārrak. All are invited to the festivities.”

Fanriel bowed her head and glided from the room, her emerald green gown flowing out behind her.

Baelor then turned to the three companions, “I thank you for coming this morning, but now I have much to do, I shall call you all again this evening. Vun Nāra.”

Baelor quickly headed for the door to his private quarters and the three of them rose awkwardly from the chairs and left the room empty.

Outside Baelor’s chamber they saw Delark leaning on a balcony and looking out over the city as he waited for them. He greeted them pleasantly and together they headed down Cārrak. Delark asked them a few questions about the meeting with Baelor, but they said little and the Blood Elf asked no more about it. As they descended the great natural tower much of the decorations for the evening coronation had begun. Elves were conjuring small fairy lights in the high corners of the ceiling and creating vines to climb up the walls and around the railings of the balconies and stairs. The vines then budded with brightly coloured flowers and sweet fragrances filled the air. The bridges over Lake Lien were also covered in magickal vines and fairy lights.

Word had spread quickly of the celebration and many of the elves were creating their own decorations around the city. The smell of cooking foods hung on the wind and song could be heard throughout the streets.

Chapter Eight

Vythe returned to the north barracks with his friends and Delark and they all helped themselves to some food to break their fast. After the meal Bārdin decided to catch on the sleep he had lost that morning and Fairris went off with her friend Darjien, leaving Vythe by himself when Delark left to go on patrol.

Having not much else to do until the evening celebrations Vythe wondered about the barracks and checked on the horses in the stables. He found that they were all healthy and being well looked after by the elves. His horse, which he had named Squall, whinnied as he came up to the animal’s stall.

Squall was a tall and proud stallion with bright eyes and strong neck, its dark grey almost blue coat, which was flecked with silver, seemed to glisten in the light and his condition had improved immensely from the hard trek through the land.

Vythe remembered when he had first seen Squall on his family’s land in Elmnest as a young foal skipping around the paddocks. The stallion was bred from the wild horses of the West March plains north of the Morrow Plains on the banks of the Nagra River. Proud and noble horses lived on those plains and such breeding could be seen clearly within Squall.

Vythe stroked the animal’s velvet nose and fed him a slice of cacti fruit which he happily took and nodded his head in approval. Vythe spoke a few soft words to the horse, and Squall snickered as if he knew what Vythe was saying.

Bidding farewell to his steed Vythe left the stables and barracks and headed into the city. It was probably not the best idea to wonder the streets of Elestarl by himself, but Vythe had nothing else to occupy his time with. Besides, it was also a good opportunity to restock on the provisions they had used in the venture from Port Na’brath. He remembered the path Fairris and Delark had taken to Harljim square and he retraced their steps. Vythe had always had a good sense of direction and it aided him in this instance immensely.

Harljim square was still alive with celebrations when he arrived, all were singing and dancing around the place and many stalls lined the edges of the plaza.

As he made his way through the market as unobtrusively as he could and he saw that many who noticed him sent dark looks his way. So awkward did he feel that he ended up leaving after buying only a few items, all of which had been overpriced. Leaving the square Vythe hurriedly returned to the guard barracks, all the while glancing over his shoulder and feeling as if he was being followed. 

With a sigh of relief he walked back through the gates of the barracks and returned to the mess hall feeling utterly bored. Thankfully Bārdin had awoken from his slumber and he spent the rest of the day talking merrily with the dwarf.

It was late afternoon when Fairris returned by herself and joined them at the table, a troubled expression upon her face.

“Something wrong?” Vythe asked, pouring Fairris a glass of water.

Fairris shook her head, “Not wrong as such, just curious.”

“Well, spit it out,” Bārdin said gruffly.

“Well, as you both know I have spent the day with my friend Darjim,” Fairris replied, “We were cutting down the bodies of the hanged nobles from Tharlim Bridge. It was good to see that the children have been once again allowed to swim in Lake Lien and jump from the bridge and the rocks of Cārrak, and it was a hot day so Darjim and I decided to join them in the cool water.”

“I am sorry I missed it,” Vythe quipped with a mischievous smile on his face.

“As I was in the water I saw the back of someone heading into the city,” Fairris said, ignoring Vythe.

“So?” asked Bārdin with a shrug.

“The light might have played a trick on my eyes but the man had silver hair and wore a blue vest,” Fairris replied, drawing a curious look from Vythe.

“Could it have been Lieut?” Vythe asked in disbelief.

“Reason tells me not,” said Fairris, “But something tells me it was.”

“The pair of you are fools,” Bārdin snorted, “We all saw his head roll from the chopping block.”

Vythe nodded, “You speak truth Bārdin. If you remember Fairris the man who slew the Grand Magi also had silver hair. Perhaps it is another of Lieut’s kin working with Regional Commander Baelor as Rathgard had claimed Lieut was working with him.”

Fairris nodded, but she did not look convinced.

“But,” Vythe continued, “That does make it more probable that the Regional Commanders and the High Commission are somehow involved in the assassination of the Grand Magi.”

“What would they gain from it?” Fairris asked, shaking her head in confusion.

“Why is one of Lieut’s kin in Elestarl?” Vythe replied quizzically, “The answers I do not know. But I feel that it does not bode well.”

Just then Delark entered looking rather tired and stressed. He spied them immediately and hurried over.

“Fairris, there you are,” Delark said as he came over, “Baelor had sent word that you are to be moved to Cārrak in preparation of the festivities tonight where you will be seated next to him during the feast.”

“What of my companions?” Fairris asked in surprise.

Delark shook his head, “Just you Fairris. But they have been invited to the palace for the coronation.”

Fairris look in surprise towards Vythe, who could not help but smile in reply.

“Go,” Vythe implored Fairris, “We will see you tonight.”

Hesitantly and very awkwardly Fairris rose from her chair and followed Delark who was practically running out the door.

“Do you think she will stay in Elestarl?” Bārdin asked once Fairris had left.

“Most certainly not,” Vythe replied, shaking his head.

“Here, what do you think of all this hero nonsense?” said Bārdin, “I heard her tale too, and it was luck that saved Fairris. Not valour or heroism.”

Vythe nodded, “She has done many heroic deeds, and none of them noticed. But as you say it was indeed luck on that day. I think it well that Fairris is receiving recognition for her bravery, even though it is only for the confidence and moral of her people.”

“She ain’t one to seek the praise of the people though,” Bārdin said as he scratched his chin.

Vythe shook his head in agreement, “No, Fairris is not, and I think she will avoid it as soon as she may. When we leave tomorrow she will accompany us, do not worry about that my friend.”

“Who’s worrying?” Bārdin snorted and Vythe smiled.

The afternoon went by rather quickly from there and soon Vythe and Bārdin were preparing to join the festivities at Cārrak. That was to say that Vythe cleaned himself up for the coronation and made himself to look the gentry’s son that he was. Bārdin, on the other hand, barely even washed his face and continued to wear his plate armour, heavy boots and helm, and even his axe.

“You are not taking your axe Bārdin,” Vythe exclaimed in horror as they were about to leave their rooms.

“Course I am,” Bārdin roared in reply, “What’s a dwarf without his axe? A dead one that’s what. You remember what happened in the desert when you questioned me helm. That won’t be happening again.”

“Well of course that will not happen again,” Vythe sighed, “We are in the middle of Elestarl and soon to be at a royal banquet. You cannot take your axe.”

“You don’t make the rules,” Bārdin replied angrily.

“But the elves here do,” Vythe shook his head, “Do you think they will let you in with your axe in hand? We are lucky even to be welcome in this city. And can you imagine the embarrassment of being refused entry to the palace?”

“Embarrassment?” Bārdin scrunched up his face.

“And not to mention baring a weapon in a royal palace without leave of the King is an act of war,” Vythe continued, “Leave your axe behind, it will be safe here I promise. Or at least give it to me so I may store it in my extra-dimensional pouch.”

“Fine,” Bārdin grumbled angrily under his beard, “But I ain’t leaving it in the room. You hold onto it then.”

Reluctantly Bārdin handed over his precious axe to Vythe, who dropped it into one of his extra-dimensional pouches.

“You better not lose it in there,” Bārdin huffed.

With a sigh and a shake of his head Vythe led the way out of the barracks and into Elestarl.

The city streets were alight with fairy lights of many colours, flowering vines crawled over the walls of the houses and made archways through the city. Harljim square was alive with activity and joyous music filled the starry skies. Thousands of lanterns floated upon the calm waters of Lake Lien alongside large flat bottomed boats where elves danced and sung. At the very top of Cārrak the hanging gardens were glowing brightly and steams of sparkles rained in the air. Different coloured lanterns lined the bridges and floating lights drifted around the stairwell of Cārrak.

The moons were bright and full this night, and cast the city in silver and took away any shadows. Vythe and Bārdin walked merrily through the city and across Tharlim Bridge. All around them the elves were engrossed in their own merry making and celebrations.

In the entrance hall of Cārrak Delark met them, wearing formal military garb of gold and crimson with the dragon of Cientrasis proudly across his chest. Delark greeted them with a smile and led them up through the tower where much more merriness was taking place. Each level more festivities were happening and the halls were filled with song and dance and the rich smell of good food and drink.

As they reached the very top of Cārrak none of the beauty of the city or the levels of the tower could compare to the peak of the natural pillar. The stairs levelled out into a wide open air garden filled with bushy trees and beautiful smelling flowers. Many decorative fountains could be found through the garden, along with magnificently carved statues of heroes and kings of old. At the centre of the gardens stood the grand palace and a large dome entrance hall made of trees of pale blue stone. Carved into the walls of the palace were white trees that made the castle seems as if it grew out of the rock.

Delark led the way through one of the many entrances into a high ceilinged theatre with dozens of tables set around a golden tree with silver leaves. All through the air the fairy lights floated just beyond reach as if the stars had joined them in the halls. At one end of the atrium upon a raised dais sat a large red stone table where the King to be sat looking out with wonder in his very young eyes.

“He is just a boy,” Bārdin remarked to Vythe, who agreed with the statement.

By human years Vythe thought the King to be less than ten, not a fitting age for a ruler. Which was why the Queen Regent, and the boy’s mother, sat at the child’s right hand, looking pleased with herself. To the left of the boy King sat Baelor, and beside him a beautiful young elfin maiden.

Vythe’s eyes widened when he realised that the elf maid was in fact Fairris. Out of her travelling gear she looked very different, almost regal. Fairris’s thick red hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders and she wore a light flowing gown of garnet red which highlighted her eyes. Vythe could see the Queen Regent’s eyes fill with envy every time she glanced Fairris’s way, and he could not help but smile at the amazing transformation. Vythe had to laugh aloud when he looked to Bārdin, whose mouth hung open as he also noticed Fairris.

Delark bid them to follow him to the King’s table where he bowed low to the Queen Regent and the boy king.

“My King, My Lady,” Delark said, “May I present to you the travellers that accompanied Lady Fairris to the city. The human from Port Na’brath, Vythe Varrintine, son of Lord Varrintine, and the dwarf Bārdin son of Bain.”

Vythe bowed low with lordly ease, where Bārdin looked very awkward in his plate armour and helm.

“May your reign be long and honourable good King,” Vythe said, “I am sure you will be a ruler for the bards to sing heroic songs of until the end of the Ages. Especially with such a beautiful, and regal Queen Regent to teach you the technique of being a good, and kindly King.”

Vythe bowed again and the Queen Regent blushed.

“I did not know human’s had the skill to speak with such honeyed words,” the Queen Regent replied, her voice light and pleasant.

“I am a rose amongst many thorns, my Lady,” Vythe smiled, “As you are the most beautiful flower of them all.”

The Queen Regent laughed and blushed again, “You are a welcomed guest in these halls, Master Varrintine. Please sit and enjoy the festivities.”

Vythe bowed low again and Delark directed him and Bārdin to the reserved seats at a table at the foot of the dais.  When they were seated Bārdin went immediately for the wine and poured himself a large glass and a smaller one for Vythe.

“Take your wine more slowly this time, Bārdin,” Vythe remarked, “In the house of elves you do not want to appear a fool of a dwarf.”

Bārdin suddenly stopped guzzling his wine and put the glass back on the table. Vythe laughed to himself and turned towards where Fairris was sitting and looking uncomfortable. Fairris locked eyes with him and Vythe toasted his wine glass towards her, but she did not see his amusement and rolled her eyes.

The night drifted by pleasantly, most of the time Vythe and Bārdin remained in their seat and were left alone by the rest of the elves. The crowning of the new King came and went without much interest to him. Different songs were sung and poems recited, all in the elven language which of Vythe only knew a little, but Bārdin sat with boredom and uncomprehending anything that was performed.  Delark joined them at the table now and then, he had been promoted to Captain during the course of the evening for his valour during the revolution and would take command of the northern barracks after tonight. 

During the night Vythe also noticed that he was not the only human at the ceremony. He spied a man with blonde hair and military attire of blue and gold wearing the eagle of Sesserrech upon his chest. There was also a female half elf with delicate features and slim frame with short brown hair and dark eyes. This woman also wore military garb of black and silver and wore the stag of Krnōrel on her breast.

Vythe recognised the man as the Regional Commander of Sesserrech as he had seen him while in The Port. He could only assume that the half elf was the Regional Commander of Krnōrel.

Delark came by their table and Vythe had a chance to state his curiosity.

“Are those the Regional Commanders from Sesserrech and Krnōrel I see?” Vythe asked Delark.

“Indeed,” the Blood Elf nodded, “Though I do not like them being at the celebrations.”

“Why are they in Elestarl at all?” inquired Vythe.

“You do not know then?”

Vythe shook his head.

“On the morrow there is to be a peace summit held here in Cārrak between Lord Cardonian and King Lienthor,” Delark explained, “Apparently there is some big disagreement and Elestarl was the neutral ground chosen to resolve the dispute.”

 “Interesting,” Vythe said thoughtfully.

Delark looked as if he were about to say something, but just then Baelor called for hush in the chamber.

“My King, Queen Regent, and my people,” the Blood Elf began dramatically, “Tonight is a glorious occasion, a time of joy and tales of valour. So tonight I shall recite a prose written in my own hand of a hero whose tale had long been unheard, but stand among the greatest of the Zirarien heroes.”

Vythe noticed Fairris shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

“This is the tale of Fairris the Fair and how she triumphed against a horde of dark skinned Dariens,” Baelor announced.

Baelor nodded to a flutiest and lute player and they began to play a pleasant tune. Then Baelor began the tale in a strong and clear voice, the elven words flowing from his tongue like endless rain.

Vythe could not understand most of the prose, for his elven was not that good. Although he did catch a few words, like Dariens and Fairris, and he even interpreted one line: together they stood like a beacon of light against the dark wave of Dariens.

Vythe realised that the prose was only referring to two Blood Elves, Fairris and her Captain Sylar, there was no mention of the other ten Zirarien that had died that day. It seemed as well that Fairris had also realised that Baelor had left out that very important fact, and her eyes became hard and her lips tight.

The tale was long, but Baelor soon finished and bowed low as a tremendous applause flowed through the open air chamber.

“This tale grows more remarkable,” Baelor said once the applause had died down, “For beside me sits the fair beacon of light that is Fairris.”

Fairris stood up and curtsied awkwardly and sat down quickly.

The hall erupted in a wave of excited voices and greater applause filled the air, and many of the elves saluted their glasses of wine towards Fairris.

Delark was also applauding wildly, his eyes shining and smile wide across his face.

“Indeed that was a heroic tale,” Delark said to Vythe as he sat back down.

“Indeed,” Vythe strained a smile in return.

“Had she ever told of it during your adventures together?” Delark asked curiously.

“Not quite like that,” Vythe replied, his eyes unsmiling.

“Incredible,” Delark shook his head, “Humble as well as fair.”

Delark nodded to him and left the table to discuss it further with the other guests.

“What a bunch of rot that was,” Bārdin snorted, “Couldn’t understand a word he said.”

“No doubt it would have sounded better if you understood the elven language,” replied Vythe with a smirk, “And no doubt the story we heard from Fairris’s own lips were a truer account to the tale.”

“Why does Baelor need to fabricate a tale to boost the spirits of the people?” Bārdin asked, “A dwarf would need no such boosting, give him a masterfully crafted axe and that is all the confidence he needs.”

Vythe laughed and looked to Fairris to see how she was taking the falsified story. She did seem happy as she talked to Baelor in aggravated expressions before shaking her head and leaving the table.

Vythe excused himself from Bārdin and moved after her, Fairris was walking quickly but he guessed where she might be heading. Vythe saw her move from the chamber and into the gardens where the music became dull in the background and the nightly noises of animals filled their air.  

Tall bushy tree and thick shrubs lined the grassy path and it wound through the foliage and across the plateau of Cārrak. Fairy lights drifted through the branches and the silvery light of the moons streamed through the leaves and turned the fountains to liquid crystal. The smell of dozens of nightly flowers filled his senses and fireflies buzzed about his head. It was quiet in the gardens, and virtually deserted, although he did pass a few young elves enjoying the night together passionately in complete disregard for privacy. The couples did not notice his passing as they entangled their limbs together in the soft grass.  

Vythe soon found Fairris in a far corner of the garden looking out of the sheer drop of Cārrak and across the city which was still alive with celebration. There were no rails around Cārrak to prevent a wayward individual from stumbling through the trees and right off the edge and falling into Lake Lien hundreds of feet below.

“Quite the view,” Vythe remarked softly as he came alongside Fairris.

“I cannot believe Baelor, did that,” Fairris exploded angrily, pacing back and forth across the ledge, her fists clenched.

“Can you not?” Vythe asked back, “He wanted a tale of heroism that will be remembered for Ages to come, and it was definitely that, it would seem.”

“But he completely forgot to mention the others of my squad that died that day,” Fairris replied hotly, “It is a betrayal of their memory and their heroism.”

“Their memory is still with you,” Vythe said, making Fairris pause.

Fairris sighed heavily, “The people deserve the truth, not some falsehood of Sylar and I defeating a hoard of Dariens by ourselves.”

“The greatest stories of heroes are weaved through fantasy,” Vythe replied with a gentle smile, “Baelor’s story, although inaccurate, will inspire the Zirarien people, you know that.”

“Inaccurate does not begin to describe it,” growled Fairris, “But I understand its purpose, it is a shame it is clouded by lies.”

Fairris sighed again and stopped pacing, turning to look out across Elestarl again. Many minutes passed in silence as they both watched the distant celebrations taking place in the city streets.

“I remember when I first came to Elestarl,” Fairris remarked quietly, “Some friends and I snuck up here one day and dared one another to jump off. One of the boys actually did,” Fairris laughed to herself, “He could not walk for a week and spent two nights in prison.”

“I would not be game enough to try,” Vythe laughed, as he looked over the edge

“No?” Fairris turned a curious eye towards him.

Vythe smirked, “Perhaps I would, but I would not be so foolish not to use some magicks to cushion the impact.”

Fairris laughed, and then sighed again.

“I can still see their faces, Vythe.” Fairris said softly, “Their hollow eyes staring into the sky, the red sand about my feet, and the terrible stench of death. All my life has been filled with death and despair, and yet my own people make me out to be a hero. How can I live up to such expectations when I know it to be a lie?”

Vythe shook his head, “I cannot say, for only you can answer that.”

Fairris took a deep breath and looked to the starry heavens.

Many minutes of silence drifted by and a cool wind picked up and moved through the trees and cast leaves into the air.

“Delark told me something that you might find interesting,” Vythe said, breaking the silence and Fairris looked at him. “A peace summit is to take place in the city tomorrow between King Lienthor and Lord Cardonian, hosted by Baelor.”

“Once again the High Commission is caught up in these affairs,” Fairris remarked thoughtfully, “It cannot be a coincidence.”

“I doubt it is,” Vythe nodded, “But why, I still do not know. Your story where you saw the silvered man down by the lake comes to my mind. If he was indeed another assassin then we can be sure something is bound to happen at the peace summit. But I wonder why he was walking around so freely, surely Baelor knew what happened in Port Na’brath and a man of similar appearance would not go unnoticed.”

Fairris agreed with a nod and looked back across the city.

“Unless my eyes were deceived and I saw what only my heart wanted,” Fairris sighed.

Vythe looked at Fairris curiously, “Your eyes are sharper then my own. I believe you saw the man with silver hair, although perhaps not the silver haired man you wished to see.”

Fairris glanced at Vythe, but quickly looked away.

“I should like to linger in Elestarl tomorrow,” Vythe said changing the topic, “To learn what we might of this peace summit.”

Fairris nodded her head but did not reply.

Many more silent minutes went by and the music in the city was dying down. Together they decided that perhaps it was time to return to the party and they began their way back through the garden. They past quietly by the two lovers still in each other’s embraces and returned to the open air chamber where songs were still being sung. No one seemed to notice their return so they nodded to each other and returned to their seats.

Vythe was quite surprised as he returned to Bārdin, for his seat and the seat on the other side of the dwarf had been taken up by two beautiful elf maids. Their long crimson hair fell across their shoulders and drifted in the wind over the low cut gowns of pale satin. Light laughs escaped from their lips as Bārdin said something, and the dwarf smirked.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Vythe remarked, taking a seat.

“Vythe,” Bārdin greeted joyfully, “Meet Thanriel and Hethren. Ladies this is Vythe, my good friend who spoke honeyed words to the Queen Regent.”

The two elf maid smiled at him, their deep green-blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Have you such beautiful words for us?” Thanriel asked with a giggle.

Vythe smiled, “I am afraid simple words could not match the beauty I see before me.”

That seemed to please the elves and they giggled to one another, their delicate hands covering the mouths.

Just then a Blood Elf silenced the chamber and the young King said a few words of thanks to the audience before leaving to find some sleep. The entire hall bowed low as the King left and the Queen Regent took up her son’s chair and began talking with Baelor.

From there the night slowly wound down and the music softened. The elf maids stayed with Vythe and Bārdin and talked readily, they seemed very curious of Bārdin and it was clear that the dwarf was thoroughly enjoying himself and shot Vythe a sly wink.

Vythe joined in on their conversation, making the elves laugh and blush, now and then he looked to Fairris who seemed bored and irritable and politely declined any offers of dancing with any handsome young elves. Vythe was not surprised to find that she soon departed the hall.

Vythe sighed and turned his full attention to the beautiful elf maids. The four of them drank plenty of glasses of wine and stayed in the chamber long after most had left. They gathered the remaining wine pitchers and drank them as well, dancing and singing all the while.

Vythe remembered clearly showing Thanriel how to dance like he was taught in Port Na’brath, but from that point his recollection of the night lessoned as more wine was consumed. The last thing he remembered vividly was a soft bed and the warm embrace of Thanriel.

Groggily Vythe awoke the next day to the sound of shouts and alarm bells ringing throughout Cārrak. Thanriel was similarly jolted from her sleep beside him, pulling the sheets close around her golden brown skin. Vythe was quick to his feet and pulling on his clothes as he rushed out of the room with only a brief, but polite farewell to the Blood Elf he had spent the night with.

He rushed from the bedroom and out the main door of Thanriel’s apartment on one of the lower floors of Cārrak. Guards rushed past him through the corridors and up and down the stairs, shouting in their own language and completely ignoring him even when he tried to grab their attention.

“Delark,” Vythe called out recognising the Blood Elf as he darted down a hallway.

The elf stopped and regarded him.

“What is going on?” Vythe asked with concern.

“I am not sure,” Delark shook his head, “I hear that King Lienthor of Crydon has been assassinated.”

“What?” Vythe exclaimed in dismay, “The peace summit has already started.”

Delark shook his head, “It happened before the conclave began, but Lord Cardonian quickly departed back to The Port. Any hope in peace now seems destroyed and I have yet to learn if the King Lienthor is indeed dead. I do find it odd however that you and your companions showed in the city days before the conclave and an assassination.”

Vythe narrowed his eyes, “You accuse me of the assassination?”

Delark shook his head, “I do not believe it was you or your companions, but I will not likely be the only one to think your arrival now strange. I suggest you leave the city and leave quickly. Although it will sadden me to see Fairris leave this city, I feel you must do so, else become caught up in this misfortune.”

“I feel that will only increase the suspicion,” Vythe said, “But I will heed your advice. Farewell Delark.”

Delark nodded, “Vun nāra, Master Varrintine.”

Delark quickly turned and head up the stairs and Vythe rushed through the passages in search of Bārdin. Luck was with him and he soon found the dwarf exiting and apartment looking curiously at the chaos around him.

Vythe quickly grabbed Bārdin and together they hurried to Fairris’s room a few floors up. Luckily the guards were too busy and paid them little notice and soon Vythe was knocking of Fairris’s door, but there was no answer. Vythe tried the door handle but it was locked, and he knew that there was no chance of forcing the door open. Just then he heard a group of guards stop behind him and he turned to see magickal blades in their hands.

“What’s going on here?” Bārdin demanded as he also turned to the elves.

“You two will come with us,” a tall elf demanded, his face showing no expression.

“Says who?” Bārdin replied stubbornly.

“Says my blade dwarf,” the elf replied sternly, “You will comply else find yourself impaled upon it.”

“We will go,” Vythe said quickly before Bārdin could make matters worse, “Lead the way.”

The elves did not bind their hands and to Vythe surprise the elf that spoke lead the way up the stairs with the other two elves behind them. Even greater was Vythe’s astonishment when the lead elf stopped at Baelor’s door and showed them in.

Inside Fairris sat comfortable on one of the couches and Baelor was sitting idly behind his stone desk. The Regional Commander nodded to the guards and they left the room, locking the door behind them.

“I hope you two slept well,” Baelor smiled, “Thanriel and Hethren are very beautiful, are they not? Though, I am surprised that Hethren was so interested in a dwarf.”

Vythe turned a surprised eye to Bārdin who only shrugged in reply.

“I am sure you are aware that there have been some unfortunate events this morning,” Baelor continued.

“Is King Lienthor dead?” Vythe cut in.

Baelor gave him an annoyed look but shook his head, “No, luckily he and his daughter managed to teleport away from the assassin. The King’s household guards were not so lucky however, all five of them are dead. But the conclave has been a waste of time it would seem, and has been a complete embarrassment to Elestarl.”

“Have you caught the assassin?” Vythe asked seriously.

“No,” Baelor shook his head, “The assailant has eluded us, and he ran to the balcony and onto the rocks of Cārrak. The guards work hard to find him but I have little hope they will.”

“Do you have a description of the assassin?” asked Vythe.

Baelor smiled slightly, “He has been seen as having silver hair and wielding a weapon of black steel. Almost exactly the same description as the two assassins who killed the Grand Magi in Port Na’brath. Which brings me to you three.”

Baelor paused and rose from his seat to look out the window across the city.

“The three of you were in The Port at the same time the assassination happened,” Baelor began slowly, “Now you are here at the same time of this assassination. I do not believe in coincidences, so perhaps you should enlighten me.”

“Do not look to Fairris for aid,” Baelor said, his green eye sparkling, “I wish to hear your account, and hope that it does not waver from the one Fairris gave me.”

Vythe clenched his jaw and sighed before taking a seat next Fairris.

“Very well,” Vythe began, “Fairris and I came from the Gaia Mountains as I returned home to Port Na’brath. I do not teleport so we were on foot. It was a pleasant enough trip and we met Bārdin at the Midway Inn where we saved him from a terrible beating by some Elder Race haters. He claimed he was indebted to us and joined our company. On the night we arrived at the Varrintine family manor the Grand Magi was killed. Out of curiosity I went to see the assassin that had been captured where the man alluded to another assassination taking place in Crydon sometime in the near future.

“I am one of the few who truly understand the delicate political balance between the realms and did not want to see a war between Sesserrech and Krnōrel. So, with Fairris and Bārdin by my side we headed for Crydon and arrived in your city those few days ago.”

Baelor looked Vythe in silence for a few moments, a slight hint of amusement at the corner of his pale green eyes.

“Your venture is ill fated it would seem,” Baelor finally said as he sat down at his desk.

“Hopefully no more,” Vythe replied sternly.

Baelor nodded slowly, “How did you escape the Gaia Mountains Penitentiary?”

Vythe shifted uncomfortably in his seat and scratched his ear, “There was a fierce storm one night which broke the water gate.”

Baelor still wore his bemused expression, “Quite the risk.”

“Not when you have been within the prison walls for ten years,” Vythe was quick to say, his expression hard.

“And you killed Rathgard?” asked Baelor.

Vythe shook his head.

“I did,” Fairris cut in boldly.

Baelor continued to nod slowly, “Have you anything to add to this tale, master dwarf?”

Bārdin shrugged, “Can’t think of anything.”

“Of course you cannot,” Baelor baited, drawing a glare from Bārdin.

Many minutes of silence slipped by and the three companions were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The shouts and sounds of alarm gradually decreased throughout Cārrak and still no report of the assassin being caught came to Baelor’s door.

“Yours is quite the tale,” Baelor finally said standing up and moving in front of his desk, “But do you think me so foolish as to believe it? Do you think the High Commission so inept as to not know what happened to Rathgard? No, you are the fools to delude yourselves into thinking you could lie so blatantly to a Regional Commander and believe you would walk away.”

Baelor’s voice grew with each word and his eyes flared menacingly.

“So in turn you lie to us,” Vythe replied bitterly jumping to his feet along with Fairris and Bārdin. “You would fabricate the High Commissions involvement in the assassination and frame whoever suits you. I am the son of Vincent Varrintine, the third Lord of Port Na’brath, do not think that you can frame me for the assassinations and no repercussions will ensue.”

“You are not in that filthy human city,” Baelor glared back, “This is Elestarl around you, the great city of the Zirariens. Anastarā is our land, your family has no weight here Master Varrintine. You will go to the noose and there will be no repercussions, people will rejoice your death not seek vengeance over it for you are responsible to causing the death of the Grand Magi and the unrest between Krnōrel and Sesserrech.”

“And what happens when the princess of Krnōrel is killed?” Vythe sneered, “They will realise the lie you have told.”

“None of you will be alive to know,” smiled Baelor, “You have all seen much and have guessed much more, none of you can be allowed to live. You wrote your own deaths the moment to joined company with the assassin that you escaped with out of the Gaia Mountains prison.”

“What of Fairris?” Vythe asked, “The making her into a hero was pointless.”

“It was not in vain I assure you,” replied Baelor calmly, “Her story will be remembered long after her bones are dust.”

“What will the people think when they see her at the gallows?”

“They will not see her,” said Baelor simply, “Fairris is to take a pilgrimage to the Sinsarin, the Sand Sea in the northeast of Anastarā to pray to the old Gods and gain favour for her people.”

“To be sacrificed you mean,” Fairris spat.

“Call it what you will,” Baelor shrugged.

“Damn elves, always try and dramatise everything,” Bārdin grumbled, “If you want us dead go ahead and try, but Bārdin son of Bain, the last Lord of Grün Narād will not be cowed lightly.”

“Alas for the stubbornness of dwarves, who do not realise their doom when they see it,” Baelor laughed.

“I may not know your fancy magicks,” Bārdin growled, “But it will take more than one spell to stop this dwarf.”

“Kazārk Karoül,” Bārdin yelled as he sprinted towards Baelor his hands balled into fists.

Baelor stood tall and wisps of Fog beginning to float around him, the Blood Elf’s eyes flashed dangerously and a tremendous blast of energy sent Bārdin flying backwards and into the stone wall, where he did not get up again.

Vythe bared his teeth and summoned his magickal spear, but nothing happened. He looked for another spell, but his connection to the Fog was not there.

“Void magicks,” Vythe growled, guessing the only explanation.

“Indeed,” Baelor replied evenly, the Fog still steaming from his shoulders and his eyes glowing.

“They have been outlawed for centuries,” Vythe spat and shook his head in anger.

“Humans outlawed it,” Baelor snapped back, “Ever you humans seek to control things you do not understand, things you fear. Kill it or control it, those are the only options you see. The Elder Races have long had the ability to use the old magicks and not be consumed by it, and you humans despise that. You hate the very idea that there is something in this world that you cannot understand or control, and which has more power than any of you can even imagine.”

With each word the Fog around Baelor grew and a wind began to whip around the room, blowing papers into the air.

“You’re mad,” Fairris balked, her eyes wide.

Baelor’s pale green eyes bore into them, “Am I?”

Suddenly Baelor stepped forward and thrust his hand towards the ceiling. A wall of energy erupted up from the floor, knocking Vythe and Fairris backwards and to the ground.

The last thing Vythe remembered was a blurry image of Baelor standing over him and the Blood Elf’s black boot slamming him in the face.

 “It is sad to see what has happened to the Elder Races, for they once lived across all of Essinendeür, and now only in small areas. Most of human’s great cities and buildings are built on the foundations built by the elves or dwarves. Now the Elder Races are looked down upon by humans, and elves and dwarves occupy the majority of the poorer sections of cities and towns. One elven document showed how the elves originally thought human to be a plague of short lived locusts so they retreated peacefully from the human advance waiting for them to die. But humans have lingered, and the Elder Races have incited hatred and dislike among them. Now some consider that an elf is only considered good if it is dead.”

-The Elder Races by Dional Atborogh

Chapter Nine

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the sixty-eighth day of Summer

The eastern sky grew bright as Inüer brought the coming dawn causing the moons to become faint and a vail to fall over the stars. The red rock of Cārrak began to glow in the morning light and the snow that had fallen in the night quickly melted away and was sent trickling down the sheer side of the rocky peak.

He shook the chill from his bones and breathed deeply in the fresh air of the dawn. Sitting cross-legged on a small ledge on the side of Cārrak he was concealed from view from below or above. He had found this spot not long after being brought to Elestarl by the Delfin, the Regional Commander of Sesserrech. It had been through a rather strange series of events that had brought him here, and as he thought over them he began to wonder if there had really been any point to it.

It had all begun back in Port Na’brath, when he had been sentenced to death for assassinating the Grand Magi, of course he had not committed the crime but the Lords of the Port wanted blood and his was as good as any. In truth he had resigned himself to the headsman’s axe but as he was about to be taken out to the blood thirsty crowd to be executed, someone shoved a dark bag over his head and quickly dragged him away.

Lieut had been in no position to struggle even if he wanted to and he had felt keenly the point of a nasty dagger between his shoulder blades. He recalled passing through many doorways and down many flights of stairs and the hollers of the crowd had slowly dulled and became muffled. After many minutes he was roughly shoved down in a seat and his hands magickly bound to the arm rests. The bag was then pulled of his head to reveal a small and dimly lit room and the Regional Commander Delfin standing in front from him, a worried look on his face.

Delfin was not a tall man, and hardly imposing, the man’s sandy blonde hair was cut short and neatly brushed. A close shaved beard swept down from his ears and along his jaw line, the man wore military garb of light blue and gold with an eagle embossed across his chest.

For many minutes Delfin had stared at him, clenching his jaw and fidgeting with the fabric of his coat.

“I did not think there would be two of you,” Delfin had finally said.

“Why am I here?” Lieut had asked in reply, “You sentenced me to death by beheading.”

Delfin nodded slowly, “You are the same one Rathgard had spoken of, correct?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lieut had replied stubbornly.

Delfin sighed then, “After the trouble we had with your people when Rathgard foolishly shot down your craft I thought it best not to make matters worse.”

Lieut shrugged, “Being killed is a hazard of our duty.”

“What is your duty?” Delfin asked suddenly, “The large one with the axe was to kill the Magi, yes? Are you to do the deed in Crydon? If so, why did you land in Gaianaus?”

“What we do has always been in secret and for the purpose of achieving the goal.” Lieut replied simply.

Delfin nodded slowly and did not reply.

“Why am I here?” Lieut asked again.

“Because I don’t know what to do with you,” Delfin blurted out in frustration and began pacing around the small room mumbling to himself.

Finally he stopped and looked resolved, “I need assistance,” Delfin said to himself and then turned to Lieut, “And you are coming with me.”

Surprisingly he was then unshackled and asked to follow the Regional Commander, he could have easily escaped then, but he did not.

Looking back on it now Lieut wondered why he had not escaped, it would have been simple to kill Delfin and his assistant and then find his sword and escape the prison and the city. Perhaps he was curious, or perhaps he followed merely because he would not have known what to do once he had escaped. Find Vythe and Fairris would have been the first thing he would have done, but then what. What would he do? His mission seemed so pointless now.

Even now as Lieut sat upon the cliff-side of Cārrak he wondered what he was doing and why, and what he would do once he was finished here. Should he follow his mission, should he complete it and return to his home? If he did would he receive the same welcome as he brother Nar’to had given him? If he was to complete his mission why then was he lingering in Elestarl?

Although, what Baelor had asked of him when Delfin had first brought him to this city would help in achieving the overall goal of his people, and the High Commission, a voice inside kept filling him with doubts, and of late that voice was becoming increasingly louder.

It had used to be joyously simply, his missions had been his whole world, but ever since the crash and ever since the Fog found its way inside his head, his mission seemed optional.

The morning grew brighter and Inüer reflected off of the silver crosspiece of his sword that lay across his lap. The eyes of the roaring loin head seemed to glow with inner light and the silver edge of the blade burned brightly. Delfin had returned his sword to him, along with his other belongings, just before they had teleported to Elestarl, saying that he hoped that its return would be seen as a sign of trust between them.

Perhaps he would complete the task Baelor and Delfin had asked of him and then wonder what to do next, that seemed the simplest option.

As Lieut continued to ponder, lost in his thoughts, Inüer crept steadily into the pale blue sky, casting deep shadows within the city at first, but soon the darkness lifted and buildings came ablaze in a brilliant white glow.

The revolution had been the most exciting thing to happen since he had got to this city, and in fact it was he who killed the King and his bodyguards. But when Lieut had walked the streets of Elestarl during the celebrations he received no praise or thanks for the deed, and in fact all of the elves simply ignored him.

Against Baelor and Delfin’s insistence he had got a chance to explore Elestarl a little bit, heading into the city many times during the boring build up to the revolution and afterwards during the festivities, although he had left his sword behind on this concealed ledge of Cārrak. Such a sword as his would have attracted too much attention.

Lieut had been surprised to see Vythe walking amongst the market stalls on one of the occasions he had left Cārrak. Following Vythe for a while Lieut had considered greeting him, and he was just about to hail Vythe down when he stopped himself. Again the knowledge that he should not have felt that joy in seeing Vythe screamed at him and he quickly headed in the other direction.

Lieut had again seen Vythe, along with Fairris and Bārdin at the feast for the King’s coronation as he looked on from the shadows. He had in fact thought to greet them then, but in seeing Fairris beautifully dressed he quickly changed his mind and fled the banquet.

Lieut sighed deeply as his golden eyes stared out into the city, not really seeing the view for his eyes were looking deep within his own mind. When he saw Fairris last night he had been encapsulated by her beauty, but he knew he should not have been feeling like that, yet at the same time he knew that such feeling were natural. 

“But that is just it,” Lieut said to himself, “I am not natural, and should never have such feelings. I was born to complete my missions given to me and that alone. Nothing else should matter. So why does it?”

Lieut growled in frustration, the headsman’s axe would have ended such complexities of life, but he had been robbed of that end.

The morning grew hotter and the city began to wake up. As music began to chime softly in the city streets as the celebrations continued he could feel the buzz of magicks in the air, a slight tension that pressed on his mind, a tingle on his skin. Lieut knew that the portals of the Void were opening for half a second to allow the leaders of Sesserrech and Krnōrel to teleport into the city. There was a sudden electrical current in the air, he could almost see it, and his acute senses felt the gate being opened within the city and shortly closing. Not long after the first teleportation there came another one, same as the first.

Lieut took a deep breath and waited. He decided that would do this bidding of Baelor and Delfin, but then he would go his own way, whichever direction that fate took him.

Many minuets passed and by now both parties would know that the other had arrived and were likely preparing for the peace conclave at midday. But it would never eventuate.

Lieut stood up and placed his sword in the clips at his right shoulder, and taking a deep and steady breath he stepped off the edge. The wind whistled past his ears as he dropped a dozen feet to another ledge. Lieut landed lightly and skipped to the side pulling out a strong rope with a grappling hook tied to end. As he jumped off the ledge he threw the hook towards the top of Cārrak. The hook found a firm grasp and Lieut swung out wide and through one of the many waterfalls, before coming back towards the stone. As he neared the face of the cliff he let go of the rope and landed with a roll on a wide ledge.

Nimbly he darted along the rock shelf and dropped down a few more niches and behind another waterfall, until he was on top of a balcony roof. Silently he moved across the top to the corner and swung himself down without a sound.

As Lieut neared the door of the balcony he heard the sound of voices in the main room.

“King Lienthor,” said the voice of Baelor, “I welcome you to the city of Elestarl.”

“Is Cardonian here yet?” asked the King.

“He arrived several moments before yourself,” replied Baelor.

The King growled in frustration, “I can see how this day will unfold already. Must he always seem the more punctual, the more organised. Lord Cardonian constantly insults me at every turn. It is insult to even be here.”

“Father, would you rather war between our nations?” a feminine voice asked.

Lieut paused and smiled. Baelor had planned everything, right down to the manipulation of the Princess to encourage her to join her father at the peace summit.

The King sighed, “You are right Xanthia. I must show patience and restraint, what I would do without my darling daughter, I cannot say.”

“No doubt your kingdom would fall into ruin,” Baelor laughed, seeming jovial.

The King laughed, “Perhaps you are right, she will make a fine Queen one day.”

“One day,” Baelor replied, “Until then may I find you and your party some refreshments?”

“Yes, thank you Baelor,” replied the King, “The past few days has been a difficult time and your hospitality is much appreciated.”

Lieut heard Baelor leave the room and the door close behind him, many other voices of the King’s entourage began to talk within the room. A slight smile came to Lieut’s face as he silently drew forth his sword and moved through the door from the balcony.

So quick and silent were his movements that the first two of the King’s guard fell without conflict. Lieut slashed the neck of the first, his sword easily cutting through the mail protection. The second guard barely knew what had happened when Lieut drove his sword through the gap in the armour at the ribs. The third guard got his hand on his sword, but Lieut slashed him under the arm and the limb fell to the ground. The fourth elite guard actually unsheathed his sword completely before Lieut slapped it downs and followed through with a pirouette passed the guard, taking off the man’s leg at the knee. The last elite guard had enough time to take a swing at Lieut, but he fell just as quickly as the others.

When the blood flowed and showered the walls and floor someone screamed and an alarm was sounded. By the time he turned to the King of Krnōrel and his daughter they had teleported away with the remainder of the entourage and Zirarien guards were bursting through the doors. With his objective completed Lieut darted back out onto the balcony and onto the rocks of Cārrak.

Many minutes later Lieut sat silently on a rocky ledge over Baelor’s balcony, the idea had never been to kill the King or his daughter, only to attempt it, and he had done it perfectly. It had not taken long to scale the near sheer cliff face of Cārrak and he heard clearly what had transpired between the Regional Commander and his former companions.

Lieut could see what was going to happen and had guessed Baelor’s intentions, but he could bring himself to stop it from transpiring. As he sat and listened to the raised voices and surge of magicks, he felt as confused as he had done back at the prison and again after he was forced to kill his brother. Over these past few days he had found some form of peace within his mind, Baelor and Delfin had given him a purpose, given him something to focus on and not worry about the cause and effect. If he returned to Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin, he knew that the confusion would return. So he did nothing as Baelor called his closest guards and had the Vythe and Bārdin dragged away to be confined in the north barracks, and while Baelor’s close assistant, Fanriel and two others took Fairris away to another location.

But could he sit by knowing that they would die?

“Yes,” Lieut growled through clenched teeth, “All that matters is my mission. If I complete it, all will return to the way it was before I came to this wretched land.”

He did not want to return to a state of near constant confusion that increased monumentally when in Fairris’s, Vythe and Bārdin’s company. He just wanted things to be simple again.

Lieut stretched the stiffness out of his neck and slowly got to his feet and dropped down onto Baelor’s patio. He landed silently and moved through the open down into the large room. Some of the furniture had been toppled over and parchment lay strewn around the room. The Regional Commander was walking about fixing the chairs and picking up papers as he noticed Lieut’s entrance.

“Lieut,” Baelor greeted him, “You did well. Perfectly in fact.”

Lieut absently nodded his head as he continued to look about the room. His golden eyes suddenly stopped on a spot of red blood on the tiles. The muscles of his stomach tensed and a wave of guilt flowed over him. Frustrated, he clenched his jaw and stretched the stiffness from his neck, but he could not look away from the drops of blood.

“No doubt you will want to be on your way,” Baelor continued, “You have your mission to complete, so there is no use standing around here and conversing.”

Lieut did not reply.

“I never asked,” Baelor said as he continued to pick up the loose parchment. “What is the target of your mission? Are you the one to kill the princess? Can you say? It is not that I do not trust you and your people, I just find myself curious. Lieut?”

“No,” Lieut replied sternly.

“I can teleport you to any location,” Baelor nodded, “At the least, out of the city.”

Lieut turned to Baelor, “The south gate.”

“Are you sure?” smiled the Blood Elf, “I could teleport you as far as Sparren in Norrendōrel, or the royal halls of Crydon itself.”

“Speed is not a necessity. Timing is,” Lieut said dismissively.

Baelor nodded slowly, “As you wish. I thank you again for your aid here. What we have done today will help secure the success of our plans.”

“What of Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin?” Lieut suddenly asked.

“Does it matter?” Baelor gave him wary look.

Lieut clenched his teeth and shook his head, “No, it does not. The teleportation gate if you will.”

Baelor gave him another mistrustful look, but nodded his head and waved his hand to the side where a glowing doorway opened.

“Vun nāra Lieut,” Baelor said and returned to his tidying of the room.

Lieut glanced at the blood spots once more and took a deep breath before walking through the teleportation gate. The world turned white around him before blurring and shattering like glass. Baelor’s room was replaced with bright sunshine and flat desert before him, large green cacti lunged sparsely into the air filling the otherwise flat horizon. Lieut looked over his shoulder at Elestarl far in the distance, disappearing into the heat haze. He turned back to the south and took a deep breath before walking down the road.

But with each step he continued to glance over his shoulder. Could he really leave his former companions to their deaths?

“Why not?” Lieut asked, “People die, that’s what happens. But it is because of my actions, Baelor needed someone to put the blame on. Vythe and Bārdin will be hanged and Fairris will be sacrificed to the sandwraiths in the north.

“I have been the cause of countless deaths, why is this different? It is because of the Fog in my head. If only things were how they used to be.”

Lieut yelled in frustration and clenched his fists at his side, before rubbing his hands over his face.

“Do I really want things to return to how they were?” Lieut asked quietly, “Following orders blindly, no choice, to just do as I am told. My thoughts and decisions are my own now. Do I want to give that up?”

Lieut’s golden eyes gazed to the southern skyline and he firmed his jaw before turning around and heading back to Elestarl.

Baelor had teleported him far from the city gates and even though he ran, the city walls were burning brightly in the afternoon light by the time he arrived. But he did not approach the city just yet and found a group of cacti to hide among until Inüer vanished below the western mountains and the stars shone brightly.

Lieut moved quickly towards the city, and using the small grappling hook he acquired for climbing Cārrak, he scaled the walls quickly and vanished into the city. The streets were still alight with festivities and music filled the air as the elves danced and sung. Taking to the roof tops Lieut ran quietly through the city avoiding the areas of celebration and moving like a shadow on a dark night.

The sister moons shimmered off Lake Lien as he dashed past Cārrak and around Harljim square. It was just past the middle of the night by the time he was looking down upon the north barracks. No guards patrolled this area, and why would they, so he easily moved among the shadows and through the doors that lead to the holding cells.

Red stone steps wound downwards and a golden light flickered up from the bottom to the staircase. Light voices of the guards echoed up the stairs and the smell of wine drifted on the air. Lieut moved quickly and quietly through the doorway and into the shadows at the side. From his hiding spot he could see only two guards sitting at a wooden table playing a game of Knuckles with polished red stones in front of a holding cell. The guards were so pre-occupied with their drinking and their game they were oblivious as he darted from the shadows.

Lieut slammed the first guards laughing head into the stone bars of the cell and sent the second flying backwards with a kick to the face. The Knuckle stones fell to the floor along with a pitcher of wine which shattered.

The two occupants of the cell were aroused by the noise and jumped to their feet upon seeing him.

“Lieut,” Vythe breathed in astonishment, “How is this possible?”

“There is no time for that,” Lieut replied simply, “We need to leave, where is Fairris?”

“They have already left for the Sand Sea in the north,” Vythe replied in dismay.

“Then let us hurry,” Lieut was quick to reply as he grabbed the keys to the cell from one of the guards.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Bārdin laughed, hopping from the cell and slapping Lieut on the back.

“It is good to see you Lieut,” Vythe smiled widely.

Lieut nodded awkwardly, “Greetings can wait. Let’s move.”

Vythe smiled again and moved to a large chest where Bārdin was already pulling things from.

“It was good of the guards to gather our things in one trunk,” Vythe laughed, pulling several accoutrements from the old wooden chest.

Bārdin laughed deeply as he pulled on his armour and grabbed his prized axe out of Vythe’s extra-dimensional pouch.

Soon Lieut led the other from the holding cells and stealthily into the courtyard and stables of the barracks. The stable hand was fast asleep, but Lieut knocked him out anyway, to be certain he would not wake. They gathered and saddled three horses and a pony and quickly led them from the barracks.

“I will open the gate,” Lieut said as he handed his horse’s reins to Vythe who was atop his noble grey stallion.

Vythe nodded and Lieut quickly darted into the city streets, keeping to the shadows as he made his way to the north gate. All the gates of Elestarl were closed after dark and were operated by a set of chain and counter weights housed in the tower above the large ornate stone doors.

Coming to the north entrance Lieut again used his climbing hook to scale the wall and silently move in to the guarded gate house above the entrance.

Suddenly there came a call of alarm within the city and the guard jumped in surprise and noticed Lieut. But Lieut was quicker, and he darted in punching the elf in the gut and blasting the air from his lunges. Lieut slipped his legs behind the elf’s knee and forced the guard backward by the neck and slamming the elf’s head into the stone floor.

He could hear the gallop of hooves on the stone streets of the city and quickly looked for the counter weight to open the gates. Lieut saw the leaver but he could also see that it would take many minutes for the heavy doors to open. The sound of hooves grew louder as did the shouts of alarm. Thinking quickly Lieut drew forth his sword and cleanly severed the safety chain. The counter weight fell quickly and the great stone doors swung inwards swiftly crushing several unfortunate guards.

Lieut sprinted form the gate house and jumped from the city walls to the desert sand fifty feet below. He landed heavily but quickly rolled to his feet and dashed to the road just in time to swing up into the saddle of his horse as Vythe and Bārdin raced out of the city.

Chapter Ten

Fairris woke to find herself tied to the saddle of a horse. Beside her were two other Zirarien riders and one in front. She instantly recognised the elf at the lead as Fanriel, Baelor’s assistant, but as to the two riders beside her she could not tell, one was a male and the other female and that was all. It was late afternoon of the same day and it was clear that they had been riding for quite some time, for as she glanced over her shoulder the city of Elestarl was nowhere in sight.

Her captors did not speak to her and she did not bother trying to engage them in conversation. There was no point to it, she had no hope of escape, her magicks did not heed her call, thanks to Void magicks not doubt, and the three Zirarien she was with did not look to be sympathetic towards her.

In quiet despair Fairris rode without complaint long into the night. By the time they stopped it had to have been past midnight, and she got the impression that they only stopped to grant the horses some reprieve.

As they sat around the fire, her hands still bound in front of her, she began to notice that these elves were somewhat odd. They were clearly not guards and wore simple traveling clothes, but by far the oddest thing about them was when they all knelt together and prayed. The prayer itself was not that strange, although the words were peculiar to her ears, it was then that they all donned light silk robes of red that were open at the front and showed their naked chests and everything else. They each wore a tall thin hat upon their heads, and around their necks hung an ancient chain and pendant of polished red stone. Fanriel led the prayer reading from a rotting leather bound tome, speaking of sacrifice for good fortune in return.

Fairris reasoned they must be praying to the old Gods, but try as she did she could not recall anything about the old Gods and the faith around it.

Fairris slept uneasily and the next day came quickly, they set out before Inüer had risen and rode non-stop the entire day. The elves continued to wear their see-through robes and tall hats and nothing else, and they continued to not talk to her.

Throughout the day Fairris just stared at the back of the horse’s neck a dull look in her blue eyes. She knew that she would soon meet her end, there was to be no saving. Vythe and Bārdin were likely being hanged off Tharlim Bridge as the nobles had been not several days prior.

Afternoon came seeing a change in the rocky terrain, and great white sand dunes soon towered around them and the heat of Inüer increased tenfold. The top layer of the sand dunes had turned to glass and crunched and shattered under the hooves of the horses. A large hill rose up before them with several columns of red stone, like teeth, which glowed in the afternoon light.

“Blarish deth,” Fanriel said with reverential awe, “The Bloody Teeth, where maids of the lost city of Ingruil were sacrificed to the old Gods of the desert.”

Fairris looked at the red stone pillars blankly, devoid of caring. She had no hope living beyond tomorrow, and at the moment one death seemed just as acceptable as the next.

“Beautiful, are they not Fairris?” Fanriel asked her, the first words any of the elves had said to her since they began the trip.

Fairris did not reply and her gaze dropped back to the horn of her saddle where her hands were tied.

“You should be happy,” Fanriel said, “You will be the first sacrifice to the old Gods in centuries, in over a millennia even. It is a responsibility of the highest honour, to bring such fortune to your people.”

“Feel free to take my place,” Fairris replied, not looking at Fanriel.

Fanriel laughed, “I think not, although we are not zealots the ritual must be performed correctly and I am the only one who has studied it enough to understand it. Perhaps your sacrifice will bring fortune to Elestarl, or perhaps not, it matters little. The pilgrimage to the old Gods was just a way to have you killed without the uproar of the civilians, if it brings us good fortune, all the better.”

Fairris shook her head and sighed.

Fanriel smirked and led the troupe up the large hill and to the Bloody Teeth. Fairris was roughly pulled from the horse by the male elf and restrained near one of the stone pillars. A few of the stones had remnants of ancient skeletons, their wrists chained to the top of the stone.

To the north-east was the Sand Sea, its rolling dunes constantly shifting despite the lack of wind. It was like and ocean of pale water moving slowly in rolling waves, the surface glistening like diamonds in a fire. It was said that the Scuthār, the sandwraiths, swum beneath the surface of the dunes, having no need to breathe the air and moved like shadows in the night, like a mist in the wind and appearing ghostly.

Once the Scuthār had been called the old Gods by the Zirarien and Dariens alike and it was believed that the Dariens still worshiped the old Gods. The ancient city of Ingruil was where the beliefs took a firm hold, but that place had long been lost to the sands of Sinsarin. The Blood Elves had turned from that belief before it took a hold and saw the wraiths as just another being in the desert. But the folklore of the Zirarien tell stories that the Scuthār were the ghost of the dead who had perished in the sands of Anastarā.

What Fairris remembered of the sandwraiths mattered little now, for if she was not killed by them, the heat from Inüer would melt her skin.

With the instruction of Fanriel the male elf grabbed Fairris and stripped her naked. Her clothes were tossed to the side and she was roughly re-dressed in a see through light white robe similar in style to the ones the others wore. With another word from Fanriel the male elf chained her wrists in the metal shackles above her head causing the clasps to bite at her skin.

As night descended a large fire was then built at the centre of the hill and Fanriel and the other two elves began to dance around the flames, chanting in strange words. They shared a large pitcher of drink between them, which Fairris thought to be wine. But then the drink was forced down her own throat and she realised it was not just alcohol, rather some strange hallucinogenic liquid.

The dancing became more frenzied and the male and the other female started dancing very intimately with one another, and Fanriel approached Fairris with an ornate stone dagger in her hand. The light of the fire became blurred and incredibly bright, the sharp edge of the dagger glowed like lightning in the light and Fanriel seemed like a naked shadow of death before her.

Fanriel said some strange words and dragged the blade across her palm slowly, letting the blood run down her forearm. Steam looked to pour out of the wound and the blood drops hissed loudly as they hit the sand. The cut on the elf’s palm seemed to burn and glow with fire as Fanriel raised it before Fairris’s wide eyes. Fanriel then smeared Fairris’s face and chest with blood and more words were spoken. The blood was incredibly hot on her skin and felt as if it would start melting her, but she did not scream despite her fear.

Fanriel knelt to the ground before Fairris in some form of trance smearing the blood across her own naked chest and body as she did. By now the other two elves were entangled on the ground by the fire moaning loudly.

Fairris’s head began to feel light and her eyes lids heavy, the fire grew brighter and dark shadows danced in front of her face. Her chin dropped to her chest and her dreams were filled with horror.

She was running naked through the dark. Heavy smoke stung her eyes and made her choke. Darkness chased her down the endless path, gaining with each stride. She did not know what lay in the impenetrable blackness but every time she glanced over her shoulder she was filled with absolute fear.

Tears ran down her face and her lunges burned, she tripped and stumbled but forced herself to her feet. Images of Bārdin and Vythe hanging from the bridge in Elestarl appeared before her eyes while the Zirarien laughed and cheered and threw rocks at them as they slowly choked to death.

The blackness grew closer behind her. She could hear the moans of the dead echoing from its depths.

Vicious shadows appeared out of the smoke scratching deep cuts into her skin and trying to make her trip, laughing all the while.

An image of Lieut appeared before her, his golden eyes burning brightly and his silver hair shining in the light, a warm smile crept across his face. New strength kindled within her and she forced herself to run harder, the black wave behind her seemed to drop back. But then the evil shadows jumped upon Lieut, biting at him and laughing. Lieut tried to fight back against the shadows but they overwhelmed him and began to rip him apart.

More tears streamed down Farris’s face and she stopped running and collapsed to the ground. Fear swelled within her as she heard the whistle of the black wave race up from behind her. She knew the darkness meant death, but she did not care.

There was a roar of noise and she felt a thousand swords stab through her back as the darkness engulfed her.

Fairris woke with a start, the light of Inüer burned her eyes and she could feel the pain in her shoulders. Her head throbbed and she could feel where the shackles had cut into her wrists. Slowly she took the weight from her shoulders and pushed her feet under her to take her weight.

Her head ached and her throat was dry, the light of Inüer was so bright and hot but she slowly opened her eyes. Everything was a bright blur for many seconds but images began to form. Fanriel and the other elves had left and the fire had been extinguished, leaving a blackened hole in the sand. She was alone on Blarish deth, left to wilt in the sun and die of thirst.

A single tear ran down her cheek and she let out a deep sigh.

The morning grew hotter and Fairris could feel her skin begin to burn, she tried cast some magicks but that was to no avail, there was likely a Void spell lingering around her. There was no hope, despair hung around her like a cloud of smoke as she stared into the distant Sand Sea.

The heat increased and she could feel herself becoming more distant and her vision began to blur. One cannot live long in the deserts of Anastarā exposed to the harsh conditions as she was. Soon heat stroke will take a hold and the rest with be a delirium until death.

Several low growls sharpened her thoughts and she opened her eyes to see three Dune Cats stalk around the top of the hill, their eyes hungry.

Fairris almost laughed aloud, could her fortune turn any graver? It went from the seemingly pleasant death of heat stroke and thirst, to being ripped apart by hungry Dune Cats.

The largest of the cats began to slink closer, its pale red scales shimmering in the light. Its pale blue eyes shone greedily as it gazed at Fairris, the other two cats began to fight, both eager to taste her flesh. But it would be the larger cat that had the first bite, and it was inching closer by the second.

Fairris closed her eyes and let her exhaustion take over, hoping that she would fall unconscious before the first of the Dune Cat’s teeth sunk into her.

Suddenly there was a loud yell and Fairris’s eyes popped open, her sight was blurry but she saw a shadow dart before her and drive a sword into the largest dune cat and scare the other two away.

As she slowly slipped into unconsciousness she thought she saw the flash of silver and suddenly the ground rushed up to meet her. But a strong arm stopped her from falling to the sand.

Fairris felt herself floating and forced her eyes to focus, the light of Inüer shown in her face but she could distinctly see two golden eyes looking down at her.

“Lieut,” Fairris gasped through cracked lips.

A slight smile came to Lieut’s face and Fairris fell unconscious. Or perhaps she was dead, either way she did not care and a smile spread across her lips.

**************************************************

Lieut raced through the desert, pushing his stolen horse to its very limits. Vythe had nearly exhausted himself constantly casting replenishing spells on the animals, but they had to be quick.

After the first day past Lieut believed that they would be too late to save Fairris, but still they rode on, not stopping during the nights. Fortune was with them and on the second morning Blarish deth came into view and he raced up the hill just in time to stop a Dune Cat from eating Fairris for its breakfast.

Fairris had been on the brink of death but he cut her loose and Vythe began casting what little healing spells he knew on her. Vythe had also taken from his pouch three wooden flasks filled with a liquid he quickly poured down Fairris’s throat.

“What is that?” Lieut asked curiously as Vythe emptied the last flask.

“Gifts from the Yineth we helped on our travels,” Vythe said off-handily as he cast more spells upon Fairris.

They did not linger at the Bloody Teeth and headed directly east fearing pursuit from the guards of Elestarl. It was now the second day out from Blarish deth and Fairris had yet to wake. They had made a type of sling between Fairris’s and Vythe horses where Fairris now lay unmoving.

Lieut had taken the lead and was now steering the group at a trot through the shifting sands of Sinsarin. He had told both Vythe and Bārdin what had happened after the fabricated beheading as they rode and answered their questions. Lieut found no need to ask them about their journey, he knew the important events already.

“Why did you agree to the attempted assassination of King Lienthor?” Vythe asked from the back of the line.

Lieut shrugged, “Why not? I did not have anything else to do.”

“You could well have sparked a war between Krnōrel and Sesserrech,” Vythe replied grimly.

“Does it matter?”

“Perhaps not to you,” Vythe said vehemently.

Vythe had been dark on this topic even since he had told him his tale. Honestly Lieut did not see the problem, and he was glad that he had not told Vythe everything, although he already knew much from what Baelor had hinted at. It was clear that the High Commission was trying to cause a war between the realms, but he knew Vythe did not know how he was involved or why the High Commission were doing it. Vythe had reasoned it down to the High Commission desire for power, and Lieut did not see the need to correct him.

“Don’t matter to me either,” Bārdin snorted, wiping his brow, “You humans will tire yourselves out and then blame the Elder Races for the war.”

The day went by in blaring heat, and in between trying to heal Fairris, Vythe was casting replenishing spells on the horses. Due to this exhausting process Vythe became increasingly tired and irritable.

That night they sat quietly around in a circle, there was no fire to warm them for Vythe was too drained to sustain a flame, and any uncontrolled fire had a real danger of causing the desert to catch alight.

Fairris shivered uncontrollably among thick fur coats that Vythe had stored in his extra-dimensional pouch. A stream of sweat lathered her body and her face had become pale. Being exposed to the severe heat had crippled Fairris’s immunities and she had broken into a fever, and did not look well.

Lieut had saved her from the desert and the Dune Cats but now it seemed to him that she would now die from her illness. Vythe’s magicks were doing very little and he had resorted to trying more physical attempts to heal her, hence the warm coats and frequently forcing Fairris to drink some water, neither of which seemed to be helping. Unless they found someone skilled at healing it was unlikely Fairris would live much longer.

The night was cold and a beautiful aurora slithered through the sky in a pink river. Usually Lieut would find the sight fascinating, but at the moment he was concerned with Fairris’s health. Vythe and Bārdin soon fell to sleep but he stayed awake as usual.

It was a strange night in the Sand Sea, Lieut’s breath made steam in the air and an unfelt wind moaned across the dunes. Lieut stood up and looked out across the cold desert, a light cloud vapour drifted in the air and seemed to have figures moving within it. A chilling moan echoed across the silence and made the horses shuffle around uneasily.

Lieut remembered reading the file on Anastarā, the Crimson Wasteland, and the deadly sandwraiths that called the north-eastern dunes their territory. There was not much known about them, mostly folk law and myths. Many claimed that the wraiths moved like fish under the surface of the sand and protected their lands viciously. Other tales suggested that they were ghosts, shadows of people who died in the desert. They were also called the old Gods and still worshiped by the Dariens, although the black skinned nomads hardly ever came this far north and preferred the large cacti forests in the south of the desert. The worship of the old Gods had been predominately been exercised by the people of Ingruil many Ages ago before the city had become lost in time.

As Lieut thought about it he remembered there was very little knowledge of the city, only tales of the city being consumed by the desert remained.

The moaning wind lessoned and Lieut returned to the camp, calming the horses and taking up his seat again.

Lieut continued to lead the group through the desert the next day, being careful to avoid any quicksand pools which had become more numerous. The dunes had shifted during the night and he was starting to believe that the desert was pushing them to the north and further into the Sand Sea. He was glad when he saw the snow-capped peaks of the eastern mountains grow out of the heat haze on the horizon. He was even more thankful that the mountains were closer then he thought they would be. It was as if the desert had hidden the exit from the dunes from them, and only now they were breaking out of the clutches of Sinsarin.

Lieut estimated that they would be out of the Sand Sea by midday and once again feel rock under their feet. The others were also excited to see the end of the Sand Sea and they urged their horses on faster.

A few more large hills with red stone teeth at their peaks past them by, but soon it seemed they were coming to the end of the dunes.

They decided to stop for a rest in the shadow of one of the toothed hills, but Lieut did not rest. He was feeling increasingly uneasy, and felt as if they were being watched, even hunted.

Lieut was about to urge his companions on when the sand around them exploded and half a dozen sandwraiths jumped at them. The wraiths were no bigger than a dwarf and had scaled skin and wore tattered clothes. In their clawed four fingered hands they carried incredible stone weapons. The wraiths had flat faces with slits for nostrils and pale eyes with diamond shaped pupils. Their mouths ran down from below their noses and over their shallow chins and were filled with rows of sharp teeth.

Lieut had his sword in his hands the second the first wraith appeared and it was dead at his feet seconds later. The wraiths charged at him, calling out in their moaning voices and throwing their stone spears.

Lieut easily deflected the projectiles and cut apart any of the wraiths that came too close. He did not return the charge and instead found himself moving defensively towards where Fairris was laying in the sling between the horses.

“Fly Lieut,” Vythe called as he jumped into the saddle of his horse.

Lieut saw why Vythe had said it, for many more wraiths were jumping forth from the sand. Bārdin had killed few of the fiends but was also trying to climb onto the saddle of his pony.

“Go,” Lieut shouted to Vythe, “Make for the mountains.”

Vythe nodded and set his horse into a canter, making sure Fairris did not fall from the cradle. Bārdin’s pony also took off even though the dwarf was only half way into his seat. Bārdin cursed loudly in dwarfish and held on for his life, leaving Lieut to be the rear guard.

Several more wraiths fell before his blade as he slowly back towards his horse which was dancing nervously on its toes, but obediently waited for him.

The wraiths seemed to realise that they had no chance of defeating him and their ambush had failed. One of the biggest wraiths moaned some words and the others stopped charging at him. But they still forced him backwards as if they were demanding that he leave their land.

Lieut nodded his head to the wraiths and quickly jumped into the saddle and rode fast from the area. Vythe and Bārdin were a good deal ahead of him, but he could see them in the distance just starting to move from the dunes and onto the rocky ground of the mountain foothills. Lieut glanced over his shoulder at the wraiths, but they had disappeared from sight, even their dead were no longer visible.

Lieut eased his horse into an easy trot and soon left the dunes of the Sand Sea behind him. It was not long after that he came upon Vythe and Bārdin, who were both looking tied.

“Damn horse,” Bārdin was grumbling as he stopped, “Taking off before I was in my saddle. That is the last time you do that, you daft beast.” Bārdin shook his finger at the horse, “Or I’ll leave you on the side of the road.”

The pony snorted and nodded its head, as if understanding every word Bārdin had said.

“We should push on,” Lieut said, “There seems to be an old road in that direction.”

He pointed towards the mountains where an ancient path was visible which led into the red rocks.

“I am exhausted, Lieut,” Vythe snapped, “My spells are doing nothing to help Fairris and I cannot continue to replenish the energy of our steads.”

“We need to find aid for Fairris,” Lieut replied calmly.

“Where, Lieut?” Vythe asked in reply, “The only chance of a town is on the other side of the mountains, she will not last that long. I do not have the energy or skill to keep the horses going to even have a possible chance of making it.”

“We have to try.”

Vythe took a deep breath, “I know, Lieut. I just do not know how long I can keep this up. And I do not know how long Fairris will last. Her breathing is becoming increasingly shallow.”

“She is strong,” Lieut replied, “I believe we can find her aid before she dies. I believe she will live, and Death will not have her this day. Do you not agree?”

Vythe looked at him curiously, but nodded and a tired smile came to his face.

“Let’s get going,” Bārdin said loudly and climbed back into his saddle.

“Push yourself to your limits, Vythe,” Lieut said, “Fairris would do no less to aid you.”

Lieut took the lead again and moved quickly along the mountain path that wound up the hills and in between the peaks. The path was easy with only a few boulders littering the way. Harsh tufts of grass stuck out from between the rock and cracks, but there were no trees to be seen. Remnants of buildings stood in ruins at the side of the road, crumbled and slowly becoming dust, but it was clear that there must have once been a civilisation among these mountains.

The hour became late but still they pushed on through the ruins. Inüer burned at their backs and made the rocks glow like fire. As they came over a crest and onto a table land, an ancient building towered up above them nestled between two mountains. The dome ceiling had collapsed and pillars of the entrance hall lay in ruins. Dry old vines climbed over the square blocks and through the cracks and holes in the building. It would have once been a marvellous and imposing structure, but the slow decay of time had all but reduced it to a pile of broken stone.

But yet it stood, proudly glowing in the evening light and defying its age and showing the travellers its once glory.

“We should rest for the night,” Vythe said in a weary voice.

Lieut wanted to continue but agreed and they slowly led the horses through broken vestibule and into a large round theatre. Old stone benches lay in piles of rock and the vines wrapped around the columns and hung from the ceiling. The last light of Inüer shown through the hole in the roof, bringing new life into the old hall before the evening set in.

Lieut and Vythe carefully unhitched Fairris’s sling and lay her on the stone ground while Bārdin collected some dead limbs of the vines and started a fire. Vythe then collapsed beside Fairris looking very exhausted but still he tried to cast healing magicks upon her.

Soon the fire crackled brightly in the darkness, casting long shadows throughout the hall. There was not much talk amongst them, Vythe was too tired, Lieut was pre-occupied with his own thoughts, and even Bārdin seemed worried for Fairris.

“Power corrupts. What a foolish notion, the only people who say that are the ones who do not have any power. A Lord will have a farm owner killed for the land just as quickly as another farmer. Power has nothing to do with how corrupt someone is.”

-Regional Commander Winton De’lanner

“We all make choices in this world, some good others not. But by no means can we let our minds linger on those decisions else be consumed by doubt and regret. You make your choice and stick to it, and that is all you can do.”

-Unknown

Chapter Eleven

The fall of a stone grabbed Lieut’s attention and his golden eyes looked intently out into the shadows. Neither Bārdin nor Vythe noticed it, but he did. Lieut slowly got to his feet and continued to look into the shadow. His ears picked up on the slight shuffle of feet and the rhythmic breathing of someone, or something.

Bārdin seemed to notice his alertness and jumped to his feet as well, grabbing his axe in the process. Another stone clipped down a pile, taking Bārdin’s attention.

“Show yourself,” Bārdin shouted into the darkness, “This is one dwarf you won’t take by surprise.”

“Dwarfsy,” came a light female voice out of the darkness, “We haven’t seen a dwarfsy in a very long time. What’s the dwarfsy called?”

“I be Bārdin, son of Bain,” Bārdin replied confidently.

“Not often does a dwarfsy leave their clan,” said the voice, this time coming from a different direction, “Why is it here we wonder, yes we do.”

“Step out of the shadows and I’ll tell you,” Bārdin replied stubbornly.

“Will they hurt us?” asked the voice faintly, “Their weapons look sharp, they do indeed.”

“We will not hurt you,” Vythe said, he also now standing on his feet and peering into the darkness.

“But the elfsy is hurt,” said the voice from behind them, “Very hurt indeed, nearly dead. Very distracting when things need doing, yes indeed.”

“We were not the ones to hurt her,” Vythe said as they all turned around, “In fact we are trying to heal her.”

“No good out here,” the girl’s voice laughed, coming from another direction, “No places to heal out here, no there is not, only death. We knows, yes we do.”

“Can you help her?” Lieut asked, his eyes following the light pad of feet and the slightly darker shadow.

“The one with keen eyes asks nicely,” replied the voice, a strange menacing undertone in her voice.

A few moments of silence past and they all glanced uneasily to each other.

“We will help,” the light voice said loudly right behind them, “Otherwise you will be lost for a very long time, yes we knows.”

Lieut spun on his toes to see a young woman squatting on a large stone brick beside where Fairris lay. The girls large black eyes stared at them in amusement, her head cocked to one side with her straight black hair dangling around her shoulders. She wore only a small light fabric dress with no shoes upon her feet, but she was not dirty, in fact her porcelain skin seemed to glow in the light of the fire.

By Lieut’s eyes she could not have been past twenty by human years, and yet her dark eyes glinted with wisdom far beyond the Ages. She smiled at them in amusement as a stunned silence fell over the broken hall.

Her smile widened and she turned and knelt beside Fairris, running her long fingers through Fairris’s sweat drenched hair and sniffing intently.

“Do you have a name, my dear?” Vythe asked politely.

“We are no one’s dear,” the girl replied ominously, “And we have many names, but you three and can call us Kreha.”

“How are you out here in the ruins of an old temple, Kreha?” Vythe asked cautiously.

“We go many places now,” Kreha replied still inspecting Fairris, “Old temples are ones of our favourites. They are full of memories, and full of stories. We like to read stories, and there are lots of stories here, yes there are.”

“Are you the only one here?” asked Vythe.

“We know how to heal beautiful elfsy,” Kreha exclaimed, ignoring Vythe’s question, “Dwarfsy will come with us, we like dwarfsy.”

Kreha stood up and delicately floated past the fire and into the shadows, making Bārdin jump to catch up with her.

Lieut exchanged a curious look with Vythe, and then they both shrugged their shoulders in bewilderment. 

Kreha and Bārdin returned quickly, and this time Kreha was crawling on all fours beside the dwarf who was carrying an armful of different coloured mushrooms. They moved past Lieut and Vythe, and Kreha sat down and crossed her legs before grabbing a wooden bowl out of the air. She instructed Bārdin to pull the crowns off each of the mushrooms and hand them to her. He did so and Kreha crushed them into the bowl. Next she grabbed an unseen pitcher of hot water out of the very flames of the fire and poured the water into the bowl, causing the crushed mushrooms to hiss and smoke. Leaning over to Fairris, Kreha waved the purple vapours into Fairris’s face, and mumbled something under her breath. Kreha then tossed the bowl and pitcher over her shoulder which vanished into the shadow and clicked her finger. Again she clicked her finger, causing a spark to flare into the air and puff out. Kreha let out a disgusted sigh and clicked her fingers again, this time the spark stayed in the air and floated above her hand. Gently Kreha moved towards Fairris and guided the spark through Fairris’s parted lips.

Instantly Fairris’s breathing became deeper and colour returned to her face, but still she slept.

Kreha jumped to her feet and clapped her hands excitedly, her eyes sparkling.

“Long time since we have done something like that,” she laughed and sat back down as a sudden sadness came to her features. “It is sad we cannot do anything greater.”

They each looked at Kreha in surprise, none of them having seen anything quite like what she had done.

“It is fortunate that elfsy was not already dead,” Kreha said, seeming no longer sad. “For then we could do nothing. We knows, yes we do indeed.”

Lieut searched his memory in vein as he tried remembering any information he had read on such magicks, but there was nothing.

“Incredible,” Vythe said, “Never have I seen such magicks.”

“Magicks?” Kreha laughed, “We do not know magicks, no we don’t.”

“Then what was that?” asked Vythe.

“It just was, and is,” Kreha smiled in reply.

Vythe let out a small laugh and shook his head, “What are you?”

Kreha looked at Vythe in surprise, “What are we humansy asks. We are many things. We are gatherer of mushrooms, we are healer of pretty elfsy. At the moment we are sitter by fire and talky to strangers.”

Vythe smiled at the reply and shook his head.

“Want some food?” Bārdin asked as he took a bite of salted pork, “You look half starved.”

Kreha giggled, “We like the dwarfsy. What does it eat?”

“Salted pork and beer,” Bārdin said showing his meal to Kreha.

Kreha wrinkled her nose up at the pork and beer and shook her head.

“Would you prefer some bread or cheese?” Vythe asked politely as he rummaged around in one of his extra-dimensional satchels. “Or some fruit, perhaps?”

“What big pouches humansy has,” Kreha’s eyes sparkled, “But their foods we do not like. What does the one with sharp eyes eat we wonder. Yes we do.”

Kreha stared at Lieut, her big eyes sparkling and making Lieut feel somewhat wary.

“We see the rainbow behind his golden eyes, yes we do,” Kreha said softly, “It is not no humansy, nor elfsy, definitely not a dwarfsy or halflingsy. What are you, we asks, and why are you here?”

Lieut did not reply straight away and he and Kreha looked long at each other, before he shrugged.

“I am myself,” Lieut replied and took a mouthful of water from his flask. “And I am here because I want to be.”

Kreha smiled wide, “It is a good answer, indeed it is. But maybe it is lying to itself?”

Lieut was taken aback by the strange and sudden question. It was if Kreha was looking inside his mind and understanding his confliction. Lieut did not reply and he considered this strange girl very suspiciously as he drank another mouthful of water.

Kreha’s eyes shone strangely as she continued to look at Lieut, a slight smile in the corners of her mouth.

“This one does not eat either, only drinks water he does, not any normal being it is,” said Kreha, her eyes still sparkling, “Will it offer us some water we wonder, yes we do.”

Lieut considered Kreha for a second and handed his flask to her.

“We thanks it, yes we do,” Kreha smiled and took the flask eagerly and drank down several long mouthfuls. She then handed the flask back to him and sat staring into the fire humming softly to herself.

Lieut tied the skin of water back on his belt and looked questioningly to Vythe, who shrugged in reply. Bārdin sat quietly drinking his beer and gazing at Kreha with a slight smile hidden in his beard.

The night drifted by and no more words were uttered, Kreha sat humming to herself, sometimes giggling at an unheard joke, and all the while her dark eyes sparkled.

“Time we must rest,” Kreha suddenly exclaimed and curled up beside the fire and instantly begun snoring softly.

Vythe had been very exhausted and soon drifted off to sleep also, but Bārdin stayed awake for many minutes gazing at Kreha in wonder.

“Hey, Lieut,” Bārdin said quietly, “What do you think of the young lass?”

Lieut shrugged, “She healed Fairris, is there anything else to think?”

“What do you suppose she is doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” asked Bārdin, “Does she have a family nearby or something?”

“She is here. Do we need to know any more?”

“But what is she?” Bārdin asked more to himself then to Lieut. 

“It seems she is anything she wants to be,” Lieut said, growing tired of the conversation and Bārdin’s sudden infatuation with Kreha. “Ask her to join you for a walk tomorrow and ask her all the questions you desire.”

Bārdin grinned, “I might do that.” 

Bārdin then curled up by the fire, hugging his beer mug close to his chest and was soon snoring loudly.

Lieut shook his head at the dwarf and moved from the light of the fire and into the shadows. Lieut headed off to explore this old temple further and to try and sort out what Kreha had meant by her question, and how she could have understood his mental conflict so accurately. Several times he looked back to the camp fire as he departed the hall, and to Fairris who was sleeping peacefully among the fur coats.

Although Kreha was strange there was no outright maliciousness to her and he did not fear that she would not slit the throats of his friends as they slept. But the way Kreha had looked at him and what she had said made him suspicious.

Lieut turned his mind from his misgivings and found a broken doorway in the shadows of the hall and a long stair leading upwards. With one more glace towards the fire he stared up the spiral case. Old vines hanging from the ceiling grabbed at his arms as he ascended and a thick layer of dust lined each step. The staircase ended in a small sanctum with wide open windows and a gaping hole where the dome ceiling once stood. The arched windows were still intact, but now their only use was to hold up the sky.

Lieut looked to the bright stars above and towards the east as he climbed up the pile of broken bricks. For there he could see far along the vale between the mountains and the sparkle of a lake far in the distance. The old dusty road wound through the gap in the mountains and came alongside a flowing river. Lining both the road and river many stone houses stood in ruin and covered in vines. Once it must have been quite a large township and this road the main highway through these mountains, but no longer. When Elestarl was built the traffic must have turned to that city, and this place forgotten and left to fall into ruin.

Lieut could not recall having read anything about this place, and he wondered who had lived here, what they did, and what the purpose of this grand temple was.

“The stones are telling stories,” came Kreha’s voice from behind him, “We know they are. Can it hear their voices?”

Lieut shrugged and shook his head, not bothering to turn around. Kreha moved and squatted at the base of the rubble and looked east as well.

“What was this place?” Lieut asked hesitantly.

Kreha turned a wide smile towards him, “So it does listen, we had wondered, yes we did. We knows what this places is, and we will tell, yes we will.

“It was once the kingdom of the humansies of the east called Ingruil, long ago when the old Gods were still worshipped. Before The Five were born and long after the elfsies and dwarfsies woke up, they were the men of Nārvin who came from the sea. They heeded the old Gods but soon their worship turned to sacrificing to the desert. A rather strange thing we thinks.

“Long count of years this lasted until the fall of Illendüil and the division of the elves, the Zirarien came to Anastarā. The humansies here did not like this and thought the elfsies competing for the old Gods favour. Many sacrifices were made and soon only the zealots remained. We knows the smart ones left and built the city of Crydon and the fanatics turned to dust and the city followed them into oblivion. Yes, we knows.”

Kreha finished and continued to stare silently into the distance.

“Many innocent died here,” she said softly, “We knows, yes we do.”

“So the religion of The Five was then created and the old Gods forgotten,” Lieut stated more then asked, but Kreha turned towards him, her eyes shining in the moon light.

“We aren’t the only one who knows,” she smiled, “It does not sleep either we see.”

Kreha stared to crawl up the pile of rubble towards him, her eyes glowing strangely.

“Why is it here we wonders?” Kreha mumbled to herself, slowly inching towards him, “Where is it going, and why?”
Lieut suddenly started to feel uncomfortable, and the light in Kreha’s eyes caused a shiver to run up his spine.

“What’s it doing here?” Kreha asked, “We don’t know where it’s going. Not humansy, yes we knows. Something more. Something greater. Something that should not be wasting its time getting lost in the desert.”

Kreha suddenly stood in front of him, her eyes level with his, a cold light in their depths. Lieut was startled but he did not back away and returned Kreha’s stare.

“What are you, Kreha?” Lieut asked, unblinking, “You know much of a lost kingdom that existed before people begun worshiping The Five. You say you are many things, and that might be true, but I can see you are so much more than you make out to be.”

Kreha blushed and looked away shyly, “Yes it does know, yes it does indeed.”

She looked back to him, her demeanour suddenly changed. No longer was she a young woman but a regal queen, proud and strong, her eyes glowing with stars.

“So what do you think I am, Lieut?” Kreha asked in a deeper voice.

“I cannot say,” Lieut replied honestly, somewhat surprised at the change, “But it was more than mushroom vapour and theatrics that saved Fairris. I think you saw this city of Ingruil crumble with your own eyes.”

“You should not remind a lady about her age,” Kreha said darkly.

“That may have been many Ages ago as humans count,” Lieut continued, “But it might as well have been yesterday for you.”

Kreha narrowed her eyes and turned away, suddenly becoming the young girl again.

“We still don’t know what you truly are,” she said heading for the stairs, “But we are very glad to have met you. Later we will talk more, you shall see. Perhaps before you all leave and continue on your path. But which path will that be we wonders, yes we do indeed.”

With that Kreha skipped down the stairs and back to the camp site, leaving Lieut by himself and gazing through the gap in the mountains and eastern skyline. This conversation with Kreha had not made him feel any more comfortable around her, and in fact made him even more wary.

Lieut watched silently from the broken solar as the morning came clear and hot, with small puffs of white clouds in the distant east.

Lieut slowly returned to the camp to find both Bārdin and Kreha talking quietly. Kreha smiled widely as he entered and shushed him with a finger pressed to her puckered lips. Vythe slept as did Fairris, but thankfully her fever had gone and she was no longer lathered in sweat.

“Come with us dwarfsy,” Kreha said jumping to her feet, “You are to show us around these ruins.”

Bārdin looked confused, “I don’t know this place.”

“Follow your feet,” Kreha smiled, “Look with your mind, and feel with your heart. We know of some tunnels built into the mountain, yes we do. Must have a dwarfsy with us if we are going there.”

Bārdin shrugged and nodded, getting to his feet and picking up his axe.

“Non-humansy should explore more too,” Kreha said turning to Lieut, “Friends will be safe by fire, we know, yes we do.”

“My feet say to go this way,” Bārdin said as he and Kreha set off.

Lieut remained by the fire, although he was interested furthering his knowledge of this place, he decided to stay by Fairris and Vythe.

As he sat there his eyes kept wondering over to Fairris lying among the fur cloaks, he knew Kreha’s skill would have Fairris healthy soon, but he found he was still worried for her.

“Why am I worried for her?” Lieut asked quietly, “Do I considered her, and Vythe and Bārdin companions? Do I see them as close as my brothers once were? No, my brothers are blood. Yet Nar’to only thought to destroy me upon our meeting. But that was a risk I had to take, it is because I abandoned my mission that he now lies dead.”

Lieut closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“Should I return to the path of my mission and complete it? Is there a point to it anymore? It was given to me for a reason and to be accomplished. Perhaps Kreha is right, maybe I am lying to myself and wasting time in this desert when I should be heading south. But do I want to cause what will happen if I complete my mission? Would I rather stay like this with the three I now call companions?”

Lieut clenched his jaw and dropped his head into his hands. He was still so conflicted, he wanted to complete his mission but when he thought about what it would cause, he felt hesitant.

“But would that actually happen?” Lieut wondered aloud, “My mission had been speculative at best, no one had been certain of the outcome. There was never any definite evidence to suggest it would have a dramatic effect. I was given the mission on the chance that it would cause devastating chaos for our enemies, but there was no proof to suggest it would.”

Lieut sighed again as he looked deep into the flames of the fire.

“Perhaps it would be best to go to the south and to the Scar of Gornl, and then decide whether or not to go through with my mission or not,” Lieut mumbled before letting out a deep breath.

The morning drifted into midday and it grew much hotter, thankfully the broken roof provided enough shade over their camp site. Vythe soon woke up with a large yawn and stretched himself out before sitting up and grabbing a bite to eat.

“Good morning,” Vythe said with a smile.

“The morning has passed, it will soon be afternoon,” Lieut replied off-handily.

“But it is good all the same,” laughed Vythe, “Where is Bārdin and Kreha?”

“Exploring some caves that lie among the ruins.” Lieut waved in the direction Bārdin and Kreha had left.

Vythe nodded, “And what of Fairris?”

“She seems to have improved,” Lieut replied, drawing a nod from Vythe.

“Kreha intrigues me, not to mention scares me somewhat,” Vythe remarked as he lounged on the ground and ate, “It is clear that she is more than she seems, but I cannot say what more she is.”

“No doubt you are right,” Lieut nodded, “But it does not matter. Kreha is, and she healed Fairris.”

Vythe nodded slowly and looked at Lieut curiously.

“You have changed, Lieut,” Vythe remarked, “I admit that I did not like you when we first met in the prison, and let’s face it we did not begin our relationship in the best of ways.” Vythe laughed, and even a slight smile came to Lieut’s face as he remembered.

“It was only in Port Na’brath that I realised there was more to you than your cold outer shell,” Vythe continued, “I did not think I would be saddened when I thought you executed, but I was.”

“What are you saying, Vythe?”

Vythe shrugged, “I guess I am saying that I am happy to be sharing this adventure with you.”

“Is that just because I saved you from the noose in Elestarl?” Lieut smirked.

Vythe smiled, “Perhaps.”

“What adventure are we sharing?” Lieut found himself asking after a few moments of silence.

“To stop the war between Krnōrel and Sesserrech of course,” replied Vythe, as if it were obvious.

“You cannot stop the Princess from being killed, you do realise that?” Lieut stated more then asked.

“Why do you say that?” asked Vythe curiously.

Lieut smirked, “The assassin will have you dead long before you realise he is there.”

“Your brother, you mean,” Vythe said, unblinking.

Lieut’s eyes shot to Vythe, but he nodded slowly, “Yes, he is my brother. As was the assassin in Port Na’brath.”

Vythe nodded, “Which reminds me, I had to cast an illusion spell upon my face for a week after you gave me that black eye and locked Fairris and I in that secret passage of the Grand Magi’s room.”

“I could not have you interfering,” Lieut calmly.

“Tell me Lieut,” Vythe implored, “How are you caught up in the High Commission’s plans? I understand they are trying to cause the war between the realms by assassinating members of each ruling family. But if that is the case why did you go to Port Na’brath, when your brother was already there? You have said your other brother is to kill the Princess of Crydon, so what is your role?”

“It is best you do not know,” Lieut replied calmly.

Vythe’s eyes narrowed, “Is it something to do with the Fog inside your head? Were you seeking aid from your brother in The Port?”

Lieut clenched his jaw and stretched the stiffness out of this neck. He looked to Vythe and shrugged before nodding.

“But why then kill your brother? Did he turn on you for some reason?” Vythe shook his head, “I do not understand it. Why, Lieut?”

“I cannot tell you what I do not understand either,” Lieut snapped, his anger flaring.

Vythe backed off then, seeming to understand Lieut’s inner turmoil.

Many minutes of silence slipped by before Vythe spoke again, “What will you do? Will you play the role set for you and help bring about the destruction of Essinendeür? Or will you help me save its beauty?”

Lieut did not reply, for he truly did not know and had no way of answering Vythe. But he was surprised at how accurate Vythe’s words had been, and it was clear he had been thinking on it for some time.

Lieut stretched the stiffness out his neck again and rose to leave. Vythe did not stop him and Lieut returned to the broken sanctum to watch Inüer slowly drift to the western horizon.

Chapter Twelve

It was long after the night had taken over before Lieut returned to the camp site. By then Kreha and Bārdin had returned from their exploring and Bārdin told the wonder of the caves he had seen.

“By Dhror and Melenduil, such beauty I have not seen in a long time,” Bārdin said enthusiastically, “It reminded me of the entrance hall of Cārrak back in Elestarl, but less worked. The stones were a deep red and the Croxide ore was abundant, it was clear that my kin of the Amber Mountains had not come along this northern range of the Iron Mountains for the caves were awash with natural tunnels and unamplified beauty. Great pillars of stone held up the ceiling having formed naturally through the Ages. Many holes were in the ceiling and opened out onto the side of the mountain, letting the light from Inüer cascade in and cause the stones to sparkle like the heavens at night. Tonight I will dream of bringing some of my kin back here to form the stone, not to mine it, but to enhance its already natural beauty. What a sight it would be.”

“They sound truly beautiful through your eyes, Bārdin,” Vythe remarked with a smile.

“They was,” Kreha nodded, “We liked them very much, lots of stories to hear there.”

Just then Fairris began to stir in her sleep and her blue eyes slowly opened as she turned towards the fire.

“Lieut?” Fairris gasped and she tried to get up.

“Elfsy must rest,” Kreha cut in and firmly pushed Fairris back down. “Elfsy not well, we knows.”

“How is this possible?’ Fairris smiled, “I must have died and awoken in some strange hell.”

“No no, this is no hell,” Kreha said, “We knows, not hell at all. Nothing like a hell. Hells are full of evil things and other nasties, yes we knows.”

“How are you alive Lieut?” Fairris asked, pushing herself onto her elbows and ignoring Kreha completely.

Lieut shrugged and smiled slightly, “Regional Commander Delfin bundled me away to Elestarl moments before the execution.”

“So it was you I saw in the streets of Elestarl,” Fairris smiled widely.

“Most likely,” Lieut nodded, “I spent most of my time on the rocks of Cārrak, but occasionally I walked the streets despite Baelor’s insistence.”

“Then it was you that made the assassination attempt,” Fairris realised and he nodded, “But why?”

“I had nothing else to do,” Lieut replied as he casually threw and dried vine onto the fire.

“Enough questions,” Kreha cut in insistently, “Elfsy must rest, we say she must rest, so she must. No more talkings, rest. Elfsy still not well, we knows, yes we do.”

Fairris looked curiously to Kreha as if she had just noticed the girl.

“This is Kreha,” Vythe explained, “She was the one who healed you, and I am overjoyed to see you awake and looking healthy again. Forever shall we be in Kreha’s debt.”

“Forever is a long time,” Kreha smiled strangely, “A long time to be in debt, we knows, yes we do.”

“Rest Fairris,” Lieut said as he looked into the fire, “There will be plenty of time to talk later.”

Fairris looked at him curiously but lay back down in the fur coats, a smile on her face.

“Sleep,” commanded Kreha and she tapped Fairris on the forehead and the elf instantly fell into a deep slumber.

The next day was hot and a haze of sand and smoke filled the air over the Sand Sea. Bārdin and Kreha went off together again to explore the ruins of the city, leaving Lieut, Vythe and Fairris at the camp site.

Fairris awoke close to midday, and as soon as her eyes opened they fell on Lieut and a wide smile came across her face.

“So it was not some strange dream,” Fairris said as she sat up and held the fur cloaks around her naked shoulders. “You really are alive.”

Lieut nodded and smiled slightly.

“Have something to eat, Fairris,” Vythe said, handing over a bowl of mushroom soup he had been cooking. “Also here are your clothes, I made a point to gather them before we left Blarish deth.”

Fairris thanked him and ate a few mouthfuls of the broth and placed her clothes in a pile beside her.

“Where are we?” Fairris asked, after another mouthful. 

“Some old ruins along the eastern range of Anastarā,” Vythe shrugged.

“Kreha said it was once the city of Ingruil,” Lieut added, “One of the first civilisation of humans on Essinendeür.”

Fairris gave him a surprised look, “Ingruil? Only in the oldest of history tomes in Elestarl is that name mentioned. But even then the words are vague and uncertain.”

“How Kreha knows of it, I do wonder,” Vythe remarked, drawing a nod from Fairris.

“We knows,” said Kreha from the doorway as she and Bārdin returned.

“There’s a storm coming in from the east, across the Sand Sea,” Bārdin said as he sat down and helped himself to the stew. “Not a storm of rain, neither. All sand and wind this one is.”

“There will be lightning though,” Fairris added knowingly.

“Elfsy is feeling better, we sees,” Kreha smiled widely, “They will be leaving soon, we knows, yes, we knows. Leaving poor Kreha and continuing on their little adventure.”

“You can come of course,” Bārdin said, but Kreha was shaking her head.

“Dwarfsy misunderstands,” Kreha replied, “We cannot go with them.”

“Then why is Kreha poor?” Vythe asked curiously.

Kreha smiled at Vythe, her eyes sparkling maliciously, “Best it does not ask us. Best they do not know.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as they wondered what Kreha had meant, and they looked to each other curiously.

“Is the plan still to head to Crydon?” Fairris asked, looking to Vythe.

Vythe nodded, “That is my plan, yes. I believe we can still stop the war between Krnōrel and Sesserrech.”

“Will you come with us, Lieut?” Fairris asked looking concerned towards him.

Lieut shrugged, “I have not decided my path, but I will go with you all to Crydon while I come to a decision.”

“The one with Fog behind his eyes has lots to think abouts, we knows,” Kreha smiled mysteriously, “But does it know? Yes, we wonders if it knows at all.”

Lieut narrowed his eyes at Kreha, but he did not reply.

A deafening crack suddenly echoed through the skies and the sound of screaming winds roared in their ears. Quickly they grabbed their effects around the campsite, which was positioned under the hole in the ceiling, and moved to the shelter of the wall.

The sand storm that had been brewing over Sinsarin soon whirled around them, turning the day into a greyish haze and forced them to find a better sheltered position in the ruined temple. Orange lightning cracked through the sky and the wind howled deafeningly around them. The horses moved nervously in their sheltered spot and whinnied in fear as the storm increased. The maelstrom of sand became so loud that they could barely hear each other talk. They ended up just leaning up against the wall of the temple and waiting for the storm to pass. But it was long into the night before the wind died down and a dune of white sand stood under the hole in the roof. Fairris, Vythe and Bārdin had fallen asleep but Lieut could see the bright eyes of Kreha in the darkness.

The sparkle of her eyes smiled at him before she turned away and disappeared into the darkness of the night. Lieut did not see her again that night, nor the following day. When the morning broke the others asked where Kreha was, all he could say was that she had gone somewhere in the night. Bārdin’s disappointment was obvious and he spent the day walking around the ruins by himself while the others stayed at the campsite and Fairris continued to rest.

“Why am I always the one to nearly die?” Fairris joked as she stretched her stiff back and was once again wearing her travelling gear. “Firstly in the Gaia Mountains and now here.”

“I would say you were lucky,” Vythe laughed, “But that is no type of luck that anyone would want. So, perhaps it is I, who is lucky.”

Fairris smiled, “I wonder why we have not seen any pursuit from Baelor?”

“No doubt he has better things to do,” Vythe shrugged, “Likely he thought that our attempt to save you would result in the desert killing us all, and if it had not been for Kreha, he would have been partially correct.”

It was then that Bārdin returned looking despondent and grunted in reply to their greeting.

“Any sign of Kreha?” Fairris asked curiously.

Bārdin shook his head and sat down with his arms crossed.

“I would have like to thanked her before we left,” Fairris remarked.

“As would have I,” Vythe nodded, “Perhaps we will see her again one day, at least I hope so.”

Midday past and Bārdin headed off into the ruins again, his boots stomping heavily on the stone. They decided to remain in the temple one more night, to grant Fairris more rest before heading towards Crydon. Bārdin did not return in the evening and Vythe and Fairris grew somewhat concerned but they were soon asleep and the dwarf had yet to return.

Still feeling that these ruins were safe, Lieut decided to spend the night in the broken solar to think about the path he should take.

“Will Ne’tra act the same way as Nar’to had done?” Lieut asked himself as he looked towards the east. “I do not think I can bring myself to kill another brother. But Vythe and Fairris will not be deterred from their course, and they will certainly die by Ne’tra’s sword, and I now know I cannot sit by and let something like that happen.”

Lieut sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, his fingers sliding over the gashes on the side of his head. The wound that he had received from the explosion had finally started to heal and the scab had started to fall away leaving behind a pale scar. Although, his hair around the wound had not grown back.

Movement along the path below the solar caught his eye. It was Bārdin and beside him walked Kreha, her black hair glowing in the light of the sister moons.

Lieut’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he saw them walking along the wide road, it seemed as if Kreha saw him and gave him a look that made the hairs on the back of Lieut’s neck stand on end.

The next morning was dull and hot, the sand still hung in the sky obscuring Inüer’s light and covering everything in a dull glow. Bārdin had returned to the camp earlier that night but Lieut still roused everyone early.  Bārdin did not grumble at his lack of sleep and wore a slight grin beneath his beard as he ate his breakfast.

Fairris insisted on a sparring session with Lieut, and despite his hesitance he agreed. The session did not last long and Fairris was quickly exhausted and feeling weak.

“I told you that you were too weak to be fighting,” Vythe remarked as they got the horses ready, “You may have done yourself more harm.”

“I am tired of sitting idly by,” Fairris snapped back, “I will never get better if I refuse to train because I am little bit tired. Besides, a real battle will not wait for me to recover my strength before taking my life.”

Vythe shrugged and soon they left the ruined temple and headed along the old and dusty road that ran between the mountains. Old stone houses lined the road, long since fallen into ruin and with many all but dust remained. As they moved through the ghost town a river came alongside them and trees began to start appearing. Although, what trees did appear were ugly and twisted, their thin trunks and roots curled around the rocks and their leaves were small and tough. Many of the small trees were also covered in sharp needles that dripped with poison. Beneath the trees many lizards bathed in the sun on the red rocks and darted from view when the travellers came too close.

The ruined buildings started to become more common, appearing along the river and clinging to the hillside as they moved through the ancient square of the village. Bārdin made a few remarks about the time he and Kreha had explored these buildings, but most of the trek was done in silence.

Strangely it was if silence belonged in this city, any noise or voice sounded harsh and unwelcome on the stones of the buildings, where the quietude was pleasant.

They stopped for a rest underneath a long dead tree that stood in the centre of the township. Its bone white limbs grabbed at the sky and its roots carved through the paved stones of the square.

The respite was mainly for the horses, for it was wise to grant them as much rest as possible in this heat, but soon they were off again. The grouping of buildings soon lessened and the road continued on straight through the narrow gap between the two mountains. The river at their left grew closer and wider as more streams cascaded down from the high peaks. Many times they were forced to walk their horses through the joining streams as the bridges that once crossed the water had long since washed away. But the waterways were shallow and very clear as they ran over the smooth red stones. By midday the ruined buildings were all but gone and by that evening there were only red and grey stones around them and the towering peaks of the twin mountains that overlooked the pass. In the distance they could see the river washing into a large body of water which was surrounded by mountains and many trees.

That night they camped on the bank of the river to allow the horses to splash around in the shallows and for them all to have a wash. But as it turned out only Vythe and Fairris took the chance to bathe, Lieut only washed his face and Bārdin did not even think to do that.

The night past without incident and the next morning came bright and clear, a wind had picked up from the east and blew off the large lake in the distance bringing a reprieve from the heat. Fairris again insisted on a sparring session, but seeing she was still fairly weak it did not last long, even though Lieut had gone easy on her despite his instincts.

By midday they reached the banks of the lake and followed the road as it meandered along the edges of the water towards the south. The wide road had been gradually reclaimed by the trees during the centuries and all that was left of the road was a thin track through the foliage.

The trees here were similar to the ones they had seen on the mountain highway except these grew taller and more vibrant, though they were still thin and woody, with small harsh leaves and covered in needles. There was little undergrowth through this rocky region and the water of the immense lake appeared clear and deep, glowing in a brilliant sapphire when Inüer turned His face upon its surface.

Tall mountains of red and grey stone stood proudly around the lake, their peaks covered in white snow and shrouded in mist, to the north end the Arbeth River could be seen streaming into the lake on its long journey to Crydon.

This valley seemed so untouched by humans that it was hard to believe that it had once been the main road to Crydon. The only remnant of civilisation was the narrow flat road that wound through the trees and along the banks of the lake.

“This is the western most region of the Lithinüer,” Fairris remarked as they trotted along. “Their main settlement lies further to the east among the floating mountains of Thienlin, called the High Steep by humans.”

“Do you think we will come across any of them?” Vythe asked offhandedly.

Fairris shrugged, “Who can tell? I think it unlikely though.”

“However, such places of beauty are rarely left abandoned,” Vythe remarked and nodded slowly, his gaze across the waters of the lake, “Especially by the Snow Elves, or elves in general.”

“This valley of Illendin and the loch of Starlith, are jewels known even to my people,” Fairris agreed, “Perhaps this region is occupied by the Lithinüer, but I do not think that we will see them. Even though I am sure they know of our passing.”

They camped along the stony banks of Starlith Lake, and with express wish from Fairris they only used dead wood to fuel the fire. Vythe would have conjured a Fog flame, except he had been busy replenishing the horse’s energy during the day for the land was still hot.

“Woods wood,” Bārdin snorted.

“Trees, especially the ones growing in elven lands, have feelings too,” Fairris replied in a slightly annoyed tone.

Bārdin waved Fairris away, but he gathered only the wood he found on the ground.

The night slipped away pleasantly, the moons glowing brightly in the night sky and reflecting brilliantly off the calm waters of Starlith Lake along with the thousands of bright stars.

Chapter Thirteen

It was not long after the others had finished their supper when Lieut’s ears caught the sound of feet on stone. Fairris heard it as well and they both jumped to their feet and gazed in darkness between the trees.

“No one move,” Fairris instructed them, “Several Lithinüer have us surrounded.”

“One in the tree in front,” Lieut nodded in agreement, “Two on both sides and one coming towards us.”

“You have sharp eyes, Helwyr,” said a Snow Elf in common tongue as he walked into the light of the fire.

The elf was tall and proud, with white blonde hair and deep green eyes. He wore clothes of light browns and green, at his shoulder was a quiver of arrows and in one hand he held a magnificently made long bow while his other hand rested easily upon the hilt of a delicate sword.

“We have not had travellers in this land for many centuries,” the elf continued, “What brings your strange company here, speak quickly.”

“We became lost in the Crimson Wastelands and found the trail through some old ruins,” Vythe said calmly, “You are welcome to share our fire.”

“Your kindness is not unappreciated,” the elf nodded, “But I find it hard to believe that a Zirarien was lost in her own lands.”

“She was unwell at the time and could not guide us,” Vythe quickly replied, “It has only been recently that Fairris has regained her strength.”

The elf cocked an eyebrow, “Fairris? That name seems familiar, are you the heroin Fairris that stood against a horde of Dariens and recently returned to your people?”

Fairris seemed surprised at the recognition, but sighed and nodded her head sheepishly.

“Your song has only recently found our ears,” the Snow Elf explained with a smile, though his eyes were suspicious. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Thenderr of the Lithinüer. May I ask your names?”

“I am Vythe Varrintine,” Vythe bowed low, “These are my companions, Fairris, Bārdin son of Bain and Lieut, the Helwyr.”

Lieut shot Vythe a curious look, but he held his tongue, realising that Vythe must have a reason for the deception.

“What brings the noble rangers of the Lithinüer this far south and west?” Vythe asked curiously.

“My party and I are tracking a clan of Ogries that have recently made their lair in these mountains and prey upon merchants and travellers on the road to Garrald and in the south around Jettsome.” Replied Thenderr, “We followed their trail from the north-east and now it heads south as if the Ogries have a made a round trip of raiding near Jettsome before following the road towards Garrald and heading back around.”

Ogries were the largest cousins of the Grenlocks, standing around eight feet tall with thick arms, thick skin and thick skulls. Because of their size and weight, and lack of intelligence Ogries were often mistaken as being a race of troll or ogre, but that was a misnomer. Ogries were hairy like their Grenlock relatives and, although it is hard to believe, Ogries were smarter than trolls. Ogries even had a minor understanding of magicks and crafting and were very clan based, unlike trolls.

“Will you not rest at our camp?” Fairris asked politely.

Thenderr smiled but shook his head, “Despite my curiosity and desire to learn more of your strange company we must hurry after the Ogries. But perhaps a Helwyr could be of use against a clan of Ogries. Would you consider an offer to join us, Lieut?”

“I did not think an elf would consider the help from a member of the Sect of Artāre,” Vythe remarked, before Lieut could reply.

“The Five may be the children to Dhror and Melenduil, a fact that humans have forgotten, but the Helwyr have rid Essinendeür of many foul beasts,” Thenderr replied, “And I acknowledge their skill in battle.  You would be a great aid, Lieut. Will you accompany us?”

Lieut looked to his companions with a blank expression and shrugged.

“Our path leads south,” Lieut remarked, drawing a nod from the others, “Why not?”

“Excellent,” Thenderr smiled, “On the way we will have the opportunity to sate each other’s curiosity. We should leave at once.”

Thenderr then turned to his elfin companions and said a few words in elven before moving to the darkness of the trees.

“Why the deception, Vythe?” Lieut asked Vythe as they set about curing the campsite.

“Best that they think you a Helwyr than an assassin,” Vythe remarked seriously.

“You assume they even know of the events that have taken place in the human realms,” Lieut was quick to say.

“Better safe than sorry,” replied Vythe.

“I am not a follower of The Five,” Lieut said angrily, “I despise the fact that I have to appear someone I am not. It would have been better if you did not continue with Thenderr’s mistake and just let it pass.”

“And when they find out Lieut is not a Helwyr, Vythe?” Fairris asked having heard their conversation, “What do you think they will do then, shrug their shoulders? I agree with Lieut, you should not have jumped on Thenderr’s slip of words.”

Vythe looked in surprise at Fairris, “Should I go and correct myself? By the time he realises the Ogries will be dead and we will be in Jettsome.”

By then they had their things packed and headed after Thenderr through the trees and back to the road. They soon found Thenderr and the rest of his company waiting for them on the road, each of them were atop tall steeds. They jumped into the saddle of their own horses and set off at a trot, Thenderr sent most of his company to scout ahead while he remained riding between Vythe and Fairris.

“I am surprised to see you and your company wielding metal weapons,” Vythe remarked to Thenderr as the trotted along.

“The magicks of the Fog are not as strong as they used to be,” Thenderr replied casually, “Creating of Fog weapons are in fact a rather recent discovery. The Lithinüer have decided to return to the old ways and craft weapons as they had done in Ages past.”

“Dwarves have been doing that ever since the first days,” Bārdin snorted, drawing a slight scowl from the Snow Elf.

“I hear the Valenthōr have also returned to the old ways,” Thenderr continued, ignoring Bārdin’s remark. “And it is said that the Zirarien will soon join us. Do you not prefer crafted weapons, Fairris?”

Fairris half-nodded, “I have never found a gunblade crafted from metal, so I think the Fog will always be the one to create my weapons.”

“Gunblades?” Thenderr remarked in surprise, “Indeed a rarity, I do not know anyone who wields such weapons.”

“How did you know of the song of Fairris the Fair?” Vythe asked curiously after a few minutes of silence.

“Just before my companions and I headed out on this hunt, one of our bards returned from her travels the tale of Fairris the Fair easily flowing from her lips,” Thenderr shrugged, “But the bard also said that the heroin Fairris had taken a pilgrimage to Blarish deth in Sinsarin to pray to the old Gods. How was the pilgrimage, Fairris?”

Fairris shrugged and looked away.

“I see,” Thenderr narrowed his eyes and nodded, “For a long time we have wondered about Elestarl and Baelor who volunteered to become the Regional Commander of Cientrasis. Power is at the fore front of his mind and he seeks to rule the realms through the High Commission. I guess that you learned this truth.”

Vythe and Fairris turned to Thenderr in surprise.

“For a long time we have kept an eye on Baelor,” Thenderr said, ignoring the gazes, “Wondering if he will bring ruin to the Elder Race and war is upon us all. The events at Elestarl have reached our ears as has the fury of King Lienthor, soon the two great armies will march and bring destruction to the race of humans. I only hope that my people do not become caught up in the maelstrom of war.”

Just then one of the scouts came riding out of the night and spoke a few words to Thenderr in their own language before heading off again.

The Snow Elf turned to them and smiled, “We have found the lair of the Ogries. How do you think we should approach Helwyr?”

Lieut shrugged, “This is your hunt, I will be where you need me.”

Thenderr nodded his head slowly as he considered Lieut.

Another scout returned and Thenderr led them to the side of the road where the elf dismounted and joined the other elves around a scratching in the dirt and rock.  Lieut and the others dropped down next to the elves to get a good look at the drawing on the ground. In the light of a torch one elf held they could the drawing was of the hill across the narrow spur of the lake where old stone bridge crossed the water. It was clear the Ogries had not built the bridge but had just simply taken advantage of its presence.

From the rough drawing Lieut could see that the lair was some ways up the foothills of the closest mountain and had several entrances to it. The elf drawing marked out a few positions around the entrances probably noting the guards.

“I’ll take the front door,” Bārdin said loudly, interrupting the elves.

Thenderr and the rest of his company gave Bārdin a surprised look before laughing among themselves.

“That would be suicide, master dwarf,” Thenderr smirked.

“I will join you, Bārdin,” Lieut said, making Bārdin smirk this time.

“Such an act would be foolish,” Thenderr replied, “My scouts claim there is over a dozen Ogries in that lair.”

“So, you and your men go in the first of the second entrances marked there on the northern side, while I provide a distraction from the front, here on the western face. Just up the hill from where we currently are,” Lieut replied simply, and pointed to the markings in the dirt.

“Your plans sounds clever, but I do not condone such an action,” Thenderr shook his head.

“I did not ask you to condone it.” Lieut was quick to reply, “You asked for my help, and I am giving it. If you do not want to go through with my plan, that is fine, I will leave and you and your companions can deal with the Ogries by yourselves.”

Thenderr sighed heavily before nodding, “Very well. But wait until my men and I are in position before you walk through the front door. Five minutes should be long enough for us to reach the northern entrance. Vythe, Fairris where will you be?”

“With Lieut,” Fairris said quickly and Vythe nodded his agreement.

Thenderr sighed again, “I wish you luck.”

“Let’s get to it,” Bārdin laughed and slapped the flat of his axe.

Thenderr and his elves agreed and they all set off across the stone bridge and into what seemed to be and old courtyard of paved stone and broken columns. The tree and grass had reclaimed much of the ruins but it was clear that there had once been some structure of a plaza here at one time.

The group only gave the ruined courtyard passing curiosity and headed for the path which lead up the through the trees and to a golden light in the distance high on the hill. It was there that Thenderr and his elves broke away to the left and towards the north face of the mountain.

Lieut instructed Bārdin to keep this path and he moved into the shadows of the trees, with Fairris close at his heels. Quietly he and Fairris shadowed Bārdin and Vythe as they walked calmly up the hill and towards to large Ogrie sentries. Silently Lieut skipped over the rocks and between the trees moving ahead of Bārdin’s position and towards the alcove above the nicely carved entrance to the cave, and the Ogrie guards. Lieut smiled slightly as he noticed Fairris mimicking his movements with as little sound as he did.

Bārdin continued his calm walk up the hill, with Vythe deciding to hang back, as his magicks would be more useful at a longer distance.

“Hey Ruc, look whats we have here,” said one Ogrie slapping the other on the shoulder. “A dwarfsy waltzing up to our font doors.”

“An all by his lonesome too,” laughed Ruc, “Haven’t tasted dwarfsy in longs count of years have we Bruc?”

Bruc was shaking his head, “No we haven’t, an I’m feeling a bit peckish too.”

Lieut smiled at their laughter as he and Fairris found a good position above the entrance to the cave, and above the heads of the two Ogries.

“What you want dwarfsy?” Ruc demanded as Bārdin neared them, “Come for a late snack?”

“Ain’t been no dwarfsy here since the ancient times,” Bruc remarked.

“There be a bounty of yours heads, Ogries,” Bārdin said calmly, “I’m here to collect.”

“You what?” Ruc laughed and was joined by Bruc.

But their laughter was cut short as a spear of rock burst out of the ground and slammed into Ruc’s face, causing him to stumble backwards. Thanks to the Ogries hard skin Vythe’s rock spear did little damage. But that hard skin was no match for Bārdin’s axe as he launched into the Ogries knee cap, shattering bone and severing ligament.

Before Bruc could respond to his friends cries Lieut jumped from the alcove, his sword leading the way between Bruc’s shoulder blades and out the front of his chest. Lieut hung onto the handle of his sword and rode Bruc as he slumped to his knees and fell on its face.

Fairris was quick to follow Lieut’s lead and she had jumped upon the shoulders of Ruc, slashing its throat and ending the cries of pain.

The Ogries cries had sparked alarm within the cave and a lot of shouts were echoing up from within the caves depths.

“Are you still sure that this was the best course of action?” Vythe asked as he came up to the entrance.

Lieut shot Vythe a sly smile and jogged into the cave his sword eager to taste more blood.

As soon as Lieut was down the steps from the entrance a long hallway greeted him along with the roars of an angry Ogrie. Lieut darted under the swing of a heavy club and rolled between the giant’s legs, slicing the back of its knee in the process. As the Ogrie knelt down in pain, Lieut turned out of the roll and launched himself off the stone of the wall, the tip of his sword crunching into the base of the Ogrie’s skull. The giant collapsed to the ground and Lieut raced off to find his next kill.

The sounds of battle echoed up through the halls and as Lieut moved into a wide round room where the elves were already engaged with the Ogries. Lieut’s eyes quickly darted around the room to the many battles that were happening. Seeing one elf in trouble Lieut sprinted towards the fight, coming up behind the Ogrie and with a quick spin he took the beasts legs from under it before slicing its throat.

Moving to the next engagement Lieut raced towards the long large table at the centre of the room. Jumping atop the wooden table he catapulted into the chest of a surprised Ogrie, his sword piecing the heart of the giant and dropping it to its back.

Lieut rolled to his feet and took another scan of the wide hall.

Around the outskirts of the room stood many pillars holding up the dome room and from their stone hung large metal bowls filled with burning oil. Many different passageways led from the shadows behind the pillars, and from those shadows many more Ogries were coming. Lieut’s companions had entered the hall as well with Bārdin screaming his dwarven war cry and charging in head first. Magicks flew from Vythe’s fingers and a stream of magickal bullets from Fairris’s gunblades, before she turned to dancing around the closest Ogrie, her blades slicing at the giant with every turn.

There was a large crash as one Ogrie tumbled upon the table, shattering the wood and scattering the food and drink. Another thing caught Lieut’s eye as one Ogrie charged out of the shadows knocking aside an elf with his large club. The Ogrie was heading towards Vythe who was amid the casting of a spell, Lieut quickly moved to intercept.

The Ogrie did not see Lieut as he slid in and slammed his sword into the giant’s shin. Luckily for the Ogrie it was wearing protective shin guards, so it did not lose its foot. But the weight of the blow caused the giant to trip and crash into the already broken table. The Ogrie was up surprisingly quickly and after adjusting its helm it roared at Lieut in anger.

Lieut skipped backwards as the Ogrie swung its huge club which cracked stone with each impact. As a wild strike came from above the Ogrie’s head Lieut waited until the last second before pivoting to the side, deflecting the club with the flat of his sword. Using the impetus from the spin Lieut continued round and swung his sword down on the hands of the Ogrie severing a few fingers, and making the Ogrie howl in pain and dropped his club.

Lieut did not miss his opportunity and darted forwards, opening the giant’s gut with a quick slice of his sword. The Ogrie slumped to his knees and Lieut’s next cut drew a gash of blood across the giant’s throat. Grabbing at its throat and gut the Ogrie fell forwards and onto its face.

“Kazārk Karoül,” Bārdin’s voice echoed around the hall as his axe caved in the skull of the last Ogrie.

The fight was finished, but sadly Thenderr had lost two of his kin. Other than that no one else appeared hurt, although Fairris looked exhausted having yet to have fully recovered from her near death experience.

Bārdin was laughing when Lieut joined the others and wiping his axe clean on the jerkin of one of the fallen Ogries.

“Nothing like a good rumble,” Bārdin laughed, “I got four myself, plus a half for the one at the entrance.”

“A third,” Vythe corrected, “Both Fairris and I had a hand in that one’s demise.”

“You what?” growled Bārdin, “That rock spear of yours barely gave it a blooded nose.”

“It was merely a distraction Bārdin,” Vythe replied with a smile, “Which allowed you to catch him by surprise.”

“You should let Vythe have that one Bārdin,” Fairris remarked, “He only killed two others.”

Bārdin laughed and conceded the point, “How many did you get Fairris?”

“Four and a third fell at my feet as well,” Fairris replied smugly, causing Bārdin to grumble in his beard.

“What about you Lieut?” Bārdin asked.

“It does not matter,” Lieut said as he looked about the room.

“Come on, Lieut,” Vythe encouraged.

“Leave him be,” Bārdin mocked, “He’s just sad he did not beat my score.”

Lieut shook his head and turned to see Thenderr approach them.

“Well fought friends,” Thenderr greeted them with a strained smile, “Especially to you Lieut. Both Glarrif and Yenthiel owe you their lives it would seem, and wish me to impart their gratitude, as well as mine. I would be returning home with four dead if it were not for you.”

Lieut nodded awkwardly, but did not reply.

“You will return promptly then?” Vythe asked seriously.

Thenderr nodded, “Our task is complete, and we thank you all immensely. You will all be welcome in Thienlin, even you master Bārdin, whose axe fell as many as my blade. Vun nāra, may we meet again.”

Carrying their dead the elves nodded their farewell to Lieut and his companions before disappearing out the entrance as quickly as they had shown up at their campsite.

“Looting time,” Bārdin laughed loudly as soon as the elves had left.

Lieut did not really bother to search the fallen Ogries for anything that might be of value, they might have had a few coins on them, but not much else. Instead he decided to sit down on one of the only chairs that remained intact and waited for the others to finish their rummaging.

“Wait one moment,” Bārdin said looking around the large room, “This stone looks to be worked by dwarves.”

Bārdin moved closer to one of the pillars and inspected the craftsmanship closely.

“By Dhror’s beard it is,” exclaimed Bārdin, “This must have been a trading post during the time of Ingruil. With the highway going close by it would have been perfect.”

“That could explain the ruined square we past at the bottom of the mountain,” Vythe nodded.

“Then let us not bother with looting the Ogries,” Bārdin smiled, “There might be items of greater worth down these tunnels.”

“Lead the way,” Vythe nodded enthusiastically, “Are you two coming?”

Lieut shook his head, and lay down on the wooden bench chair, staring at the ceiling.

“You two go,” Fairris said, “But let me know if you find anything.”

Bārdin and Vythe sounded their agreement before heading down one of the many darkened corridors that led further into the mountains.

Bārdin’s loud stomping echoed through the hall and soon became dull, leaving only the sound of the burning torches on the walls and the slight scuffles as Fairris continued to search the Ogries for anything of use.

Lieut continued to lie on his back and look at the stone ceiling and the old carvings that could be seen there.

“Out of curiosity, Lieut,” Fairris said breaking the tense silence, “How many of the Ogries did you kill?”

Lieut raised his head to look at Fairris, who sat easily atop the chest of a fallen Ogrie.

“Five,” Lieut said simply and looked back to the ceiling.

“Is that all?” Fairris asked in surprise.

Lieut sat up and looked squarely at Fairris, “One does not measure a warrior’s skill by the number of enemies he slays. Anyone can kill. A warrior’s skill can be seen in the precision of his strikes, the movement of his feet, and the technique of his arm. The greatest of warriors might have only killed one Ogrie on this night where a lesser fighter fell ten. Does that make the one who killed ten better?”

Fairris shook her head, “Of course not. It is just friendly competition between companions nothing more, Lieut.”

Lieut sighed and stretched the stiffness out of his neck, before lying back down to look at the ceiling. He had not thought of that, he had not even considered the count of slain enemies to be friendly competition.

“Have you decided to accompany us to Crydon yet?” Fairris asked breaking the silence.

“No.”

“You fear your other brother will try and kill you also?” Fairris asked making him turn to regard her, but he did not reply.

“For what it’s worth,” Fairris said hesitantly, “I would like your company. I mean, I would like you to accompany me, us.”

The twinge of a smile came to the corners of Lieut’s mouth, but he rubbed it away and returned his view to the ceiling.

Shortly after Bārdin’s loud boots could be heard echoing down the corridor as he and Vythe returned from a different direction to which they had set out at.

“Find anything?” Fairris asked as Bārdin and Vythe came into the hall.

“Alas, nothing,” Vythe sighed.

“It’s definitely dwarven made though,” Bārdin said as he began looking at the food that had fallen from the table. “A whole lot of tunnels interweaving back there, but we found nothing of value.”

Bārdin’s eye lit up as he grabbed a large leg of meat which had been charred roasted perfectly and was still warm. Without any consideration of the fact that had been on the floor for some time Bārdin ripped the meat off the bone and hungrily chewed it down.

“Not bad for horse,” Bārdin laughed as he sat down next to Lieut on the one remaining bench.

“We also found the entrance to the lower tunnels,” Bārdin said between mouthfuls, “But it was expertly sealed, no doubt by my ancestors that controlled this out post.”

After Bārdin had finished his bite they all decided to camp outside for the rest of the night, for the halls smelt terrible now that it had over a dozen rotting corpses in it. At the bottom of the hill they found their horses tethered to the broken stone pillars looking relaxed as they waited patiently.  Among the old stones and under the trees they set up a small camp and soon all were sleeping comfortably, except for Lieut.

The next day they left the western reaches of Thienlin behind along with the lake Starlith. The terrain remained much the same, as did the trees, but as the day wore on they gradually began to move downhill. By that evening they could see the white snake of the road as it moved from the pass through the mountains and towards the steaming haze of Jettsome and the endlessness of the Broiling Moors.

Chapter Fourteen

Cold steel and bright monitors filled the dark room each with flashing lights and dials, each designed for a specific purpose and at each of them someone sat, staring at the dials and lights. In a room full of sounds of machinery and technology it was hard to believe the level of silence there, not a word could be heard from the silhouettes watching the screens so intently, their focus was fixed and they had learnt not to let it slip from their tasks.

The machine beside her monitor began to flash as an incoming message was transferred onto the paper and fed from the machine.

CLASSIFIED

PUPOSE:  Status Report

DATE:  Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the seventy-sixth day of Summer (By Essinendeür reckoning)

AGENT AND AMBASSADOR TO ESSINENDEÜR:   Kil’dar

FOR:  Supervising Commander of the Vessel Sector, to be forwarded to the High King.

EVENTS ARE AS FOLLOWED:  The High Commission’s plans, in accordance to our agreement, are progressing adequately. The supposed ‘peace summit’ between King Lienthor and Lord Cardonian in the Zirarien city of Elestarl was interrupted by an assassination attempt. This attempt was orchestrated by the Regional Commander of Cientrasis, Baelor, and was not considered in the initial agreements between the High Commission and ourselves. Although, it has achieved in creating more tension between the two nations and Baelor should be applauded in his initiative.

Presently, more discussions are taking place to settle on another ‘peace summit’, negotiations are long and arduous and will grant the Third Vessel adequate time to achieve its mission.

The First Vessel’s mission is still unknown to the High Commission, but it is confirmed that it aided the Regional Commander Baelor with the assassination attempt in Elestarl. It is unknown as to the circumstances surrounding their involvement together but it is certain that Number One has continued in pursuit of its mission. But, it is still unclear as to why Number One was in Port Na’brath, why it killed Number Two, and why it was even in Elestarl.

RECOMMENDATION:   Action should continue as designed, although more awareness of Regional Commander Baelor’s actions should be considered.

ADDITIONAL:   Termination of Number One needs to be considered, if in fact it has become compromised. However solid evidence as to its state is yet to be found.

END TRANSMISSION

Jar’nesh read the pages of the report as they came from the machine, there was nothing overly interesting in its contents so she sorted the pages together and took them to the Commander. The Commander thanked her with a nod of his head and waved her away.

With a deep sigh she returned to her station and continued her work and continued the tedium of her day. There was only the slightest hint of excitement around the room as the day of the third launch would soon be upon them.

*******************************************************

It was early morning when Lieut led the way through the outskirts of Jettsome. A heavy mist hung in the air from the steam coming off the moors and carried a foul smell with it. The mist thick and the moisture lathered his face and caused his clothes to stick to his skin. The road was muddy and the wind smelt earthly and filled with the odours of rotting wood and vegetation.

Jettsome was not a big town, barely half the size of Galleraze, and the only reason it had grown large on the edges of the moors was because it was situated along the road to Crydon from the west. All travellers on their way to Crydon, who did not teleport, would stop at the rotting town of Jettsome. The reason for the towns growth reminded Lieut of the Midway Inn, except Jettsome was not in an iconic location, and nor did it boast the best food and drink in the region.

As they moved through the outlying farm houses and towards the gates to the main township, it seemed to Lieut to be the opposite of Midway. Where Midway had a friendly and open feel, Jettsome was muddy and foul.

Lieut’s horse sloshed through the mud towards the gate and two guards got up from their table to the side and straightened their helms.

“What do yous want?” demanded one guard.

“We don’t want their kind here,” said the second pointing to Bārdin and Fairris, “We ain’t too fond of Helwyr neither.”

“I am n…” Lieut began in exasperation, but Vythe cut him off.

“Surely you have fiends that require slaying,” Vythe said cheerfully.

The two guards looked to each other suspiciously.

“The elf, dwarf and I, are the Helwyr’s associates,” Vythe continued, “We aid him in slaying the deadliest of monsters. But we have no wish to disturb your quiet town, we simply wish to resupply and be on our way.”

“By command of the mayor, no non-humans are allowed in,” the first guard said forcefully.

“But surely,” Vythe tried to reason.

“No non-humans,” the second guard cut in, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“Let’s just go,” Bārdin grumbled unhappily.

“You get the supplies, Vythe,” Fairris said, “We will wait outside.”

“Very well,” Vythe sighed, “Unless the mayor has denied entrance to any who accompany non-humans as well?”

“Not yet,” said the second guard, “But I wouldn’t go shouting it around town.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Vythe remarked dryly as he dropped down from the horse, “I will return as soon as I may.”

Vythe moved with the first guard to the gates and headed into the town, leaving Lieut behind with Bārdin and Fairris.

Lieut dropped down from his saddle and walked to the side of the gates and onto a small patch of grass where Bārdin and Fairris joined him as they waited for Vythe to return.

Barely a few minutes passed when one of the guards hesitantly walked towards them after having an animated discussion with his friend.

“You lot need to move away from the main gates,” the guard said still several strides from the grass.

“Why?” Lieut demanded, “Do non-humans offend your eyes? Has the mayor ordered that no non-humans can wait by the gates?”

“The rest of the townsfolk will be coming through soon,” the guard said, “Can’t let them think we have gone soft on non-humans.”

“That is your problem,” Lieut said evenly, his piercing eyes unblinking.

The guardsman stumbled over a few words before sheepishly heading back to his post where his friend was shaking his head. Another heated discussion erupted between the two guards before the second one headed towards them.

“You need to leave, now,” the guard demanded as he walked towards them.

“No,” Lieut replied simply.

The guard’s face turned red, “I’ll arrest you lot if you don’t move on.”

“You can try,” Lieut replied a crooked smile coming to his face.

The guard’s hand went to his sword hilt.

“Alright,” Fairris jumped in, “We will move away from the gate.”

“No we will not,” Lieut said forcefully, turning his eyes towards Fairris. “I will not move on because this racist fool demands me to. We said we will wait for Vythe, and I intend to do so, and no idle threats will change my mind.”

By now the villagers had begun to approach the gates, and the guard was becoming more flustered, but also more cautious and his hand moved from his sword.

As the townsfolk passed they were met with surprised looks which soon turned to anger and fear. Mothers moved their children on quickly and others spat in their direction. Lieut was beginning to wonder what the mayor of the town had said to spark such dislike of non-humans. Despite the dark looks and many pleas to The Five the townsfolk moved on without any incident and only a few curses and insults were sent in their direction.

“By The Five, why aren’t you two doing anything?” one villager demanded of the guards, “The law says them scum ain’t allowed in Jettsome.”

“Technically they ain’t in Jettsome,” remarked another villager.

“But the mayor said himself,” argued the first, “No non-humans allowed, you know what they are like. Evil, the lot of them.”

“Perhaps you can go tell them,” said one of the guards.

“That’s your job.”

“I’ve already tried,” the guard shook his head, “I ain’t getting into a rumble with a Helwyr. They may be mutants but they are doing Artāre’s will.”

The villager looked darkly towards Lieut before grumbling and heading into the town. When the man moved to the gates Vythe swaggered from them, and quickly came over to their position, drawing many more looks of surprise mixed with anger.

“Did you get enough supplies?” Fairris asked.

Vythe nodded, “I did, and I also discovered why the people here are so against the Elder Races.”

“Why?” asked Fairris.

“There was a farming family slaughtered out on the moors,” Vythe replied and he climbed into the saddle of his horse. “The mayor blamed a rogue band of dwarves and elves seeking to take back their lands.”

“That’s beyond ridiculous,” Bārdin blurted, “Never were these moors dwarven lands.”

“Nor elven lands,” Fairris added.

“And besides,” Bārdin huffed, “Why would the bandits kill a single family? If they wanted to, a group of dwarves could destroy this whole town.”

Vythe shrugged, “Who knows? Likely it was just a wondering troll looking for a meal.”

Lieut spurred his horse forwards, moving to follow the seven foot wall of the township to the south. The horse’s hooves clanked loudly on the wooden planks that forded small bogs and echoed into the raising mist.

“What could they possibly farm in these smelly, steaming moors, anyhow?” Bārdin asked as they rode along.

“Quite a few things actually,” replied Vythe, “Thanks to the heat below the ground the Broiling Moors containing many edible plants that cannot grow anywhere else. Hot Spuds, or Water Potatoes are one from memory. Quiet flavoursome actually, and considered a delicacy in Port Na’brath. You see these bubbling pools and geysers are a result of an underground volcano, and the earth is filled with invaluable minerals and vitamins that no other soil has.”

“Plants,” Bārdin spat, “Rabbit food, and is no good for a healthy body. If you want to be strong, you got to eat meat.”

“There are also plenty of unusual fish in these hot waters,” Vythe said, “Perhaps more to your liking.”

 They followed the stone wall and along a narrow path around to the eastern gates where the road to Crydon continued on. As they moved from the houses that surrounded the walled township the mist of the moors closed in around them. It was not dark though and the mist was high which allowed them to see a ways ahead and behind. But as the houses of Jettsome vanished all they could see was the flat and muddy road with bogs and pools at their sides, all enclosed in a white wall of cloud and steam.

Apart from the soft bubble of the hot pools and squelch of the horse’s hooves there was little sound. Occasionally a geyser would erupt with a hiss, sending steam and rain into the air, and frogs and other small water animals croaked in the reeds.

Small thatched houses appeared silently out of the mist and drifted by them on narrow wooden supports. A soft golden light flicked out of the round windows, but no people were seen.

The morning drifted by quietly and uncomfortably and the clouds soared higher into the sky revealing a fairly flat country filled with pools and small muddy mounds. Dark green reeds lined the water which constantly bubbled and hissed. Rotting trees lay among the mud and the only living wood grew in small clumps atop the small hillocks or alone with the broiling water around its feet.

Lieut adjusted his top, uncomfortably pulling the wet garment from his skin and shifting it around. The air around them was hot and humid and he could feel the dampness seep through his boots, making the trip even more uncomfortable.  To make matters worse the moment that they had seen the moors on the horizon they had been plagued with mosquitos that bit at his skin and made him itch. Vythe and Fairris had both been casting magicks upon themselves so it was only he and Bārdin that were suffering silently.

They day grew hotter and a wind picked up and howled across the moors bringing a foul smell to Lieut’s nose and taking away some of the heat.

By late afternoon they came across a broken shell of a house, its wooden supports and platform still stood out of the mud and water, but the roof and walls had crumbled. The broken house sat in a pile of blackened wood and was slowly being devoured by the mud. A corner of the house still stood and supported a roof over the top. Having no better options they decided to stay the night here.

“I don’t think trolls use fire,” Bārdin remarked as he looked around the pile of rubble.

“Nor do I,” Vythe nodded grimly as they set up a small campsite in the only standing corner of the house.

“But it cannot be a band of elves and dwarves,” Fairris said in disbelief.

“I would not think so either,” Vythe shook his head, “But who else would use fire?”

“I will not believe my own kinsmen would do such a thing,” Bārdin said grimly.

“I feel the same,” Fairris agreed, a concerned look on her face.

“Perhaps it was a result of a disagreement between farmers over land or some such, and none of the Elder Races even involved,” Vythe shrugged, “ But I think this is one mystery that will elude us for now.”

Bārdin and Fairris nodded their agreement, but it was clear that the events did not sit well with either of them.

It was quite cramped as they all sat around Vythe’s magickal fire, and the heat of the swamp made it worse. The night soon closed in around them, bringing a thick cloud and light rain with it. All was silent except the howl of the putrid wind and the noise of the swamp animals, the gentle bubble of the water, and the soft patter of rain.

The next day was dark and the clouds heavy, a light rain continued to fall on their heads bringing no reprieve to the humid conditions. The day drifted by, along with the terrain and the rain finally stopped, but the heat continued. As the days drifted by, the moors gradually changed around them, the boggy pools turned to muddy ground and the hills became more frequent and more rocks lined the road sides. What pools did appear were large and filled with many geysers, still surrounded with tall reeds. More trees grew in this area of the moors and stood among the rock of the hills. What did not change was the amount of mosquitos and other bugs that bit them and made their skin itch.

It was around midday when they came around a large stony hill to look upon a hamlet of three small shacks on the banks of the wide river that snaked through the moors and headed towards Crydon. The waters of the Great Arbeth River looked slow as they moved closer to the hamlet.

He had seen the beginning of the Arbeth River in Galleraze as he had looked from the top of the Aregion Falls, and saw it briefly before at Loch Starlith. Lieut had felt then the desire to follow the course of the river, and it seemed strange to see it again after so long.

On the other side of the very wide river he could just see several more small shacks and the road as it ran towards the north. Between the two banks was strung a thick chain which the ferry used to transport travellers from one side to the other.

“More travellers,” called a grubby old man with a bent back as he came from one of the shacks. “It’s surprising to see, but not unexpected I reckon, especially seeing wars started.”

“Started?” Vythe asked, shooting a concerned look to the others.

“Aye,” the old man nodded, “Military recruiters came by not too long ago. Looking here of all places. I tells them that it only be me and the missus that work this ferry, have done for years. But they did say that they had just been up to Jettsome and got quite a few lads, and young women too, I hears. Not right I say, young women should not be fighting in wars. Mind you with the prospect of plentiful food and the chance to learn the way of magicks and sword, I was half inclined to volunteer.”

“What of the peace summits?” Vythe jumped in with exasperation.

“Well, them soldiers didn’t say much,” the old man replied, “But what they did say seemed to indicate that King Lienthor was just preparing on the quiet like. Mind you, when it’s Krnōrel and Sesserrech you can bet that war will be certain, and the King knows this. No harm in being prepared I guess. But wars do strain the food supply a goodly amount. I was half inclined to volunteer, maybe then I could have a decent meal.”

“Is Lord Cardonian in Sesserrech doing the same?” Vythe pressed seriously.

“Well now, how am I supposed to know?” the man asked back, “But mind you, Cardonian ain’t no fool and you can bet he is preparing just the same.”

“Have the armies grouped already?” asked Vythe.

The old man shrugged, “Well, I guess so, seeing the recruiters said to tell any volunteers to head to Kalladen in the south of Crydon. Talk says that troops from Alabast are joining as well. If you ask me, war is a certainty, just a matter of when it will happen.”

“Damn,” Vythe cursed, “Thank you sir, good day.”

Vythe spurred his horse on angrily down the road that led away from the ferry and along the road that followed the western banks of Arbeth River.

“It seems that our quest is in vain,” Fairris remarked as she moved alongside Vythe.

“Part of our quest, yes,” Vythe agreed, “But the Princess will still be killed I think, and I cannot let that happen.”

Fairris nodded, “I agree.”

“Are you two in agreement?” Vythe asked over his shoulder.

Bārdin shrugged, “It has been a while since I been in Crydon, so I might as well accompany you, besides there are a couple of good taverns in Crydon too.”

Lieut did not say anything in reply.

The river turned and twisted towards the south-east and the road followed closely at its banks. Along the road were many rotting wooden bridges which traversed over bogs and other creeks that ran into the Arbeth which was steadily growing in size. The clouds soon cloaked the ferry post and the loneliness of the moors once again closed in around them.

That night they camped among the rocks of a hillock near the road, but they found no shelter from the rain that had begun to fall again. Although, it was good to feel solid ground underneath their feet and it gave a chance for the horse’s hooves to dry out some. A dense mist came that night and closed in around the camp glowing in the fire light. They did not talk much that evening, and nor had they conversed very much since they had started trekking through the steaming moors. There was something about this place that darkened thoughts and seemed to forbid noise that was not the sound of the lapping water or moan of the wind. The realisation of current events between Krnōrel and Sesserrech had also done little to brighten moods. They had missed much of the political state during their venture from Blarish deth, through Ingruil and Illenden, and now it seemed as if war was inevitable.

Vythe was clearly the most depressed by the discovery, Lieut noticed. Vythe had his heart and mind set on stopping the war, and now it was clear that his quest had failed. Lieut had expected Vythe to give in on hearing the news and head back to Port Na’brath, but instead Vythe still wanted to save the Princess Xanthia.

Lieut did not understand this, why did Vythe still want to stop the assassination? There was no chance that Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin could kill his brother and save the princess, and yet they still intended to try.

Lieut continued to ponder this thought all through the night as he stared into the fire. Even as the next day came upon them and they set out once again, he was still considering it.

The afternoon saw the gradual end of the Broiling Moors and the road grew firmer and the steaming pools slowly disappeared behind them. The cloud veil began to lift and Inüer made things twice as humid and sticky. Many watery fingers still broke away from the now immensely wide Arbeth and underneath wooden bridges. But it was clear that these bridges were better maintained and better built. More farm houses began to greet them along the side of the road, and like before they saw no one around.

By the evening the environment turned into fairly flat terrain with the Arbeth running swiftly towards the east. Although there was still much steam in the air and the many geysers still spouted into the air every so often, the bubbling pools had turned into concealed muddy pits which could only be identified by the occasional geyser. This made moving from the road a dangerous decision to make.

Not willing to try their luck in the mine of bottomless bog pits they found a shelf of stone beside the road where some trees grew and made their camp there.

The next day they passed by many more seemingly deserted houses and Jettsome’s twin town of Flottsome showed itself upon the horizon.

Flottsome was quite different to its cousin on the opposite side of the moors. Here, Inüer actually pieced through the veil of steam and was not constantly shrouded in cloud and the smell of rotting wood did not choke the air.

There was no stone walls surrounding the township of Flottsome, and most of it was open with only a small fence around the manor house of the mayor. The townsfolk were also starkly different in Flottsome. There was no obvious hate for the Elder Races and most of the villagers and guards ignored them as Lieut led the party into the town square.

At the centre of the muddy square and around an old gallows a crowd of villagers grouped as a couple of men in military attire stood above them.

“Gather around good folk,” one of the soldiers called out, “We bring news of the hour. The peace summits with Sesserrech have failed and Lord Cardonian slanders our good King. We bring word that Lord Cardonian has amassed an army on the borders of Norrendōrel and King Lienthor is gathering his own in the plains of Kalladen. There is no word of a march but there are dark clouds indeed to the west.

“We come on this hour to beseech you all to not let the raping, murderous cowards of Sesserrech take our lands from us. Join with the Royal army and fight to protect your homeland and your loved ones.”

As Lieut looked at the crowd he spied a young boy in his late teens with a wide smile upon his childish face. Clearly the recruiter’s persuasions were working on this boy.

“You look like a strong lad,” the second recruiter said pointing to the youth Lieut had noticed, “If you join the army you will find good friends and good food, and a warm bed to sleep in during the nights.”

The boy shot a wide grin to the older woman by his side, possibly his mother. The older woman shook her head empathically, but the boy ignored her. The boy’s thoughts were clearly on heroic battle and the smiles he was sharing with a girl around his own age that was also looking as if she would enlist.

“The King also offers coin to any who enlist,” said the first recruiter, “A coin a day for the entirety of your service, and if you should fall heroically in battle all accumulated money will go to your family.”

“What about you lass?” asked the second recruiter, “Are you sick and tired of working in the mud? Join the woman’s squadron, make friends for life and leave the solitude of Flottsome behind.”

“Recruits will also be taught how to use magicks more efficiently,” the first recruiter continued, “Along with basic weapons training and other skills that will remain with you for life and aid your livelihood when the war is won.”

“Men and women are encouraged to socialise together in the army,” the second recruiter called out, “Come with us and meet the love of your life, or the woman of your dreams.”

Lieut watched impassively as the young man he had been watching eagerly raise his hand and spoke his wish to join the Royal Army. The boy’s mother cried and begged her child not to go, but her wails fell on deaf ears. The girl was the next to raise her hand and she joined the boy at the stairs of the gallows. Many other villagers called out their wish to join and soon a line formed up the steps and across the planks of the gallows and one of the recruiters opened a teleportation door and waved the recruits to follow him through. The young and the old, both men and woman walked excitedly through the gate and left their old life behind. The cries of the boy’s mother increased as she begged him not to go, but the boy just smiled and waved farewell. The line of recruits disappeared through the door and the other recruiter followed, closing the teleportation gate behind him.

“Not even half of them will likely return,” Fairris remarked as the cries echoed around the near empty square.

“It seems there is a stalemate between the armies,” Vythe said, “Each waiting for the other to strike first.”

“The princess’s assassination would end this stalemate,” Fairris said, and Vythe nodded grimly.

“We should not delay,” Vythe said determinedly.

Lieut did not say anything and encouraged his horse forward through the village square and past the people crying as they collapsed in the mud. He noticed the mother of the boy holding tightly onto another woman, tears streaming down both their faces. But Lieut thought no more on it and urged his horse into a trot down the muddy streets away from the marketplace. 

“Evil is evil. The level of which is superfluous. It is pointless arguing whether an act is not as bad as another, it all comes to the choice which was made: to do an evil act or to not. And if I have to choose between on act and another, then I would rather not make that choice at all.

- My Last Wish by Gerrald Rivannos

“Corruption, deception, ambition, greed, ignorance, hate, fear, and jealousy are the human traits that have destroyed this world.”

-Thenderr of the Lithinüer

Chapter Fifteen

Soon the town of Flottsome was behind them and the flat road ahead. The Arbeth once again came alongside the road and flowed quickly and noisily along. Forests grew along the side of the road and river, filled with diverse wildlife and potential dangers. What remained of the Broiling Moors was far behind them by the time they stopped for the night by the side of the river, beneath the trees.

The sky was clear this night and the twin moons glowed brightly in the heavens and reflected off the surface of the water.

“The Sisters shine brightly tonight,” Fairris remarked as she looked to the sky.

“You mean the moons?” Vythe asked curiously.

Fairris nodded, “Sharien and Nahariel, the daughters of Dhror and Melenduil. Who are also the parents of The Five.”

Vythe shook his head and let out a small laugh, “I am not one to argue about religion, but many would say that The Five are the only Gods and they have no parents.”

“That’s ‘cause you humans forget,” Bārdin said gruffly, “Before The Five were an itch in Dhror’s crotch, he and Melenduil were the only Gods. Humans adopted The Five as the Gods many years after Dhror and Melenduil left.”

Vythe shrugged, “Like I said I am not one to argue about religion, and the topic does not arrest my interest overly much. However, this story of the two sisters sparks my curiosity. Please continue Fairris.”

Fairris smiled and nodded, “Sharien and Nahariel were born around the time of Dhror and Melenduil’s sons, who are The Five. Like their brothers the daughters were also filled with human emotions and desires. Enamoured by their own beauty they toyed with the mortals of M’Aierth and made the men, and women, fall madly in love with them. The mortals praised and worshiped them, heeding to their every demand and desire. But when the sisters became bored they left the mortals and continued on to their next enjoyment.

“Dhror and Melenduil could not let their daughters continue like this, so they imprisoned them inside great spheres overlooking M’Aierth. Whenever a mortal looks to the skies during the night they can revel in Sharien and Nahariel’s beauty. This sated the sister’s vanity and saved the mortals from their amusement.”

Fairris pointed to the moons through the trees, “If you look close enough you can see the faces of the sisters looking down upon us, constantly seeking recognition and infatuation.”

As Vythe and Bārdin looked up the night sky another sight grabbed their attention as a blazing comet with a tail of violet soared across the heavens and towards the earth.

“A Godstone,” Vythe said, getting to his feet and sending a curious look in Lieut’s direction.

“They seem to becoming more frequently these days,” Fairris said as she watched the star fall towards the earth.

“Indeed,” Vythe replied thoughtfully.

“It’s just a rock,” Bārdin huffed.

“Look, it is landing far to the east,” Vythe pointed as the shooting star fell beyond sight.

“It looked as if it landed upon Crydon,” Fairris said with concern, “Or maybe in the Golden Ocean?”

“What do you think of it, Lieut?” Vythe asked curiously as he sat back down.

“It’s just a rock,” Lieut shrugged, hardly regarding the Godstone.

“Why do I not believe that?” Vythe shook his head.

“Because you read too much into things,” Lieut quickly replied.

“But when we were heading towards Port Na’brath a Godstone fell then,” said Fairris, “And a sense of urgency fell upon you then. Is it not so now?”

Lieut shook his head.

“Then why before?’ asked Vythe seriously.

“It does not matter anymore,” Lieut looked away, and Vythe and Fairris asked no more questions on the matter.

That night Lieut sat staring to the horizon where the Godstone had crashed down. Like before he knew that it was his brother and not a simple comet and he could feel the keen blade of indecision stab at his mind.

“Should I face Ne’tra and aid Vythe in his quest?” Lieut asked quietly as he stared into the distance, “I could not bring myself to kill another brother. So, should I leave my companions and head for my own mission? How can I leave them knowing that if they face Ne’tra they will certainly die?”

Lieut stretched the stiffness out of his neck and pushed away the pain he felt at the side of his head. But it was not that easy and the pain increased. Lieut clenched jaw and balled his fist, refusing to cry out in pain as a trickle of blood ran down his cheek. His breathing came in long harsh gasps as his skin began to peel apart and his skull began to crack. There was a sharp loud crunching sound that sent a wave of dizziness over him and Fog began to flow around his head. His knuckles whited as he squeezed the hilt of his sword which was across his lap. Baring his teeth in pain he stubbornly pushed away the agony. He would not cry out.

Finally the Fog slowly dissipated and the pain stopped, his breathing steadied as he wiped away the blood from his face. It had been a while since such seizures attacked him and he noticed that they only really came when he was feeling conflicted. He had also come to accept that this illness would not be cured and seemingly the Fog would forever be in his head. But this was a thought that he had been considering for many days, and had yet to come to a solution to his troubles.

“Perhaps this time will be different with my brother,” Lieut wondered aloud, “Ne’tra was more clever than Nar’to. And given the previous encounter with Nar’to such possibilities might have been accounted for, in fact Ne’tra might have been advised that I might show up at his destination. Can I take that risk?”

Lieut sighed heavily and continued to look towards the dark horizon and waited for Inüer to rise.

The next day was warm with clear skies. The early morning mist that came off the moors flew away and revealed the far green country side with many vibrant trees. To the south the forest grew thicker and seemed to slant away, but it did little to deter the path of the Arbeth River, which was now so wide that Lieut could just see the northern bank in the distance.

Many bridges lined the road as the Arbeth began to break apart into hundreds of smaller rivers as it neared Crydon.  The bridges increased as Crydon’s white walls appeared in the distance, and the Arbeth grew thinner, or at least seemed to as many bushy islands appeared in the middle of the waters and the river ran like a spider’s web through the land.

The river spurred away under bridges many times heading into the trees before returning the main flow under another bridge. There were bridges everywhere, arching from island to isle and back again. Upon each of the islands were homesteads and farms among the trees, small town centres and many fishing shacks, and they only increased as Lieut led the party closer to the high city walls. The trees thinned out and the high walls of Crydon glowed in the morning. Atop the white walls many black and silver flags flapped in the wind and hundreds of spires and towers could be seen shining in Inüer’s warm light. The many tributaries of the Arbeth River gushed under the walls and through exquisitely designed archways that were protected by magicks.

They followed the road as it continued over many more bridges and past many outlying houses before arching up to the enormous black stone doors of Crydon. Traffic flowed easily through the doors, most of which were laden carts of supplies pulled along by oxen, heading for the Kalladen plains where the army was massing. Most leading the carts were merchants and peddlers looking for good sales as they followed the army and lingered around the main encampment. A few battalions of soldiers marched from the gates, apparently preferring to walk to Kalladen instead of teleporting.

Lieut moved through the large doors with only passing curiosity coming from the guards at the gate. It was well documented that in Crydon the Elder Races were most accepted and in fact seen quite often. Although Lieut did not see many elves as they rode along the crowded street he hardly saw any dwarves. Surprisingly he spied several Yineth walking among the streets gazing in awe at the city around them.

Vythe jumped to the lead as they entered the city, claiming that he knew of a good tavern to find bedding. Lieut did not argue, and really did not care, and he followed Vythe’s lead through the bustling city streets.

The city of Crydon was once an elven city whose name was completely forgotten by humans and was built upon the delta of the Arbeth River and as such hundreds of rivers twisted through the houses and out into the large bay. Each island of houses seemed to represent a separate section of the city, with different designed houses and differently paved streets. It was if the architects of Essinendeür had all come to this city and decided to build their own visualisations within the walls and upon the many stone islands. It definitely did not make the trip through the streets boring. Some islands held tall and thin towers reaching into the morning. On another island stood dozens of archways that joined between half a dozen large buildings. One large isle was simply a paved plaza with a tall clock tower at the centre with many market stalls around its feet.

The streets led gradually downhill towards the rolling waves of the Golden Sea and hundreds of towers and houses filled the skyline. From one view point Lieut could see a large island in the distance that sat at the edge of the ocean. Upon the rocky isle the castle of Crydon stood proudly, its white walls and black rooftops glowed brightly and made a stark contrast to the rest of the city. A single bridge gapped the river to the Royal Isle and lead to two large black doors which were tightly shut with many guards patrolling the walls and bridge.

Such beauty had been created in the building of the castle, and even the bridge leading to the gates was not forgotten. The bridge itself was designed to look as if it had been made from thousands of silver and black stag antlers, and at the apex of the bridge two great antlers reached high into the sky like the limbs of a dead tree.

The design of the bridge could be seen continued throughout the entire castle, and black metal vines climbed upon the walls and stag antlers sat that top of each spire where the flag of Krnōrel flapped in the salty ocean breeze.

Vythe led them through the busy streets and over many bridges until finally he pulled his grey steed to a halt and Lieut came alongside. Before them was a small square which practically occupied the entirety of the island among the rivers and waterfalls. A two-story building with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof stood along three of the four sides of the square and a stable ran along the other side. At the centre of the cobblestone plaza grew an old tree with drooping bows and with leaves that were beginning to turn to gold, and at the foot of the tree sat several stone benches for people to rest in the shade on a hot day.

“Brown’s Place,” Vythe remarked with a smile, “The very best tavern and hotel in Crydon. It is a place where a weary traveller will always find good food, refreshing drink, a warm bed, and friendly greetings.”

“Not much of a name though,” Bārdin grunted.

“Do you not find that such names like ‘Emerald Dragon’ or other such extravagances are just there for show?” Vythe asked, “To make the common villager think it is more than it actually is.” 

“No,” Bārdin shook his head, “The better the name the better the ale.”

Vythe laughed and urged his horse, Squall, onwards and towards the stables.

Lieut similarly kicked his horse forwards and they dismounted at the stables where an elderly man came to meet them. Vythe handed over few coins and man led the horses into separate stalls.

Vythe continued to lead the way into Brown’s Place and began talking with the barkeeper as Lieut, Fairris and Bārdin found a seat at a table.

The tavern was practically empty, not even a musician played by the fire, which was not but cold embers.

“As dreary as the name, this place is,” Bārdin snorted as he looked up to the balcony of the second floor.

“Everyone is heading off to war I guess,” Fairris shrugged, “The only people who are left are the elderly and the young.”

“And the vagrants,” Lieut said, and he nodded towards a pair of men that just came through the front doors of the tavern.

The pair eyed Lieut as they moved through the pub and sat down at the other side of the room. Both had tattoos on their bulky arms and shaved heads, their chests were bare and showed many scars and dirt. One of the muscle men flared his eyes at Fairris and licked his lips.

“I have rented rooms for a night,” Vythe said as he joined them at the table, carrying with him some drinks and food.

“Only one night?” asked Fairris, drawing her cautious eye away from the two bruisers in the corner.

Vythe nodded and took a sip of his drink, “Tomorrow I will seek an audience with King Lienthor, and hopefully events will move beneficially.”

“You are still thinking you can stop this war,” Bārdin shook his head, “It is human nature to fight, you can’t stop that.”

“Perhaps, but I will try,” Vythe replied quickly.

“Hey, Blood Elf,” one of the muscle men in the corner shouted, “Why don’t you leave them little boys and come join the big men?”

The two men laughed and one of them began making rude gestures, but Fairris ignored them.

“Stop looking so sad,” the men jeered, their teeth baring a slight greenish tint, “We’ll show you a good time.”

Again Fairris ignored the men.

“The war has started, Vythe,” Lieut said simply, “You cannot stop it. What do you intend to do, plead to the King to end the feud? You are from a noble house in Port Na’brath, what makes you think the King will not see you simply as a spy, sent to cause doubt in his mind.”

“The war has not started yet,” Vythe replied quickly, “King Lienthor will not ignite it by having my head removed for espionage. He will see me and listen to what I have to say. He must.”

“What will you say?” Lieut asked seriously, “There will be an assassination attempt made on his daughter. Why would he believe you?”

Vythe smiled, “Because I will give him you, Lieut.”

Lieut narrowed his golden eyes dangerously.

“What?” Fairris balked.

“You would betray us?” Bārdin growled.

“No, of course not,” Vythe shook his head, “I was not about to let Lieut be decapitated again. But if King Lienthor thinks that I, a noble of Sesserrech, has captured the assassin from Elestarl he will considered my words more seriously.”

“So you will just hand Lieut over to them?” Fairris asked, “On a hope that they will not send him to the executioner.”

“Fairris you are not listening,” Vythe interrupted her, “I am not about to hand Lieut over to be hanged. He is a bargaining chip, and a witness that proves that it was the High Commission that organised the assassination attempt on the King and his daughter in Elestarl.”

“He will not believe you.” Lieut stated simply.

Vythe firmed his jaw, “He has to.”

“Elf wench, I’m talking to you,” one of the muscle men yelled across the room and got up from his chair.

The man’s friend was laughing as the large man swaggered over to their table.

“I said come with me,” the man towered over the table, “I want to plough you ‘til the morning, and I always get what I want.”

Fairris cursed quietly in elven and turned away from the large man, pretending he was not there.

“What did you say wench?” the man flared angrily.

“She said leave,” Lieut replied angrily and rose from his chair, “Before your blood paints the walls.”

The larger man looked him up and down and laughed, “Listen here little rooster, I’m the big cock around here. And I am going to plough your elven whore while you watch, and then I am going to kill you and her, and the rest of your company.”

Lieut’s eyes burned with fire and his hands balled into fists.

“Here are the deserters,” shouted a guard as a group of mailed soldiers burst through the doors of the tavern.

“Curses,” the big man swore and he and his friend backed away from the soldiers and drew their swords.

A blast of magicks came from one of the soldiers and created glowing bindings to wrap around the two muscle men, causing them to drop their weapons.

“Get them out of here,” the leader ordered, “These deserters have a date with the gallows.”

The soldiers forced the muscle men from the door at the tips of their spears and the leader followed slowly. The guard’s eyes lingered on Lieut for a few seconds before he left. Lieut watched the guards leave with some concern as he sat back down.

“That’s a shame,” Bārdin said once all the soldiers had gone, “Haven’t had a good fight in what feels like years.”

After they finished their meals the others decided to go out and look around town, and seeing he had nothing better to do Lieut joined them. But even as he was walking behind the others through the narrow streets of Crydon, he wondered why he was joining them on their little venture to see the sights of the city, and it was clear that they were also wondering why he had come along with them. His thoughts were distracted as his eyes came to rest on Fairris who was ahead of him and he watched the way her hips moved as she walked. This time though he did not chastise himself for noticing Fairris’s sexuality, and in fact his eyes lingered upon her for many minutes, increasing the conflict he felt.

To make things worse for him Lieut began to notice that the guards of the city were giving him more than just a passing curious glance. Nothing eventuated from the looks he was receiving, but concern continued to press on his mind.

“Do you prefer the noose?” a loud voice bellowed through the market, “You have been conscripted. Now move it.”

A crowd of people had gathered to see several guards harass a middle aged man and his wife and baby.

“I have a family to provide for,” the man replied expressively as his wife tried to hush her crying child.

“You can do so by fighting for King and country,” growled on of the soldiers.

“No, you can’t go,” the woman begged, “By what law can you force him to go to war?”

“Conscription is the law woman,” said another soldier irritably, “You have only been released from your duty because of the baby, your husband has not and is required to fight for the King. And for Artāre’s sake will you shut that child up. ”

“How dare you sir,” the woman snapped as she rocked her child in her arms, “Have you not enough volunteers already? How many do you want to die in this stupid war?”

“I am just doing my duty wench, no shut your hole,” the soldier glared. “And shut that damn child up. I already have a headache.”

“Hold you tongue sir. That is my wife and child you are speaking to,” the man said angrily.

“You are starting to make me angry,” the first soldier said menacingly.

“Is this the just realm in which we live?” the man said loudly as he turned his attention to the gathered crowd, “Forcing men away from their family to die in a war? See this good people, our King forces us to fight even if we have a family to care for.”

“Listen here swine,” the third soldier grabbed the man, “I have a family too, you hear. Now do your duty for your country or face the gallows. Do you want to make your wife and child watch you hang?”

The man could not argue anymore and the soldiers pulled him away and left the woman crying along with the child in her arms.  A few people in the market who knew the woman tried to console her, but most just continued about their own business, including Lieut.

It was already late afternoon when they had ventured into the streets so their trip was short and they returned soon to Brown’s Place. The tavern was no longer empty and many elderly folk who were too old to be conscripted sat staring into their mugs or at the dying fire. The mood in the tavern was as dreary as they left it, but at least there was now a flute player in the corner, although the only music she played was soft and sad.

They sat down at the table they had been at previously and Vythe ordered some food and drink. The evening past with light conversation and discussion of current events. Lieut said little as he tried to work out his own dilemma, still debating whether to confront his brother Ne’tra or not.

“I blame the non-humans,” Lieut overheard one old man at the bar remark to his friend, “I bet the elves organised the assassination in Sesserrech and blamed good King Lienthor. I bet they’re laughing now and when the two armies destroy each other they will bring their own army to the grounds and enslave us all. Cursed non-humans.”

“You ain’t the only one thinking that,” nodded the old man’s friend, “I it hear more often than not. Did you hear about the famer’s family in Jettsome?”

The old man wiped away the beer moustache from his stubble and shook his head.

“Really? It’s the talk of the town,” the man’s friend exclaimed, “Well it goes like this: a good farmer and his wife and two daughters were having their dinner one night, eating away at those tasty spuds you get from the moors, the light of the candle flickering on the walls. A steaming mist rolled in from off the moors and a warm dampness set in.”

By now half the tavern was listening curiously, including everyone at Lieut’s table.

The old man’s friend continued, “The farmer had just put his daughters to bed and was sitting by the window with his wife when it happened. A line of burning torches raced through the mist and surrounded the house. His eyes wide with fear the farmer looked out his window to see a dozen non-humans, elves and dwarfs mostly, and a couple of halflings as well. Out of the darkness the non-humans jeered and taunted the farmer and his wife, waking the children and caused them to run crying to their parents. But that was just the beginning, the bastards set fire to the wooden house.

“Smoke billowed up from under the floor boards making the famer and his family to choke and run blindly from their home. But they didn’t get far. The non-humans jumped on them, bashing the farmer on the head and pinning his wife on the ground to spread her legs. Even the children weren’t spared, the Halfling got to them and did the daughters like the dwarves and elves were doing the wife.

“The next day a group from Jettsome came by and saw the massacre. The house lay in a smouldering heap and the farmer and his family lay butchered in the mud and filth.”

“How did they know it were the non-humans?” asked the barkeeper, who had heard his fair share of tall tales.

The old man’s friend smiled as he looked at the barkeep, “’Cause the Elder Race, as they call themselves, wrote in the blood of the farmer’s family that the Broiling Moors was their land and all humans should leave less meet the same fate as the farmer and his family.”

“Damn elves,” the old man grumbled and took another swig of his mug. “Only good elf is a dead elf.”

At Lieut’s table his friends looked awkwardly to each other and shrunk into the dimness of the tavern.

“I think I shall retire for the evening,” Fairris remarked, “That tale has put a foul taste in my mouth and I would prefer not to be lynched.”

Vythe and Bārdin soon followed her example and left Lieut at the table where he waited for the next day still wondering if he should aid Vythe. The night was long but by morning he had come to a decision.

“Vythe, I will not go with you to the castle,” Lieut said simply as Vythe, Fairris and Bārdin were eating breakfast at the table.

“What? Why?” Vythe asked in surprise, “Do you not trust me?”

“No, I do not trust anyone.” Lieut said, “But that is beside the point. I believe that you will not try and hand me over to the King but I will not take that risk. Likely the King will not listen to your words, as honest and truthful as they may be, and he will simply see a spy from Sesserrech who is cleverly trying to deter him from his course. Remember there will be a Regional Commander whispering in his ear, and I do not think they will be delighted to hear you accuse the High Commission of betrayal and espionage.”

“Than what should I do?” asked Vythe, “Sit back and watch the world burn?”

Lieut shrugged, “I do not see a problem in that. But, if you are resolute in trying to stop the war then perhaps I might have an idea that could work.”

“I hope it does not involve killing them all,” Vythe remarked dryly.

“Killing them all sounds like a good plan to me,” Bārdin added with laugh.

Lieut shook his head, “Go to the castle as an ambassador for Sesserrech, likely you will still be considered a spy, but there is little they can do without breaching the Ambassadorial Treaty.”

“That will achieve little,” Vythe replied shaking his head.

“And openly accusing the High Commission will do nothing but put you on a scaffold at the end of a rope,” Lieut was quick to reply.

“So I am in the King’s court, then what?” Vythe prompted Lieut to continue.

“Look to the princess,” Lieut replied, “She advocates for peace fiercely and begs her father not to create war.”

“How do you know that?” asked Fairris scrunching up her face.

Lieut sighed, “Why else would the High Commission organise her murder?”

Fairris did not look so sure, but Vythe was nodding his head slowly.

“I do believe you are on to something, Lieut,” Vythe smiled and stood up, “Let us go to the castle then.”

“I am not accompanying you,” Lieut said as Bārdin and Fairris rose from their chairs.

“Why?’ asked Fairris, “Why have you come all this way to Crydon with us, just to turn away now?”

“I thought you came, because you wanted to help,” Vythe added.

“I came because I had nothing else to do while I sorted out my own thoughts,” Lieut was quick to reply.

“Have you sorted your thoughts out?” Vythe asked dryly.

“No.”

“Then help us while you continue to,” Fairris said.

“And risk losing my head again?” Lieut asked, “I will not place myself at the mercy of King blinded by pride. Stop asking me to.”

Vythe was about to say something, but a shout from the entrance interrupted him.

“I told you he would still be here,” said someone loudly from the entrance.

Half a dozen soldiers stormed through the doors and surrounded Lieut and the others, the tips of their spears levelled towards them.

“You are all under arrest,” the Captain began, but the flash of Lieut’s sword stopped his sentence.

The silver edge of his sword glowed fiercely as Lieut jumped to his feet and swept it down from his shoulder, and quicker than anyone could blink the tips of the guard’s spears clanked onto the stone tiles. His sword flashed again and the red of the guard’s blood joined the spears as he opened arteries and severed limbs. His sword ripped through chainmail and torn apart the jerkins that were coated with the Krnōrel Stag.

The Captain was just about to shout to attack when Lieut’s sword drove into the man’s chest and his words gurgled with the blood that streamed from the corners of his mouth. The last two guards had a brief second to react, but it did little to save them.

Lieut pivoted around a weak thrust and severed the guard’s spine before opening the last guard’s neck.

“What?” Lieut asked as he saw the horrified expressions of his companions, “I have had enough of prison cells.”

“What in the Abyss, Lieut?” Vythe cried as he looked at the pool of blood and bodies on the floor. “You did not need to kill them all.”

“They were just doing their job,” Fairris exclaimed in horror.

Lieut shrugged and headed for the door, “Many more will die soon, what difference does it make? What is seven to the thousands who will perish in the coming war?”

“We could have talked our way out of it,” Vythe said as he and the other followed, “We would have been brought before the King. I could have persuaded him not to imprison us.”

“King Lienthor saw my face in Elestarl, he will not have forgotten,” Lieut shook his head.

“Don’t you think killing seven guards is just a little extreme?” balked Vythe, “You could have knocked them out of the way and made an escape through the city.”

“Are stranger’s lives really that precious to you?” Lieut asked, turning on Vythe. “Why do care so much of others when they do not give a damn about you? Or is it your desire to take the moral high ground after you spent most of your life immorally stealing what is not yours. Do you now think that you can wash away your past by now acting like a saint? What do you accomplish?”

Vythe did not reply, so Lieut continued to walk towards the stables opposite the square.

“What now, Lieut?” Fairris asked, “With seven dead, how do you propose to save the Princess?”

“You assume I care about the Princess’s life,” Lieut replied, “War will result whether she dies or not. But I am not stopping you lot to go to the King and plead your case, by all means do so. Go to him, warn him of the assassination attempt, take his daughter to a safe location. She will be safe away from Crydon, until my brother finds her.”

“What if the King will not listen to us?” Vythe asked seriously.

Lieut shrugged, “Then she will die, and the war will ignite anyway.”

“Then I will go to the King,” Vythe said determinedly, “The reason I try and help people Lieut, is because it is in my power to do so. I will try and do so now, and if the King imprisons me because of it, so be it. But I cannot turn away when I can do something about it.”

Lieut paused saddling his horse, and turned to look at them.

“Help us,” Fairris implored, “Even if stopping this assassination will only deter the war a bit longer. We cannot hope to defeat your brother if the King does not believe us.”

“You ask me to kill my own brother?” asked Lieut, turning his golden eyes to his companions.

“If killing him will stop thousands of other deaths, then yes,” Vythe said, unblinking.

“For the greater good, perhaps?” Lieut said bitterly, “I have heard that too many times to bear significance to my ears. The lesser of two evils, kill one person to save a thousand others. Do those thousands have more right to life than the one? That is not even a justifiable argument. Evil is evil, whether it be lessor or greater. Who are you to decide between the two? Who are you to say one person should live and another die?”

“There is fault in everything if you look hard enough, Lieut,” Vythe replied sternly, “But it comes down to what you can do and what you cannot do. And I can stop the murder of Princess Xanthia, if you help me. So will you?”

Lieut clenched his jaw and turned back to tightening the girth of his saddle.

“Why does he need to come to the castle and see the King anyways?” Bārdin spoke up in a gruff tone, “He can loiter in the city, while we go to the castle. Smuggle him into the keep after we set up camp in one of them fancy rooms for visiting gentry.”

Vythe nodded his head, “Well-spoken Bārdin. What say you Lieut?”

“A decision must be made quickly,” Fairris added, glancing nervously over her shoulder. 

Lieut finished tightening the girth and led his horse out of the stable.

“I will not be smuggled anywhere,” Lieut said swinging into the saddle.

Vythe and Fairris sigh in disappointment.

“Go to the castle,” Lieut said with an exasperated shake of his head, “I will find my way to your room if the King ends up believing you. Otherwise it looks as if I will be pulling you all from the dungeons again.”

Vythe nodded and Fairris smiled.

“You can all thank me later for my brilliant idea,” Bārdin said with a laugh as Lieut kicked his horse away from the plaza and into the city’s many streets.

Chapter Sixteen

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the eighty-sixth day of Summer

“What is he doing here?” demanded Winton, the Regional Commander of Norrendōrel, as Kil’dar walked through the doors of the High Commission’s private room.

“I asked him here,” the Chairman of the High Commission replied.

Edin Starak motioned for Kil’dar take up the vacant seat of Regional Commander Rathgards.

“Still no Regional Commander for Gaianaus?” Kil’dar asked as he sat down.

None of the Commanders present replied and they each just looked at him with different expressions of suspicion and outrage. Across from him sat Baelor, Regional Commander of Cientrasis. The Blood Elf’s dark red hair fell over his eye as he rested his elbows on the large table. Lethain Rook, the commander of Krnōrel sat to Baelor’s right and looked as beautiful as ever, her light brown hair tied back revealing her slightly pointed ears. Commander Ka’rer Tallen of I’ender looked at him from down her long nose and straightened her back as to look superior.

To Kil’dar’s right sat the plump Commander Winton from Norrendōrel, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably when Kil’dar regarded him. Nervously Winton De’Lanner pushed his round glasses up from sliding down his nose and ran a hand over his bald head.

“You really should have consulted us, Starak,” said Commander Delfin Redaux to Kil’dar’s left. “This hall is not fit for his kind.”

“I am sorry you feel that way,” Kil’dar replied, his steel grey eyes continuing to look around at the Commanders.

Everyone in the room, aside from himself and the Chairman wore military clothes with the symbol of their realm across their left breast. The Chairman wore simply clothes of a distinguished individual, made from rich materials like satin and Kashmir.

Kil’dar on the other hand felt somewhat out of place in his simple linen shirt and leather long coat, with road worn pants and boots. But at least it showed that he was a true emissary and not some diplomat that constantly schemes while sitting on their cushioned thrones.

“There is no need to apologise, Kil’dar,” Starak said politely and then turned to the Commanders. “These matters that we discuss concern him and his people as well. Besides we are all working for the same ends.”

“Such diplomacy,” Baelor smirked quietly.

“There is no need for cynicism Commander Baelor,” Winton said, “Your doubts have always been known to the High Commission, but we cannot falter now with our goal so near at hand.”

“I would hardly say it was near at hand,” Lethain Rook replied, “The war has not even begun yet, and after recent events it might be unlikely that it will.”

“Which brings us to why we are here today,” said Ka’rer, “You were about to tell us of the events that happened in Crydon when the Ambassador here interrupted.”

A slight smile came to Kil’dar’s face, “I do apologise for that, I am afraid that I lost my way.”

“Perhaps, as an Ambassador, you should become familiar with your surroundings,” Kar’rer replied, her brown eyes flashing.

“Indeed I shall endeavour to do so,” Kil’dar smiled back.

“Enough of this animosity,” Starak sighed, “The report, if you will please, Rook.”

“Another Ambassador was granted audience with King Lienthor,” the Commander from Krnōrel began. “An Ambassador from Sesserrech who came under a sign of peace. His name Vythe Varrintine, sound familiar Baelor?”

The Regional Commander from Cientrasis seemed calm and did not comment, but Kil’dar could see the anger in the Blood Elf’s pale green eyes.

When Baelor did not say anything Rook continued, “He was in the company of a dwarf, Bārdin son of Bain, and a Zirarien called Fairris.”

Baelor’s lips went tight.

“Master Varrintine spoke of peace and tried to dissuade Krnōrel from making war,” Rook spoke, “Of course the King’s first reaction was to have the three of them imprisoned.”

“Why did he not?” Commander Winton interrupted eagerly.

“If you stay quiet I will tell you,” Rook snapped back, “The King did not send them to the dungeons because firstly they were under the Ambassadorial Treaty that granted them immunity from prosecution unless they have conducted in criminal activity. And secondly the Queen and his daughter persuaded him otherwise, both of which being advocates for peace as well.”

“Wait,” Commander Winton said, “Is this the same Vythe Varrintine that murdered his fiancé in Port Na’brath? There are grounds right there for imprisonment.” 

“Not so,” Commander Deflin from Sesserrech shook his head, “Evidence proved that Vythe was innocent on the matter of that crime.”

“But he broke out of the Gaia Mountains Penitentiary, also a crime,” Winton replied.

“Not if the individual breaking out was innocent to begin with,” Rook said, “I have looked into all this and have found no grounds for imprisonment.”

“What of the Blood Elf, Fairris?” asked Winton, “Rathgard charged her with treason and she escaped with Master Varrintine.”

“The new Commander of the Prison, Liuden De’Vaan, had exonerated her of that crime recently after Rathgard was killed,” Rook shook her head, “Believe me when I say I have looked at all possible solutions, and unless there are any recent crimes they have committed, they are safe under the Treaty.”

Kil’dar noticed that Baelor’s eyes were very hard, and he knew why, but the Blood Elf refused to speak up about the events in Cientrasis. The green eyes of Baelor found his grey orbs and an expression of curiosity and concern came to the Blood Elf’s features.

“Did this Vythe Varrintine speak of anything else?” asked Chairman Starak.

“Yes,” Rook nodded her head, “He claimed that there was to be an assassination attempt made upon his daughter.”

A heavy silence fell over the room and Kil’dar yawned. His grey eyes fell to the table and the intricate carving of Essinendeür on the marble table top. It was meticulously well done, even the floating mountains of Thienlin floated. 

“Did King Lienthor believe Master Varrintine?” Ka’rer asked, breaking the silence.

“He first reacted angrily,” the Commander of Krnōrel replied, “But his wife and daughter calmed him. He has yet to make a decision on the matter and I continuously try and brush aside the matter, but after what happened in Elestarl he has become paranoid.”

“Why was there an assassination attempt made in Elestarl?” Winton asked softly, and all eyes turned to Kil’dar.

Kil’dar looked innocently up from the carving on the table, clearly Baelor had failed to mention those events as well.

“Well Ambassador Kil’dar?” asked Ka’rer, an angry tone in her voice, “Why was there an attempt when it was agreed to be in Crydon?”

Kil’dar shrugged, “It was designed to cause greater animosity between the two realms, and it worked. The armies gathered before Princess Xanthia is killed. Unfortunately we did not consider this Vythe Varrintine making an appearance in Crydon. No plan is ever perfect.”

“That was never agreed,” Delfin said angrily, “I have already had to clean up one of the messes you lot have made. How can you have been so careless?”

“I would watch your words,” Kil’dar replied, his demeanour suddenly changing and the smile vanishing from his face. “Only the outcome was agreed upon, the means were left entirely up to our deciding.”

Deflin shrunk back from Kil’dar.

“What if King Lienthor and his family leave the city, how do you propose to kill Xanthia then?” Winton asked tentatively.

“Do not worry,” Kil’dar said, smiling again, “All will go according to plan.”

Chairman Starak spoke after several minutes of silence, “I hope so, for all our sakes.”

“Is there any more business to attend to?” Rook asked, “I need to return to King Lienthor.”

“And I to Lord Cardonian,” Delfin said.

Starak shook his head, “The meeting has finished, good luck to all.”

All the Commanders quickly rose from the seats and departed out separate doors and Kil’dar casually headed for the door he came in.

“A word if you will, Ambassador” said Baelor just before Kil’dar reached the door.

“Here? Now?” Kil’dar asked with a smile.

Baelor shook his head, “No, if you could meet me in Elestarl tomorrow I would be grateful.”

Kil’dar nodded his head and Baelor departed from the room.

As he easily made his way back through the corridors and to the room that had been provided for him, Kil’dar’s smile widened and his grey eyes glistened.

***************************************************

It was dark and there were no moons in the sky this night. Heavy clouds waited on the horizon over the Golden Sea and the roar of distant thunder sounded over the crash of the waves.

Lieut moved quickly up the side of the castle keep, his strong fingers finding niches among the decorative vines that crawled up the side of the stone.

After he had left Vythe and the others at Brown’s Place he had moved into the poorer sections of the city, keeping to the narrow alleys that not many used. The few people he passed gave him overly curious looks, so on the first chance he got he stole a black hooded cloak to pull low over his eyes and cover his silver hair. Lieut was not used to such garments and was unhappy to have to hide in the shadows of taverns. But he knew it was necessary to avoid attention, and it worked, somewhat. Although people stopped looking at him as if they had seen him somewhere, their curiosity of his sword at his shoulder had not stopped.

Lieut had decided to stay in the taverns so that he might receive news of anyone from Sesserrech being imprisoned or given audience at the castle. On the first night he left Brown’s Place he heard nothing only some tales that drunken fools spit around.

“Damn elves murdering a farmer’s family in the Broiling Moors,” was a popular tale.

Soldiers also came through the taverns looking for recruits and any information regarding a slaughter at Brown’s Place. Lieut was glad of the hood on his head when the soldiers described the murderer as having silver hair.

A new tale had also made its way into the taverns.

“Andy said he seen her with his own eyes when he was out hunting in the forests of Woodlands,” slurred a drunk at the bar when Lieut had nothing better to do than listen to foolish stories.

“She came out of nowhere she did,” said the drunk, “Young woman wearing a white nighty and nothing else. She was beautiful by all accounts, straight black and, big eyes and a playful smile. She was singing a song as she skipped through the trees. Then all of a sudden she collapsed at the foot of a tree and started balling her eyes out. Andy was so dumbfounded he couldn’t even speak.  Then all of a sudden the girl saw him and disappeared as if never there.”

“Nonsense,” laughed another drunk, “Here have another drink.”

“Not nonsense,” the storyteller objected, “Stapp said he seen her too, the following night.”

“Woodlands are cursed anyhow,” shrugged another drunk, “Like all elven lands, they lose it so they curse it so no one else can use it. I don’t feel sorry for Lord Brank owning Woodlands.”

That was the calibre of rumours he had heard on the entirety of the first night. Ghost stories which very well could be true, but because of the intoxicated state of the individuals telling the story no one believed them.

On the second night, and at a different tavern, he heard the tale of the crying young woman again from the mouth of a completely different drunk, which only contributed to the truth of the story. But such stories Lieut was not listening for, and finally he had caught ear of an Ambassador from Sesserrech staying at the castle. That night he headed for the keep.

Lieut peaked over the crest of the wall, his cowl pulled low over his golden eyes. Although the night was black he could see the soldiers patrolling the battlements and quickly slipped over the wall without being seen.

He darted from one shadow to the next, moving around the walls of the castle and begun to scale the stone. The design of the climbing vines made his task ten times as easy and soon he was half way up the side of a spire. But his luck soon changed as the metal vines climbed no higher. The stone of the tower was smooth and offered little in the way of hand holds. Finding a good hold at the tip of a metal vine Lieut reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled forth a grappling hook. With a smooth spin of the small hook he sent it high into the night to find a hold on the balcony railing many feet above him.

The hook was sturdy and supported his weight easily, and Lieut virtually ran up the side of the tower. He slowed down as he reached the terrace and carefully pulled himself onto the darkened balcony. Tall glass doors stood before him with yellow light pouring out. Moving to the shadows beside the doors he heard voices coming from within and a shape passed in front of the door casting a long shadow across the tiles of the terrace.

A slight smile came to his face when he recognised the voices coming from within. He had guessed correctly where the location of the rooms for visiting dignitaries was in the castle. Lieut pulled back his hood and moved quietly through the unlocked doors into a wide and lavish room.

Inside he was greeted by the surprised looks of his companions and a look of horror from Princess Xanthia.

“Gu. . . !” the half Yineth began to scream.

But luckily Vythe was standing beside Xanthia and he quickly covered her mouth and stopped her from running from the room.

“He is a friend, not an assassin,” Vythe repeated over and over until the Princess calmed.

“He is the same one from Elestarl, here to finish what he started,” Xanthia said desperately, “Release me, call the guards.”

Xanthia started to call out again, but again Vythe’s hand muffled her cry.

“He is the reason we know of the assassination attempt,” Vythe said as he struggled to keep the girl under control. “It was his twin in Elestarl. He is a friend. Trust me I beg you. I desire peace between our nations as much as you.”

Xanthia seemed to calm after this and Vythe slowly released the Princess from his clutches.

“I do trust you Master Varrintine,” the Princess said slowly, her purple and brown eyes glaring at Lieut the whole time. “I can tell that you wish to see an end to this conflict as much as I.”

“Thank you,” Vythe sighed.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Lieut asked dryly, returning the Princesses glare.

“Of course not, Lieut,” Fairris smiled, “Come, join us, do you want a drink of water.”

“Or maybe something a little stronger?” Laughed Bārdin, and slapped Lieut on the arm.

Lieut declined both offers.

“How did you get into the castle, Lieut?” Vythe asked curiously.

“Easily,” Lieut shrugged, “Jumped the river then scaled the walls. Even Bārdin could have done it.”

“Damn right I could have,” Bārdin snorted, “Would have got here quicker too.”

“Tell me of this assassination attempt Master Varrintine,” Xanthia said loudly, “My father cannot bare to think of it but I would like to know. It is why I am here this evening.”

“Indeed, let us sit,” Vythe motion to the chairs that sat around a table, “Lieut join us.”

Hesitantly Lieut moved over to the chairs, still eyeing the Princess cautiously. Xanthia wore a low cut emerald green dress with her blonde hair tied back in a bun with a diamond tiara. From her long ears hung earrings of diamonds and resting just above her cleavage was a topaz pendant.

Xanthia’s deep brown and purple eyes continued to look at him suspiciously as he sat down next to Vythe, and across from the Princess.

“So tell me,” said Xanthia commandingly.

Vythe nodded and began, “The assassination of the Grand Magi and the attempts made against you are work of the High Commission.”

Xanthia raised a shapely eyebrow, but did not say anything, allowing Vythe to continue.

“The High Commission have an agreement with Lieut’s associates,” Vythe said looking cautiously at Lieut. “Together they seek to cripple the two greatest realms. The High Commission will then use the chaos to bring all regions under their reign. Your assassination would push your father over the edge and he would not stop until Lord Cardonian was dead at his feet.”

Xanthia nodded her head, “Lieut’s associates?”

Again Vythe looked to Lieut.

“Lieut and his brothers are specialised warriors,” Vythe said hesitantly, not really knowing what he was talking about.

Lieut hid his smirk at Vythe’s inaccuracy.

“Mercenaries, who kill for money?” Xanthia asked angrily, her eyes flashing dangerously at Lieut.

“I guess you could say that, yes,” Vythe nodded.

“And what of your friend here?” asked the Princess, “Has he a change of heart?”

Vythe nodded, but did not say anything.

“You trust his word?” Xanthia asked in surprise.

“Yes, I do,” Vythe replied instantly, “And I ask you to trust mine.”

Xanthia took a deep breath, her eyes still searching Lieut’s golden orbs suspiciously.

“That does not explain why your friend is here,” Xanthia finally said, “You could have told me all this without risking its failure by him being here.”

“He can give evidence to the High Commissions plans,” Vythe replied.

“Vythe,” Lieut interrupt, “We spoke about this.”

“So he will not give evidence against the High Commission,” Xanthia said, her expression unchanged.

Vythe sighed, “No, but he can make sure that you will not be killed.”

Xanthia was quiet for some minutes, her eyes looking with concern at the brilliantly carved wood of the table.

“Tell me, mister Lieut,” Xanthia said uneasily, breaking the silence, “How do you propose keeping me alive?”

“By killing you,” Lieut replied casually.

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