Tapestry of Power

Chapter 1 - Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

2005-09-04T16:03:00.000-07:00

"And I tell you this, this child shall not die, nor shall he be thrown from the Three Realms and branded as outcast. He shall be my son, and I shall be his father; it shall be my blood which courses through his veins. He shall have his chance to grow great in the eyes of man and beast and to seek salvation from the curse which lies so heavily upon him. You shall not have his blood today." Thus spoke Lyght, King of the Realm of Magic.

Twenty-seven years passed after those words were spoken. For thousands of years, the Realm of Earth had been ruled by the great dragon Norenroth, but he had been cast down and his place taken by the three most powerful wielders of magic in the Realm. Powers they were called, and, for thousands of years, generation after generation of Powers rose to rule over Lairannare, as the Realm of Earth was commonly called. Some ruled with justice, but most were overcome by the priviledge of their position and plunged the land into turmoil with their quest for greater authority.

War ran rampant throughout the land, but, even in the midst of darkness, the kingdom of Nor was filled with joy, for the feast of Pallath-gaon was upon them. The last feast before winter‘s end, it was the greatest of all the celebrations in Nor. This year it was met with more unrestrained merrymaking than usual, for the people of Nor knew it would be the last joyful occassion for a long time; with the spring would come war.

Of all the cities of Nor high-walled Zaren was most filled with celebration, and of all the many places of celebration in Zaren the palace of the king was most light-hearted. It was aglow with a thousand sparkling candles and alive with the sound of hundreds of different voices lifted up in song and cheerful conversation.

The banquet hall was packed with people. Lords, ladies, soldiers, and children crowded around long wooden tables laden with all the fruit, meat, and drink a Norian could desire and helped themselves to plate after plate of savory food, the piquant aroma of which wafted through the air and mixed with the smoke of the many candles. The space not filled with the tables was taken up by couples dancing. One’s station did not matter; the kitchen maids and servant girls spun with knights and lords, and a page or a stable boy, if he were particularly polite, might win a dance with a lady. Even King Ibrahim and Queen Malcah could be seen spinning across the floor.

Everyone within the palace seemed gleeful and entertained--all save one. Orion was his name. He stood in a corner, disregarded by the others in the banquet hall, and watched all that took place before him with a solemn, somewhat mournful, expression. Though now a common soldier, he still bore a remnent air of the savage, wandering warrior he once had been. He was not tall, but one had only to look at his arms to see he was not weak. And there was a certain hardness to him--not born of cruelty but common to many men who had lived rough-and-ready lives of adventure.

He was handsome in his own way. His thick, auburn hair flowed freely over his shoulders and down his back. That in itself lent him a somewhat wild aspect, but his eyes were not merely untamed but inhuman. They were piercing, so intense and blue they defied description, like the eyes of some exotic specter looking out from beneath his dark and brooding brows.

"Orion!" A cheerful voice startled Orion from his reverie, and he straightened as he saw Prince Gideone sauntering toward him.

The prince was several inches Orion's better in height and slightly leaner also. He was a few years Orion's elder, but that meant little considering Orion had yet to reach the age of thirty. Orion was, no doubt, the better of the two when it came to brute strength, but Gideone was every bit as good a warrior. It was rumored the blood of High Elves flowed through the prince's veins, but, if those rumors were true, the High Elvish quality showed itself through no more than his black hair. His eyes were not even black but instead a very dark brown. He cut altogether the most dashing of figures, and his closely cut black beard did naught but add to his image. It was not for nothing that all of the women of Nor looked upon him as the most gallant and swashbuckling of heroes.

"Your Highness," Orion murmured, bowing.

Gideone laughed and said, with the most aristocratic sounding of accents--common to all well-bred Norians--"Orion, this is a night of rejoicing, but you stand here and look as cheery as someone being forced to eat his own stomach. Look at all the maidens--young and fair every one of them--and know I that certain ones would give all they posses to dance with you."

"They display decidedly unsound judgment, Your Highness," replied Orion. "'Tis unwise for a young maid to give all she has for a dance with any man, much less with one who would not even make a good partner at the moment."

"Nonsense! You could dance better than most even with both your legs broken and your hands tied behind your back."

The corner of Orion’s mouth turned up at the images Gideone's words brought to mind, but he replied seriously, "I will not dance... unless, of course, you command it, Your Highness."

"What good would commanding you do?" cried the prince. "You'd still not be enjoying yourself, which is the whole purpose of celebrations."

"Yes, Your Highness."

At the warrior’s reply, Gideone's hopeful features fell.

"I see that nothing I can do will make you enjoy this evening," he stated, suddenly sober, "so I can but leave you to your melancholy. But remember this, Orion: war comes swiftly. Take what joy you can now, for there will be precious little of it in the months to come."

"I would that I could, Your Highness.”

The prince turned and, leaving the warrior to his sad solitude, returned to the festivities, calling out as he did so to a well-bosomed girl, "Come, my lass, I have need of a partner."

Orion, for a while longer, stayed in the hall, but being surrounded by mirth when doom he knew lurked so close bided not well with him, and he soon slipped silently from the room.

There was in the gardens of the palace a small, secluded fountain which was frequented by few save Orion who found the quiet of the place comforting. It was a warm night, for, though it was still winter, it never snowed in Nor. The soft sounds of music from the hall drifted across the garden, and every now and then shouts and laughter, faint with distance, rose from the streets beyond the palace walls.

For many minutes he sat alone, wrapped in his thoughts, until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of movement. He turned, and for a moment search the shadows before he distinguished a figure he knew well approaching through the trees. Princess Mystia nearly disappeared into her surroundings, for she was dressed in a flowing robe of midnight blue, and her face was almost completely covered with a veil of the same color. Her long black hair tumbled down around her waist, and so little of her skin could be seen that she seemed to glide through the garden, a shadow among shadows.

"Your Highness," Orion greeted as he rose and bowed.

"Hello, Orion," she returned.

She hesitated then sat down upon the edge of the fountain and, motioning with her hand, said, "Please, sit." She was trying hard to appear nonchalant, but it was obvious she was deeply troubled. As he sank down beside her, she began to speak, staring down at her hands which she clasped in her lap.

"For two years now you’ve resided among us. Tell me, how go your days?" Her darks eyes turned up to him for a moment before dropping once more to her hands.

It was clear that was not what she had come to speak to him about, but Orion answered truthfully, "They go well, Your Highness."

"And Nightfall, how does he?"

"Nightfall," repeated Orion slowly as his thoughts turned to his griffin companion. "What Nightfall thinks I know not, Your Highness. He goes where I go and does so without complaint. Several times I’ve asked him if he truly wishes to stay with me, and I doubt not that, were I to ask him again, I would receive exactly the same response as before: a tilt of the head, a blink of the eyes, a rather confused look, and 'You speak of impossibilities.' Then he would begin preening himself as if I weren’t there."

Mystia laughed, for Orion imitated Nightfall’s croaking voice well, but she became solemn again almost before the sound had left her lips.

After a slight pause, she spoke again. "As you have asked Nightfall, so now I ask you. Do you wish to stay here in the service of my family, or would you rather be free to leave and not face the coming war?"

Orion tilted his head to one side and blinked his eyes. "You speak of impossibilities, Your Highness."

"I speak not in jest." she told him sharply.

"Nor do I, Your Highness...“ he answered quickly, sorry of his turn of phrase, “but perhaps it was a poor choice of words. Forgive me."

"I‘m sorry,” she said, her gaze once more dropping, “it was I who spoke too quickly, but you cannot say it is an impossibility. Two years ago you came to this place so that you might return a helpless princess to her family. My father would have given you almost anything as a reward, but you wanted only to be a soldier and servant to the Crown. You’ve served us well; I wish not to repay you with your death."

Orion stared down at the ground and remained silent.

"War with Delovachia is inevitable," Mystia pressed when she saw he would not speak. "You cannot say you don’t fear. I--we--Nor cannot escape, but you can. Take this chance while you yet possess it."

"'Tis still impossibilities of which you speak, Your Highness," he answered quietly.

His answer left her not knowing how to continue, and she rose to her feet and walked a few paces away.

She glanced back at the warrior who had also risen to his feet and asked, "Do you fear?" and after a slight pause, added, "Answer me truthfully."

He considered her question, but even before he responded she could see the answer in his eyes. “Yes.”

"Then take this," she said in a halting voice. She held out her hand and walked back to him, and, as she approached, he could see she clutched a golden chain from which hung a ring, inlaid with a single, large stone, unlike any he had ever seen before--a clear jewel filled with a soft red light. She hesitated for a moment but, after taking a deep breath reached up and hung it around his neck.

"Keep it always with you," she told him, her voice trembling, "but let no man know you possess it. Unless luck be found in knowing you hold a ring of the most terrified creature in Lairannare, this won’t give it, but perhaps it will remind you that my prayers and hopes go with you into battle."

She bore such a troubled look and gazed so intently upon the ring now hanging from his neck that Orion was forced to say, "Forgive me, Highness, if I speak with ingratitude, but I don't think you truly wish to part with it. If that be true, then reclaim it, for I don’t want to possess anything of yours if it’s not freely given."

Mystia looked at him for a moment, then tilted her head and blinked. "You speak of impossibilities."

Orion went down upon one knee before her. "Thank you, Your Highness."

Mystia placed her hand upon his head, and, though she plainly wished to say something more, words seemed to elude her.

"Goodbye, Orion," she said simply then walked away, leaving him once more in solitude.

* * *

The people of Zaren retired in the early hours before dawn, and it was upon a relatively noiseless city the first rays of morning light fell. Indistinct shapes began to take more definite form as the nighttime mist rose from around the city, and the guards who stood atop the main gates looked out and saw a lone horseman riding furiously down the road toward them. It was clear the matter that brought him was important indeed, and, though the gates were not supposed to be unbolted for yet another half hour, the guards quickly called for them to be opened regardless.

The rider galloped through and immediately reigned his horse in. When he stopped, he looked quickly around, searching for someone in authority. He was young--twenty years of age if that. His clothes were covered with dust from his furious journey, and his long, disheveled, brown hair, hung down in front of his eyes.

Several soldiers approached and, as they did so, the rider said, "I bring a message f’r King Ibrahim." Perhaps it would have gone better for him had he not spoken, for the moment he opened his mouth his Delovachian accent became obvious.

"You 'ave a message for our king?" cried a soldier.

"Aye, a dagger in th' 'art," muttered another.

The rider's face clouded. "I may speak like a Delovachian, but I’m as Norian as any o' ye."

His words merely succeeded in bringing a loud round of laughter from the men present, and, with several hearty shouts, they started pulling him from his horse. He struggled against them and began crying out who he was and why he came, but it did not keep him from being overcome and tied up.

Word was sent to King Ibrahim that a Delovachian spy and assassin had been captured while trying to gain entrance to the palace. Ibrahim had the murderous dog brought before him, but it seemed rather strange that a man who would soon be dead would show such joy when brought into the presence of the man who was to seal his execution.

"Majesty, I bring--" began the Delovachian scoundrel, but his words were cut off as he was thrown roughly to the ground. Because his hands were tied tightly behind his back, he could not stop his fall, and the loud crack of his chin hitting the floor sounded through the whole room. That effectively put an end to his speaking for the moment, as he lay in stunned pain.

"You need not treat our enemies with cruelty," said the king in soft rebuke.

"Your Majesty," interrupted a man, "if I may be allowed to speak?"

Ibrahim turned to face the middle-aged man who spoke, "What is it, Stavros?"

"Vayan here is no Delovachian, Your Majesty," said Stavros. "I’ve raised him as if he were my own son, and I'll vouch for his loyalty."

"Joretham save us," exclaimed the king. "Soldiers, cut him free."

The Delovachian was immediately released, and he rose to his knees.

"Please, forgive us," said Ibrahim. "I had no idea you were a Norian, young man--'Vayan' was it?"

"Aye," spoke Vayan as he rubbed his chin, "'Vayan' it be. Well, I may’ve go’en ‘ere th' long way," here he cast a foul look at those who had dragged him in, "but a’ least I go’ here. I come t' tell ye that Niavi has been conquered, and tha’, e’en as we speak, th' Delovachian army marches toward Zaren."

"What?" cried Ibrahim, half rising from his throne in alarm. "But winter’s still upon us. How can Kozan send his army now?"

"Quite easily it would seem," murmured Stavros.

The king forced himself to sit back down, and for a moment he was silent.

Finally, softly but with dignity he spoke. "I see." He turned to one of the men who stood by his throne and said, "General, you know what to do. 'Tis best to begin as soon as possible."

"Yes, Your Majesty," replied the general who saluted smartly then left the throne room.

"Vayan, come, sit beside me; I would speak with you," said Ibrahim. "Servants, bring food and drink, for he’s come a long way."

Vayan did as he was asked, and the servants quickly went off to do as they were ordered.

King Ibrahim leaned forward and, looking intently at Vayan, said, "Now, tell me all you know about the army that’s approaching."

* * *

The whole of Zaren was in a flurry of excitement, as all the women and children prepared to leave. It was, however, an organized flurry. All of the preparations had all ready been made, and it was not many hours before the long line of carts and the men who were to accompany them were ready to move out.

Orion stood upon the wall of the city and looked down upon the long procession slowly making its way toward its destination--Nortath's Fury, high in the Mountains of Shem-Joloch. He had not seen Princess Mystia--she was never seen in public--but he knew she was among those who fled to the safety of the mountains. He could feel her ring pressing against his chest, and, as he held his hand to it, he murmured, "'Tis well you spoke not to me this day, for I would have done as you desired and not as virtue required."

* * *

The Delovachians gave little time for either planning or morbid contemplation of the future, for the day after the evacuation their army reached the city. The sound of their approach could be heard while they were yet many miles away. The tramping of their feet mixed with the steady beating of their drums and the songs of war being played on pipes filled the air. The enemy spread out and surrounded the city. Where once a vast and open plain had lain there now stretched the huge, black mass of the enemy's camp.

The red sun hung low in the sky as Orion and his sleek, black griffin companion stood upon the high walls of Zaren. Nightfall, who stood as large as a horse, rested his forepaws on the edge of the wall as he gazed out across the Delovachian army. His great, black wings were slightly opened, and his tail flicked back and forth. He blinked his large, white eyes and said in his croaking voice, "'Twould seem the days of feasting and celebrating have come to an end."

"Aye," said Orion softly, "it would seem so indeed."

Chapter 2 - For Tomorrow We Die

2005-09-04T16:02:00.001-07:00

These are the words of Magianna, prophetess of Joretham: “Twelve staves are there, with twelve stones upon them, for the twelve arch-sorcerers to bear, but there shall come a time when a staffless sorcerer shall arise and carry with him the power to degrade them.”

The morning dawned, and a fairer day had not shown itself in Zaren for many a month. Yet the beauty was swallowed up by the sight of the huge camp spread out in all directions upon the large plain surrounding the city.

The sun had barely begun to show itself above the horizon when the dark figure of a rider detached itself from the army and slowly approached the city. An ominous figure he made in his black armor upon his sable charger before his dark army. The only thing not of black was his head, for, though the rest of his body was fully armed, he wore no helmet. Although his face could be seen, it took not away from his imposing countenance. Indeed, with his proud, ruthless visage and his long, brown hair falling wildly over his broad shoulders, he was even more fearsome than had he worn a helmet.

"Ibrahim!" he cried in a harsh and gutteral voice that echoed all along the city wall. "Sirrah! Come out if you dare; I would speak with you!" The men of Zaren who stood upon the high walls of their city looked down with anger and contempt upon he who so insulted their king.

Slowly, the gates opened so that one, solitary rider might pass through. He was tall and somber, with gray eyes that spoke of great knowledge and experience. His brown hair was just beginning to show gray. With a slow, steady gait he rode toward the dark man of Delovachia, and, when he reached him, he stopped and spoke solemnly, "Who are you who so churlishly demands the king of all Nor come and speak with you?"

"And who are you that the cowardly dog Ibrahim sends to speak in his stead?" demanded the black rider, his voice thick with an accent that was neither Norian nor Delovachian but something altogether strange and foreign.

"I’m Stavros, servant of the great and good King Ibrahim." Stavros answered with a stern voice. "Speak what you will, then scurry back to your master Kozan or return to whatever distant land you sprang from but trouble us no more."

The black rider laughed. "Does the cat run from the mouse, or the serpent from the rat? So neither will I run from you. Listen to my words if you have ears to hear and courage to uphold you. I am the Dark Sorcerer; I stand at the right hand of Kozan, Power and King of Delovachia. I lead this vast army that now stands ready to destroy you.

"Listen well, cur. You have refused to pay tribute, blasphemed the Powers, and insulted Kozan by refusing him your princess, and now you will be destroyed. My army will sweep through your pitiful city and slaughter all that breathes. When I’ve finished there will be not even a sad piece of ash which can be laid to rest beneath the earth unless you surrender yourself, pay double tribute, offer yourselves as perpetual servants to the Powers, and give Kozan that which his heart most desires: the princess of Nor."

"You speak the words of a knave not those of a sorcerer of power," replied Stavros. "Run back to your master, dog, and tell him this: were he to assail us with ten times the number he now sends, still we’d stand against him. We will die before we submit to the fate Kozan would give us. And as for giving your pig-master that which his heart desires most, tell him to take pleasure in his two wives and countless concubines, but he will never have Mystia. She is not his, nor will she ever be his, and if he dares lay one finger upon her the vengeance of Nor will be swifter and more torturous than that of a wrath-filled griffin. Now away, insolent cur and return to Delovachia and your dark lord."

"Proud words for a fool," The Dark Sorcerer sneered. "I shall enjoy forcing them down your throat." With a loud yell he spurred his charger and galloped back to his camp.

* * *

Orion and Nightfall watched the exchange from their vantage point on the wall. As the Dark Sorcerer returned to his army, Nightfall whispered, "We shall feast upon blood today. May Joretham be with us, for it has begun!"

* * *

There was, in one of the towers of the palace, a small, dark room--not dark with evil, but unlit and still so that the world might be kept out and the spirit of Joretham allowed to enter. There was no window, for sight was not needed in a battle of magic such as was about to take place.

The room was filled with the tools of magic, and, in the midst of these, King Ibrahim knelt with his staff laid on the floor before him. He did not wear the rich garments befitting a king, and his golden crown he had laid aside on a nearby table. His head was bent and his hands clasped in supplication as he prayed, "...And let not this, your kingdom, be destroyed. Let not these, your people, be killed and sold into slavery and left to wander Lairannare as outcasts. Grant me strength that I might overcome my enemy."

He rose to his feet, and, taking up his staff, he whispered, "Be with me, Lord." The crystal stone on his staff began to glow as the battle of magic commenced.

* * *

The ground shook as tens of thousands of Delovachians lifted up their voices in cries of battle. Like water released from a floodgate they rushed forward, weapons glinting in the sun, eyes blazing, and hearts bent upon bloodshed.

With a shout, the soldiers on the wall began to rain flaming arrows down upon their enemies. Hundreds upon hundreds of arrows sped through the air into the midst of the Delovachians, and small fires began to spring up as men were struck. The cries of war were mixed with the screams of agony as soldiers fell wounded to the ground.

The Delovachians continued to swarm forward. In their midst they bore a huge battering ram, which they set against the gate of the city. The hollow "Boom!" of the ram striking the oaken doors of the gate rang above the cries of battle.

* * *

Far away the Dark Sorcerer sat upon his black horse and seemed to do nothing beyond observing the battle. But had one been close enough to see his face, one would have seen he did far more than merely watch the scene before him, for he fought an invisible war of magic. Great was his power, but King Ibrahim was a worthy opponent.

* * *

The men of Zaren were strong and proud. Outnumbered they may have been, but that served only to spur them on to greater fury. Already the cries of the dying and the smell of death filled the air. Boiling water was poured down upon those who held the battering ram, and, when others ran forward to take the place of those who had fallen, they were struck down by scores of flaming arrows. But there were always others to take the place of those who fell.

The men of Zaren stood upon their high walls and laughed and sang and taunted their enemy, for they did not fear battle or death.

"Ho! Sirrahs!" cried Gideone, leaning over the city wall. "Is all of Delovachia filled with women that Kozan would send milksops such as you to fight us?"

Stavros, who stood beside the prince, cast a rather amused look at him then, turning back to the battle, took careful aim and shot a flaming arrow into the midst of the enemy.

"Run back to your embroidery and leave the game of war to men; we know how to play it!" continued Gideone, ignoring Stavros.

Stavros cast another glance at the prince and calmly fired another flaming arrow into the army below.

The hollow clang of the battering ram against the gate echoed throughout the city.

"Hah!" laughed Gideone when he saw that the gate still held, "Is that the best you can do?"

As if in answer, there suddenly arose from out of the Delovachian ranks hundreds upon hundreds of dark, winged creatures. Their bodies and faces were those of beautiful women, delicate and alluring, but their clawed hands were nothing but deadly. With shrieking cries, they sped through the air toward soldiers of Zaren.

"Is Delovachia filled with women? Run back to your embroidery," repeated Stavros rather sardonically.

"I think I prefer the men," muttered Gideone as he drew his sword.

* * *

Orion and Nightfall looked in awe at the dark mass of flying creatures.

"Harpies," Orion said in a hushed voice.

"Demon spawn!" spat Nightfall.

"Fail me not this day, Ronahrrah," spoke Orion as he looked upon his crystal-bladed sword.

Within seconds the harpies descended upon the city. Nightfall gave a hissing war cry and leapt up to fight in the air. Orion turned his sword on all that descended around him, and the dark red scales of his armor were soon turned black with harpy blood.

A cry of pain escaped his lips as a harpy leapt onto his back and dug her claws into his shoulders, but that quickly turned to a snarl of anger he spun around, flinging her from him. She tumbled to the ground, then, with a shriek, caught herself and sped back toward him. His teeth were bared in a growl, as he sent his sword slicing through the air toward her. She saw the blade but could not stop her flight. She raised her arm to defend herself and screamed in pain as the sword sliced through her arm and deep into her side. She tumbled to the ground and lay there, still alive yet unable to move. Blood splattered everywhere as, with another growl Orion sent his sword slicing through her neck.

To his right, from out of the sky, he saw another harpy speeding towards him. Even as he turned to face her, he heard Nightfall cry out, "Orion, behind you!"

Before he could turn, he was struck from behind with overwhelming force. Her tumbled to the ground and rolled onto his back where he tried to regain his breath, but, before he could recover, a harpy sprang down upon him and grabbed him by the throat, digging her claws deep into his skin. With a snarl of rage, he threw her from him as if she were nothing more than a child, and, giving a fierce almost animal-like cry, he fell upon her and grasped her neck with an iron grip. She slashed at his arms and face.

Orion was like one possessed and, with a snarling cry grasped her even tighter. His lips turned up in a dark look of satisfaction as he slowly tightened his grip. Her eyes bulged, and terror filled her face, but he showed no mercy. He continued to squeeze until suddenly there could be heard the sound of her spine popping. She gave a small gurgle then gave up her life.

Orion grabbed his sword from where it had fallen and, giving a cry more terrifying than that of the harpies, turned upon those gathered there. They scattered before him.

* * *

Far away, in the caverns of Nortath's Fury, Mystia suddenly screamed and fell to the floor where she lay gasping for breath. Her maid was at her side in a moment, asking what was wrong, but Mystia could only murmur incoherently with a strangled voice, her face contorted in pain.

"Bring her here and let her lie down," ordered Queen Malcah coldly, as she motioned to a place beside her upon the ground. "This child has always lived in a realm filled with the invisible. Sleep should cure her of her ills."

Mystia, still groaning, was led to the place her mother had indicated and covered with a thick, warm blanket.

* * *

All through the day Gideone traveled along the walls of the city, fighting and lifting up the spirits of the men. He was covered with blood, and pain filled his body. Exhaustion threatened to overcome him, but he forced himself to go on, and there was not one group of soldiers he visited that did not fight all the harder when he left.

The cries of war filled his ears, and the stench of death was strong. Blood flowed everywhere, and dead soldiers covered the top of the wall. Some had been pushed down to the ground below, but the walkway along the parapet was still covered with them.

Gideone coughed and ran to the edge of the wall. The Delovachian army seemed as large as it had been before. Its soldiers swarmed around the base of the city. He could still hear the hollow boom as the battering ram struck the gate. All day had it done so.

Suddenly, Gideone saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a Delovachian charging toward him. A cry of both surprise and anger escaped his lips as he raised his sword to defend himself. The Delovachian rammed into him, sending the prince reeling back beneath the blow. Gideone gained his balance and, with a snarl lunged forward striking at the man. His blow was blocked, but he followed it swiftly with another one, then another. Suddenly, the Delovachian cried out and stumbled forward. Gideone leapt back out of the way, as the Delovachian dropped his sword and fell to the ground, an arrow sticking up from his back.

Already more Delovachians were battling atop the walls. The prince looked wildly around for where they were coming from and spied the top of a ladder, against the wall which Delovachians were already swarming up and over. The prince ran forward, but before he could reach it, two Norians reached it and managed to push it back away from the wall. Gideone could hear the screams of the Delovachians as the ladder tipped backward and sent them plummeting to the ground.

He stopped and took quick gasping breaths. His lungs cried out for air. He looked up; the sky was nearly dark. The battle had to end soon. When? His body screamed for rest.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the sound of a horn pierced through the cries and screams of battle. It rang through the air, and at its sound all of the Delovachians stopped their battling and slowly, in straggling lines, return to their camp.

Gideone breathed a sigh of relief. The battle had ended.

He had little time to rest, however. Scarcely had the fighting ceased before he was running back through the streets of the city, into the palace, and up into the tower in which his father was.

All was quiet as he peered into the dark and silent room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the almost complete blackness, but when they did he drew back in horror, for he found the king lying as one dead upon the floor.

"Father!" he cried in alarm as he rushed to Ibrahim. He knelt beside him and rolled his father onto his back. Slowly the king opened his eyes. Looking up into his son's dark eyes, he said with labored breath, "Fear not, I still live."

"Are you wounded? What can I do?" cried Gideone, anxiously.

"Nay, I’m not wounded," Ibrahim assured him as, with a grimace, he sat up. He cast Gideone a wan smile and said, "'Twas a furious battle indeed, and several times I thought certes all was lost, but Joretham smiled upon me. Help me rise."

"Are you certain you're well?" the prince pressed as he did as Ibrahim asked.

"Yes," the king answered, with a halfhearted smile.

There was a moment’s pause before the king spoke again. "This man who leads the Delovachians is not Kozan--one would sooner see Mystia at the front of an army--but, though Power he may not be, a potent Magic he is nonetheless. Tell me," and here a look of fear and anxiety flashed across his face, "does he bear the staff of a sorcerer?"

"I saw no staff," answered Gideone truthfully.

Ibrahim's sharp intake of breath caused the prince to look at him in alarm.

"You saw no staff?" repeated Ibrahim. "Yet he calls himself a sorcerer does he not?"

“Aye, he calls himself a sorcerer. And as to his staff, if he has one, he kept it hidden."

Ibrahim clenched his mouth tightly and looked away, trying to hide the look of worry growing on his face.

"What does it matter if he has a staff or no?" demanded Gideone, his tone growing sharp as he grasped his father‘s arm. "Are you not still an arch-sorcerer? Can you not still defeat him?"

"Have you not heard the prophecies, boy!" cried Ibrahim, pulling his arm free. "He’s the staffless sorcerer, and he comes to destroy me."

"And what are prophecies but the words of fools and madmen or those who seek to profit from the superstitions of others?” the prince challenged, angrily. “How many hundreds of prophecies have been spoken, and, of them, how many have been fulfilled? One, two, perhaps three. Why then should you heed the idle words of a long dead daughter of sacrilege?"

"Magianna was a prophetess of Joretham."

"And what means Joretham to me? Is one foolish prophecy reason enough to give up hope? You’re the king of Nor. What will the men of Zaren say and do when they learn their king has no faith that they shall be triumphant?"

"Gideone,” the king snapped, then forced himself to continue more calmly, “even now this sorcerer gathers his strength, and he shall soon have power enough to break the magic which seals the gates of Zaren. I had hoped I would have enough strength to hold him back, but now I know that with him my death shall come.” Gideone opened his mouth to speak, but his father would not allow him.

“If you are not willing to understand or believe the prophecies then leave me," concluded the king softly, his voice tinged with anger, "for I must have peace."

Gideone stood still for a moment, then turned and walked away, but, when he came to the door, he turned back and said, sarcastically, "I leave you to find peace, which is a thing easily found in the midst of war." Then he walked away.

* * *

The house of the healers was dark and filled with the stench of blood and death, but what house in Zaren did not smell so? Many men had been healed of their wounds, but some were so far gone that not even magic could save them. The moans of the dying filled the place.

Orion sat in a dark corner, hunched over on the ground. He was half-asleep with exhaustion, and yet he was unable to fully sink into unconsciousness because of the pain that filled his body. So, he simply sat there, silently waiting for a healer to come minister to him.

It was almost midnight before his wounds were tended to, for, painful though they were, they looked not to be gruesome and went unnoticed by the healers, until Orion, growing impatient, finally drew attention to them. Often was he overlooked by healers, for his blood was not red and easily noticeable like the blood of other men but was instead clear as water. He was sorely injured, especially on his arms and face, and it took nearly an hour for the healers to bind up his wounds. He remained silent, almost deathly so, throughout the whole of that time and kept his eyes focused on his arms.

The healers finally completed their tasks, and the blue-eyed warrior walked out into the still and silent streets of Zaren. All was dark, for the sky above was covered with clouds, through which only the smallest glimpse of the moon and the stars could be caught. An air of fear and grim expectation lay heavy upon the city, and, if men dared speak at all, it was only with low murmurs, for it seemed almost sacrilegious to do otherwise.

Nightfall was waiting outside, when Orion emerged. He opened his mouth to speak but fell silent when he saw the look of horror in his friend’s eyes.

"I could have died," Orion murmured. He tried to say more, but words failed him.

"Orion," answered Nightfall, his head tilted to one side in confusion, "you have not died; you have conquered and won glory unto yourself."

"And what does the glory of one day matter, when, upon the morrow, you lie dead?"

"Orion," the griffin said with as soothing a tone as his voice would allow, "death is not a thing to be feared. Is it not through death that one enters into great glory?"

"What would you know of death?" asked Orion bitterly as he turned away from him.

Nightfall drew himself up in surprise at his friend's harsh tone. "My father guards the gates of Lothiel."

"Think you I care what your father guards? Leave me alone." With that Orion turned and stalked off, leaving Nightfall to look in confusion after him.

The warrior walked through the still and silent city until he reached the high walls surrounding it. These he climbed and walked slowly along, the cool wind blowing softly upon his face, the moon occasionally shining upon him through the clouds. He stopped and looked down upon the vast army below, lit by hundreds of red campfires and the moons infrequent light, and, as he gazed upon it, the one thought that kept running through his mind was, "There lies my death."

Beneath his tunic he could feel Mystia's ring against his chest. He pressed his hand against it and found himself wondering what the strange gem was inlaid within it was. He seemed almost to know, but it was a memory far off and hidden. Though he tried to remember, just as the mist over his eyes began to clear, it settled again, and he was left in darkness.

He stood contemplating the ring and the sight which was before him for he knew not how many minutes when his reverie was interrupted by Prince Gideone who had walked quietly up beside him.

"'Tis a terrible sight, is it not?" asked the prince.

"Indeed, Your Highness," answered Orion.

For a long moment Gideone was silent, and, as Orion had done before him, he simply looked out over the vast Delovachian army.

"Think you that we shall be defeated?" the prince asked. He was a far different man from the one who had been celebrating but a few nights before.

"I see no way by which we can triumph," answered Orion, then added as almost an afterthought, "unless Joretham desires not our deaths."

"I care nothing for Joretham," asserted Gideone, his tone suddenly dark. "Give me what can be seen and touched, not intangible spirits."

Orion remained silent, for what did he know of Joretham?

"We face destruction," continued Gideone, "but know I that you, at least, shall stay and fight and not run in fear."

Orion bowed his head in reply but said nothing.

Gideone glared at the vast army spread before him, his jaw clenched tightly as he contemplated the hopeless situation.

Suddenly he turned to Orion. A glimmer of hope was in his eyes as he spoke. "Orion, I know that the power of lesser Magics has no effect on you, but what of the magic of a sorcerer, or a mage, or a Power?"

Orion hesitated then answered, "There are none of the Realm of Earth who can touch me with magic, whether Power or otherwise.”

"Then the Dark Sorcerer has no hold over you." The prince’s dark eyes were beginning to sparkle with rising hope.

"Perhaps, Your Highness, but we speak only of magic power; perchance he’s a better swordsman."

Gideone laughed and dismissed Orion's words with a wave of his hand. "No man can wield a weapon as you do. You’re a master swordsman who cannot be touched by magic. You’re our savior."

"Your Highness!" cried Orion, stepping back. The thought of having the entire fate of Zaren--indeed, of all Nor--resting upon his shoulders was a terrifying thought.

"Orion," said Gideone, seeing Orion's fear, "if you won’t fight the Dark Sorcerer then Zaren will fall, for my father, though he prepares to do battle with him, fears the Sorcerer." There was shame in his voice as he said those last words. "He believes that his death at the hand of the Sorcerer has been fated and is inevitable. 'Tis a false belief, but it shall certes keep him from emerging victorious." He looked hard at Orion. "Promise me you will take my father's place and fight this dark and terrible man."

Orion looked silently down at the ground. Slowly he raised his head and, turning his eyes to Gideone, answered. "You’re my prince, and I’m your servant. I will do what you ask."

"Thank you, Orion. You know not what great a service you do for me and for Nor."

Orion said nothing in reply.

"Well, I’ll leave you now," said Gideone, when he saw that Orion would not speak. "Find sleep if you can, for tomorrow will be a terrible day."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Gideone turned and walked away, and Orion was left once more to himself.

* * *

The morning dawned, and a dark and ominous morning it was, for the clouds overhead were black and threatening. The men of Zaren came and stood atop the high walls of their city. Grim-faced they were, with eyes flashing, weapons held ready, and none of the joy of battle, which had filled them upon the previous day.

Above the main gate of the city stood King Ibrahim, sorcerer's staff in hand. He looked out over the huge army on the plain below, but what he thought none knew, for his face was as unmoving as stone.

The Delovachian army, with the Dark Sorcerer at its head, advanced toward the city. With his lips curled in a sneer, he slowly looked over the men of Zaren, and his gaze finally came to rest upon King Ibrahim.

"So, the dog dares show his face!" cried the Sorcerer in contempt.

There came a low rumble of thunder.

"I do more than show my face, sorcerer of Delovachia," replied Ibrahim solemnly. "I challenge you to a duel. Let us meet before the gates of this city, and let our two armies bear witness unto that which we do. If you should win, then the city of Zaren shall surrender, but, if I should win, then you and your army shall return to Delovachia and trouble us no more. Is this not better than wasting the blood of thousands of men?"

"What care I of wasted blood, seeing it’s the blood of Norians that’s wasted?" answered the Sorcerer, his strange and foreign accent only lending malice to his words. "And why should I meet you in single combat, seeing that my army is far greater than yours? Nay, I spit upon your challenge, cur, for it’s the challenge of a fool!" Almost before he finished speaking, he threw his arms above his head and cried out fierce words in a foreign tongue.

Ibrahim held his staff up high and lifted his voice up in a chant. A huge flash of light, as bright as the noonday sun, filled the sky and swept over the armies of Nor and Delovachia. The soldiers of both armies were thrown backwards to the ground by the overwhelming power of the magic blast. The sound of something slowly cracking and splintering sounded across the whole of that vast plain, but only the Dark Sorcerer and Orion, who had not been thrown backwards, witnessed the gate of Zaren slowly split down the center and fall to the ground.

For a moment all was silent. There was a huge flash of lighting in the clouds above. Orion's eyes locked with those of the Dark Sorcerer, and they could only stare--Orion in amazement at the strength of the Sorcerer's magic and the Sorcerer in wonder that any man could withstand his onslaught.

The flash of lightning ended, leaving the city and the plain in darkness. The loud rumbling of thunder which followed faded away into the shrieking of the wind, and, beneath the wind, could be heard the sound of men rising to their feet, as if the dead themselves were rising from their graves.

The sky was lit by another flash of lightning, and the army of Delovachia saw that the great gate of Zaren lay broken upon the ground. With a great shout they rushed forward upon the city.

Orion's howl of anger was drowned out by a crack of thunder.

* * *

Far away, in the place of Nortath's Fury, Mystia lay flat upon her back in an almost trance-like state. Her black eyes were wide open, and she stared up at the cavernous ceiling overhead, but she seemed to see nothing. Her maid sat at her side and looked down in concern upon her. Queen Malcah also sat nearby, but when she cast a glance at Mystia it was more in exasperation than anything else.

Mystia gave a long sigh and said softly, "It begins again."

* * *

Never, since the days of Balor, had the streets of Zaren seen battle, but they saw it now. The cries of men and the shrieks of harpies mixed with the rolling of the thunder. The lightning flashed and the rain poured down so heavily that, between the darkness and the light, one could scarcely tell friend from foe.

Orion stood upon a battlement, with crystal-bladed Ronahrrah in his hands. He gave a battle cry that, while yet human, was at the same time like the roaring of a lion and the hissing of a serpent. The soldiers of Delovachia swarmed everywhere, and Orion, swinging his sword madly about his head, waded into where they were thickest, crying as he did so, "Come, Nightfall! If we’re to die, let’s win glory as we do so!"

* * *

While Orion fought upon the walls, Gideone battled in the streets. His mouth was turned up in a smile, but it was not a smile that came from the joy of battle. He sent his sword smashing into the shoulder of a soldier. The soldier screamed in pain and looked down in horror at his arm dangling from a few strands of muscle and skin. No, his smile was one of anger and contempt. With a snarl Gideone finished him off, then turned to face more soldiers.

* * *

As the battle waxed hot, the Dark Sorcerer rode up and down the length of the city, searching for King Ibrahim. He caused bright, red, magic fire to spring up before him to light his way, and, in the midst of the pouring rain, the proud, high-walled city of Zaren burned.

* * *

"I can see it," whispered Mystia so softly one could barely hear her. "Zaren burns, and yet I have no tears to shed." Then, even softer, she moaned, "Joretham, it burns."

Through the many caverns of Nortath's Fury and through the huddled groups of women and children gathered there, one figure slowly walked. Tall he was, and handsome, clothed entirely in black, with eyes and hair as red as fire. Upon his face, he bore the look of supreme evil. With an air of suppressed passion, he made his way ever toward where Mystia lay.

Mystia, who had, ever since the day before, lain upon the ground, suddenly sat up. Her eyes were wide open in utter terror, and she spoke in a choked voice, saying, "He comes… Joretham, no, he comes."

* * *

Orion, covered with blood and grime, still battled atop the walls of the city. It seemed that he, like the raging storm, only grew in strength and fury with the passing of the hours. No one could stand against him, and any wound he was given seemed only to spur him on to greater madness. Some fled at the mere sight of him, when, as the lightning lit the sky, they looked up to see his flashing spectral blue eyes fixed upon them.

As Orion fought, he suddenly caught a glimpse of the Dark Sorcerer beneath him. He howled a fierce battle cry and scrambled as quickly as he could down off the wall and onto the street below. The rain had mixed with the dirt and the blood, and Orion found himself ankle-deep in mud. He ran as quickly as he could toward where he had seen the Sorcerer ride, but the ground seemed to do all it could to keep him from his end.

Suddenly, he felt as if his whole chest had caught on fire. Clutching at it, he fell to the ground and howled in pain. In a stroke of insight, he pulled Mystia's chain and ring from about his neck. He held it up before him and looked with amazement at it, for the ring glowed bright red and hot. As he stared at it, the mist cleared from his eyes, and he knew what it was--a soul stone.

Fear began to fill him, and he jumped to his feet and looked wildly about for Nightfall. As lightning illuminated the sky, Orion looked up and saw far above him the black griffin, battling harpies in the sky.

"Nightfall!" he bellowed, but had the roar of the battle not drowned out his voice the rolling thunder certainly would have.

He gave the most profane curse he could think of and ran back up onto the wall. Slicing all who stood in his path, he reached the highest battlement.

"Nightfall!" he roared as he jumped up and down and waved his hands furiously above his head. Perhaps Joretham was with him, for Nightfall looked down and, seeing him, turned and decended quickly to him

"The princess is in danger," Orion shouted over the noise of the storm and the battle. "Come." Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he was running down from off the wall and toward the stable where Nightfall's saddle was kept.

"Are you mad?" croaked Nightfall as he landed and galloped after the warrior.

"Look!" Orion cried as he held up Mystia's soul stone. "Her soul stone glows."

Nightfall drew back in amazement as he beheld the precious thing Orion possessed. Terror welled up in his heart, as it had already in the heart of Orion, for he knew, as Orion did, that a soul stone never glowed unless the one whose soul it belonged to was in mortal danger.

* * *

King Ibrahim sat upon his horse in the middle of a wide muddy street. The battle raged all about him, but he did not fight. His head hung down upon his chest, and he seemed entirely devoid of strength.

There was a flash of lightning, and, as Ibrahim looked up, he saw the Dark Sorcerer upon his sable charger with his sword drawn and held ready. He said not a word, but the flashing of his eyes told Ibrahim all that was needed.

"Is it then time?" murmured Ibrahim as he raised his staff. He seemed so weary, and yet, for all his weakness, there was a look of determination in his dark eyes.

The two men howled fiercely and dug their heels deep into the sides of their horses. They pounded toward each other and crashed together. The muddy ground and the force of their impact joined to send them plunging to the ground. The Dark Sorcerer rose with a snarl and, whipping his wet, mud-caked hair out of his face, turned toward Ibrahim who was still scrambling to his feet. Not allowing him the chance to fully rise, the Sorcerer fell upon him and almost sent him sprawling into the mud once again, but Ibrahim kept from falling and fought back with a strength that surprised the Sorcerer.

The air about them fairly glowed with the power of their magic as back and forth they battled--first one slipping and falling into the mud, only to rise and send the other reeling back--until Ibrahim's anger waxed great, and, holding his staff as though it were a club, he dealt the Dark Sorcerer such a blow as to send him sinking to his knees, where he could but look up in pain upon the king. Another blow sent the Sorcerer's sword flying from his hand, and another broke his arm. Ibrahim drew back his staff for the final blow, but, even as he did so, the Dark Sorcerer gathered all of his power into one last spell. As Ibrahim sent his staff crashing down upon the Sorcerer, the Sorcerer held his good hand up and caught the staff with an iron grasp. With one swift motion, he yanked it from Ibrahim's hands and rose to his feet. His strength returned to him, and with his magic he forced Ibrahim to kneel before him.

Dark Sorcerer’s blood-streaked face was twisted in contempt as he raised the staff above his head. Magic crackled all about him, and Ibrahim knew his end had come.

"Kill me, Sorcerer,” he growled, “and let it be done with.”

* * *

Gideone stood upon the walls of Zaren and fought with all his strength, yet things went not well with him. He looked down, and his heart began to pound as he saw his father kneeling helplessly before the Dark Sorcerer. He gave an unintelligible cry and began to run madly along the wall in a desperate attempt to reach his father before the Sorcerer killed him, but, as he ran, a long, dark arrow suddenly struck him, piercing his armor and embedding in his chest just below his heart. With a gasp, he staggered and fell, and, as he fell, he saw his father struck down by the Dark Sorcerer. Unable to cry, he stared in silent horror at where his father lay.

Suddenly, he caught sight of Orion upon Nightfall flying up out of the city. They rose into the air and sped away from Zaren. New strength returned to him, and he leapt to his feet, shrieking, "Coward!"

He turned upon his enemies and again cried, "Coward!" No other word would come. For a few moments, he fought like a furious demon, but his wound soon overcame him. He sank to the ground and did not rise.

* * *

Nightfall flew as he had never flown before, but no speed was fast enough to satisfy Orion. The storm raging all around only leant a greater urgency to his mission. He looked down upon Mystia's glowing soul stone and, with each passing moment, felt increasingly certain it would grow dim with her death.

* * *

"Joretham!" Mystia screamed. Her maid, not knowing what else to do, put a comforting hand upon her shoulder and tried to make her lie down once again.

"Take your hands off me!" cried the princess as she jumped to her feet. For a moment she stood looking wildly about her, then she turned and fled into the dark recesses of the caverns.

Even as she disappeared into the darkness, there entered and stood before Queen Malcah the dark man who had been making his way through the caverns. With a look of scorn, he turned to face the guards who sought to bar his way and, without even a word, struck them down with a powerful magic spell.

"Who are you?" demanded the queen, rising.

"Where is she?" he snarled, ignoring the question.

"How should I know?" answered the queen.

"Insolent fool!" he cried as he struck her across the face with a large, clawed hand. She did not scream but gave only a small gasp as she fell to the floor, where she struck her head upon a rock and moved no more. The dark man stalked past her dead body and into the darkness where Mystia had run.

* * *

It took no more than half an hour for Nightfall to fly the many miles from Zaren to the fortress in the Caverns of Nortath's Fury. Nightfall landed on a rocky ledge before the main entrance of the caverns, and Orion ran to a large group of women and children who were gathered about the body of Queen Malcah. It was doubtful Orion even saw the dead queen, so overcome was he with terror for Mystia. It took him but a second to see that the princess was not one who was gathered there, and he cried out, "Where is she! By the blood of Joretham, where’s the princess!" But, with his clothes and dragon-scale armor covered with the blood of his enemies, his long hair flying all about him like a savage, and his blue eyes looking wildly all about, the already terrified women only scattered before him.

It was a small girl, with huge green eyes open wide, who overcame her fear enough to point to the darkness of an adjoining cavern and say, "There, and he followed her."

Orion stopped not to ask who "he" was but whirled and leapt back into Nightfall's saddle. The griffin instantly jumped into the air and hurtled into the adjoining cavern, but Mystia was not there. Through cavern after cavern he flew, and, though the flight took but thirty seconds if that, it was the longest flight Orion had ever taken.

He burst into yet another chamber, and, in this one, the warrior's eyes were met by the sight of a tall, red-haired man forcing Mystia back against a wall. The princess stood cowering before him, her whole body shook with huge sobs of terror.

"Phyre!" cried Orion--for he knew that man--as he, with sword drawn, sped toward him. Phyre turned toward Orion, and as his eyes met the warrior's his face twisted into a look of unimaginable hatred. He gave a cry unlike any a human could make, and as he did so, his features distorted and he began to grow. He rose and rose, his body covered with billowing black smoke, until, finally, he completed his transformation and stood--a huge dragon, whose scales were as clear as crystal and whose innards swirled with raging smoke and fire. He gave a terrible, hissing roar and leapt toward Orion.

Mystia shrieked as Phyre's massive tail lashed out toward her. She bolted sideways but did not entirely escape the blow and was sent skidding across the hard stone floor.

Phyre did not even know he had struck her, for all of his rage was focused against Orion. He lashed out at the blue-eyed warrior, but was not quick enough, and Nightfall was able to evade him. The griffin flew along the length of the dragon's immense body; as he did so, Orion plunged his sword into Phyre's body and was able to give him a gash that stretched from his shoulder to the base of his tail. The fiery dragon lifted up his voice in a roar that threatened to split the very floor of the chamber, as fire began to pour from his wound.

"You dare seek her life!" Orion howled in fury as he struck Phyre again. "Dog!" He struck again and again, ever yelling as he did so, but his words were drowned out by Phyre's roars of pain and of anger. Finally, the dragon’s clawed forefoot met with Orion and Nightfall and sent them both tumbling through the air. The griffin managed to right himself and gain flight, but Orion struck the ground hard and lay as one dead.

"Fool!" spat the fiery dragon at Orion's limp form. He then turned upon Mystia who lay dazed and terrified upon the floor. Slowly, with fire still pouring from his wounds, he took a painful step toward her. A screeching battle-cry and the dark form of Nightfall speeding towards him brought the dragon up short. He roared and struck the griffin who fell to the ground and did not rise.

Phyre turned once again upon Mystia, but, before he could make another step toward her, Orion could be heard crying out from behind him, "Die dragon!"

Even as the words left his lips, he drew back his sword, then, with all his might, hurled it toward Phyre. It flew through the air, spinning end over end. Phyre roared and tried to turn, but he was too late. Fire erupted as the blade smashed into the dragon’s head, piercing through his crystal skin and continuing out the other side.

Giving a hissing roar of pain, he leapt up in the air. For a moment he seemed to hover at the apex of his ascent, then he began to speed toward the earth. The cavern shook as, with a thundering howl, he crashed into the ground. Stones flew through the air as Phyre dug deep into the earth and disappeared.

For a moment Orion stood, gasping for breath as he looked at the fiery tunnel left by the dragon. Though wounded, Phyre was not dead, and it would not take him long to tunnel back to his lair.

Taking one last breath, Orion turned and ran quickly to where Princess Mystia lay sobbing upon the ground. His face was hardened from the battle he had just fought, but the moment he came into her presence his features softened.

"Your Highness," he said, as he helped her sit up, "are you uninjured?"

Her whole body shook with tears, but she said, with what little pride she had left, "A giant dragon almost killed me. Of course, I’m uninjured." She threw her arms around his neck and began to sob even harder than when she had first begun. She was far too upset to notice how tense Orion became. However, no matter how embarrassed he was, he waited patiently for her to cease her tears, and when she had done so he spoke. "Phyre is not dead, Your Highness, for he is a mighty dragon and likely to heal himself very quickly. It would be best if I were to take you from here."

"And where will you take me?" the princess, voice still trembling, asked. She waited for his reply, but Orion was no longer listening, for he had caught sight of the limp form of Nightfall, lying upon the ground.

"Nightfall!" he cried as he ran over to his friend. Mystia followed him and also knelt beside the fallen griffin. Nightfall lay unmoving upon the ground; there was not even the slightest motion of breath. Timorously, Orion touched his hand to the griffin's body, and, when Nightfall did not respond, he took up the great eagle head of his friend and cradled it in his arms. Words could not describe the look of anguish upon his face as he looked silently upon his dead friend.

Suddenly Nightfall's head began to move of its own accord, and Orion dropped it in his surprise. A sharp croak escaped Nightfall’s beak as it hit the floor, but after a moment he murmured, "Please, hold my head again, for I found it most comfortable."

"Nightfall!" cried both Orion and Mystia together.

"I thought you were dead," said Orion, relief filling him. “Never frighten me like that again.”

"Orion!" exclaimed Nightfall in indignation as he struggled to his feet, "Surely you know how hard the skulls of griffins are. I feel strong enough to fly across the whole of Deithanara."

Orion laughed as he rose and place his arm around Nightfall’s neck.

"Let’s hope what you say is true,” he said, "for we have a long journey ahead of us."

"Where are we going?" asked Mystia in a small voice.

"To the house of the sage Zenas in the Mountains of Lathinor. You’ll be safe there, for Phyre can’t enter that place," answered Orion.

* * *

The storm which had raged over Zaren ended even as the battle which had raged in Zaren ended. Stavros cast a sad look back at the smoldering city that had once been his home, and Vayan, who stood at his side, did the same. Together they had escaped the fury of the Dark Sorcerer, and they had managed to rescue Prince Gideone as well.

Stavros turned his eyes from the far off city and down to the unconscious form of Gideone. He tore open the prince's tunic and looked upon his wound. The place where the arrow had pierced him had already turned black, and thin, dark lines had begun to creep out from it. Stavros studied it for a long moment then gave a groan of anguish.

"No," he moaned. "Joretham, let it not be."

Chapter 3 - The Mountains of Lathinor

2005-09-04T16:02:00.000-07:00

"You dared attempt to raise yourself up over the Realms of Deithanara, and for your insolence even that which you do possess shall be taken from you. You are no longer the ruler of Lairannare, but another more fitting and worthy shall be found to take you place. And of this place in which you caused such great death--of Lathinor: you are forbidden to enter it, unless you wish to hasten your own death." So did Nyght, Queen of the Realm of the Heavens, curse Phyre, King of the Realm of Earth.

The wind whistled past Mystia’s ears as Nightfall flew through the air. The princess’ eyes were squeezed tightly shut and her skin was very pale. She sat in front of Orion, her back pressed against his chest, but even having his arms wrapped around her waist did not allay her fears.

She gasped as Nightfall flapped his wings, making himself rise slightly.

“Hold me tighter!” she cried.

Orion whose body hurt all over from his battle with Phyre, tried not to groan.

“Don‘t worry, Your Highness,” he spoke in her ear, “I won’t let you fall.”

“Still...” she said after a slight pause, “hold me tighter!”

Wincing in pain, he did as she asked, but, after a few minutes, slowly began to relax his grip until he was holding her as loosely as he had to begin with. He could feel her trembling. She clutched his legs tightly, and he was thankful for his armor for, without it, her fingers would have dug deep into his skin.

The sun was fast setting, and, wearied as he was by the battle and weighed down with an extra person, Nightfall could not be expected to reach Zenas’ house in a timely manner. Therefore, as the sun dipped beneath the trees, he landed in the Forest of Althoros, and there, in a small glade, the three made their camp. It would have been very picturesque had the season been summer. It was, however, still winter. The trees were laid bare of their leaves, and, though there was no snow upon the ground, the night was still chilly.

Orion, who was exhausted by the fighting of the day, silently made a fire and, leaving Nightfall to guard and Mystia to do what she willed, rolled up in a blanket and fell instantly to sleep.

Mystia sat and slowly ate a piece of bread as she stared into the shifting flames. There was little mystery to the course her reflections took; her kingdom had been destroyed, her mother murdered, and she herself almost killed, and, for the time being, she could think of little else. Occasionally her body would tremble slight, either with the chill of the night or a sudden shudder of fear; however, she made no noise, and when she had finished eating, she, like Orion, covered herself with a blanket and tried to sleep.

The night passed slowly. The clouds, which lay heavy above the three travellers, driftly lazily across the sky, sometimes parting enough for the moon’s silver rays to shine down upon the countryside only to hide them again in the next moment. The forest was almost dead with the winter, but there were some animals still in residence, and occasionally their soft sounds would pierce through the trees eerily.

The hour of midnight was drawing near when Mystia rose and walked to where Nightfall sat, head held high and white eyes alert, guarding the camp. He was surprised to see her there, for he had thought her long since asleep.

"You sleep not, Highness?" he asked.

"I find the ground a harder bed than that to which I am accustomed," answered the princess as she sat down.

"Highness, lean upon my side. I cannot be harder, perhaps might be softer, and, at any rate, can be no colder than the ground."

"Thank you, Nightfall," she said as she leaned against him.

A moment of silence passed, before she stirred.

"I have spoken to Orion very rarely in the last two years," she stated, "for loath my mother was that I should ever have contact with one such as he. You, however, have ever been his closest companion, and perhaps you can tell me how he fares."

"In some matters he seems well, Highness; in others he seems not well," answered the griffin. "He takes both command and rebuke in silence. He does all which he is asked. He is the model of a servant and a soldier, yet he is very silent and very sad."

"A far cry from the wandering warrior who once saved me from the hands of Kozan....

"Tell me something, Nightfall. You yourself say that Orion is sad and silent, and I have seen as much with my own eyes. Why then, seeing the burden he carries, does he continue in his service to Nor?"

"Do you not remember the vow he took to serve and protect the royal house of Nor, though that service may claim his very life?"

"But why made he such a vow at all, seeing it has made him so unhappy?" she cried, sitting up.

"Your enemies are his enemies, and you wars are his wars."

"And is the shedding of blood his only reason for serving Nor?" Mystia demanded. Her large, black eyes seemed to plead for a certain answer, but Nightfall was a griffin young in years who had yet to truly learn the ways of humans--much less the ways of women--and so her silent question escaped him.

"Am I a seer to search and know all that transpires in the heart and mind of a man?"

"So you know nothing?"

"I know only what Orion has told me, and the answer to your question is something which he has kept to himself, or, if he has enlightened anyone, it has not been me."

"Then so be it," Mystia murmered has she leaned back against Nightfall's side.

"He is a strange man; is he not?" she added softly. "With eyes like those of a specter and blood as clear as crystal but with a heart more noble and courageous than many a human in Lairannare. A man who cannot touch magic and yet who cannot be touched by magic. Certes he is a strange man."

She said no more that night but fell asleep, her head resting upon Nightfall's warm, soft side, as the griffin kept watch over the small camp.

Mystia and Orion awoke at the break of dawn and were faced with a beautiful morning. The sun shone brightly through the trees, and the forest was alive with the sounds of the birds that had remained through the winter.

They ate a light and hurried breakfast and prepared to leave, but, before they continued on their journey, Orion drew the princess away from the camp to a place where, though Nightfall could see them, he could not overhear their words.

"Your Highness," the warrior said in a low voice, "what in the Three Realms possessed you to give me your soul stone, and why didn’t you tell me what it was? I deserve no such gift as this, and 'tis dangerous for me to possess it. I’m a man of war, and were I to be overcome, your stone could fall into the hands of ones who ought not possess it. Please, Your Highness, take it back, for I’ve no desire to be the means by which it falls into the hands of those who do evil."

"Do you truly wish to return it?" she asked.

"I am your servant and will do whatever you command me," Orion stated.

"Then it would seem we are rather at an impasse, seeing I would have you decide but you would have me," she said, trying to sound light-hearted.

"Your Highness," Orion murmured reproachfully.

She looked up at him, fully serious.

"I wish you to have it,” she told him quietly. "I understand the risk inherent in giving it to you, and if you don't want it then I will take it back, but I wish you to have it." She looked away, suddenly embarrassed, and let her gaze travel idly across the clearing. "It is the only thing I have to give that is truly mine."

For a moment Orion stood still, not knowing how to respond, painfully cognizant of how dangerous it was for her if he kept her ring yet struck forcefully by her active desire that he should keep it.

Finally, he bowed his head and replied, "I will do as you wish. I shall keep your stone and do all that is within my power to keep it from falling into the hands of wicked men."

Without further words they returned to Nightfall who had stood patiently by as they had conversed, and once more they began their journey to Zenas’ home.

Far did they fly over hills and plains, lakes and rivers, saying nothing as they went, for both were wrapped up in their separate reflections. What precisely Orion thought cannot be known, but they were troubling and kept his features grim and solemn. For Mystia's part, she had finally worked up the courage to open her eyes. Once she did so, she could not keep from gazing down upon the ever-changing landscape beneath her. She had but once before been outside the country of Nor, and that had been during the summer. Now, however, winter yet reigned and afforded her a chance to see things which she had hitherto only heard of and imagined. Never before had she seen entire forests laid bare of all their leaves and covered with a blanket of snow. Never had she seen lakes frozen over with ice or whole plains of snow sparkling in the light of the sun. She was freezing to be sure--the cloak she wore did little to hold back the cold--but she barely noticed it, such was her wonder.

The sun was several hours past its zenith before the princess' amazement and the warrior's grim thoughts were arrested as the Mountains of Lathinor appeared on the horizon. They stood tall and imposing, bathed in the light of the sun. They were, by far, the tallest of the mountain ranges in Lairannare, but, had they not been the tallest, yet would they have been the most grand, for, with nary a hill to announce their beginning, the mountains shot up thousands of feet almost perpendicular to the ground.

It was said that once, thousands of years ago, those mountains, like all the land about them, had been smooth and level. In those days there arose a great prince named Balor who possessed magic power unlike any who had ever come before him. He ruled many countries and even the greatest kings and queens paid homage to him.

Balor followed the path of wickedness, and he was not content to rule only that which he had been given authority over or to wield merely such power as had been given him--no matter that both were extensive. He searched out the darkest and most mystical forms of magic--magic so evil few dared work it. He raised an army so great that its like had never before been seen in Lairannare, filling the land with ware, forcing all to bow before him, and crushing all who stood stood in his path.

But even after all Lairannare served him he was not satisfied. He turned his eyes to the Realm of Magic and the Realm of the Heavens--to Keiliornare and Belunare--and in his heart he lusted after them and all the power they could bring him.

Yet no matter how greatly he desired it, Keiliornare and Belunare could not be taken by his mere army of Earth. Great his army may have been, but even it was not that strong. But Balor's desire would not be appeased; he would rule Belunare and Keiliornare.

Filled with a knowledge and power he should never have possessed, he went and stood upon the Plains of Adalrick, and, using words he should never have spoken, he called forth the dead from Elmorran. The spirits, freed from their torment, rushed forth from the pits of darkness. Terrifying, twisted creatures they were--dead and yet alive, with only one desire: the death of all. Balor cried out commands for them to follow him, but who was he to think that they would obey him? They turned and began to wreak havoc upon Lairannare.

Think not, however, that during the whole of that time in which Balor had conquered and ruled over the Realm of Earth, not one man had risen up to oppose him. Vallendar--a child of the hated race known as the Shallee--rose up against him. He gathered together a band of men, and, even as Balor, with his army, journeyed to the Plains of Adalrick to call up the dead, Vallendar brought his followers there to stop him. The two armies stood stretched out across the vast plain, the wind rushing over them, their weapons glinting in the sunlight.

Suddenly, Balor threw out his arms and shrieked the fateful words of sorcery, which summoned the dead, and, as the spirits of all of those who had fallen into Elmorran rose up out of that dark and evil place, terror fell upon the hearts of the warriors until even the mightiest of them fled. Vallendar alone remained, the only one who dared challenge the accursed spirits. One against many was he, but, though they had all the power of evil at their command, he, a child of a hated race, held within him the power of Joretham.

Firmly did he stand and fight against them, and, though they struggled with all their might, he defeated them and sent them back whence they had come. Then he turned upon Balor who had fled in terror at what he had brought about, and he--Vallendar--slew him.

Thus was Balor defeated and the spirits of Elmorran banished once again from the Three Realms, but ever after the Plains of Adalrick would bear the scars of that great battle. Nevermore would that place be called Adalrick but would instead be named Lathinor--"struggle"--for thereon had the greatest of all struggles been waged.

As he approached the mountains, Nightfall lifted up his voice in a shrieking cry of triumph. He rose high into the sky, and seemed to hang, with Orion and Mystia upon his back, momentarily at the apex of his ascent, before he went hurtling with breathtaking speed back down. Mystia was in terror, holding tightly to Orion, but she was laughing with joy, for she, like Nightfall, felt the air of victory imbued in Lathinor. It was as though nothing evil or unjust could ever enter that place again.

Nightfall sped through the tall mountains, until he came to one that was in the midst of all the others. From high atop its cloud-covered peak poured a waterfall. It was by no means broad, but it was high beyond imagination, and Mystia could only look in awe upon it. It was not until Orion had begun to slide off of Nightfall's back that she realized they had landed.

"Orion," said she softly when he had helped her to the ground, "never have I seen anything as wondrous as this place.

"Of course," she continued when she had thought for a moment, "I’ve seen precious little of anything."

"Far and wide have I traveled over Lairannare, Your Highness," said Orion, "and to me has the privilege to look upon Keiliornare been granted. But, for all the things I’ve beheld, Lathinor is the greatest, save for one place."

"And what is that?" asked Mystia, gazing up at him.

"The place in which the rulers of Deithanara gather together in the Council of the Three Realms."

Mystia looked at him in amazement, not certain what to say. Orion, for his part, spoke as if he laid claim to no great thing. He, in fact, did not even look at her but instead continued to gaze at the panoramic view before him.

"You have seen where the Council meets?" breathed Mystia in awe.

"Yes, Your Highness," he replied as he looked down upon her. "Twice, in fact--once when I was a child so young it's a wonder I still remember it, and once when I was eighteen years of age.

"But enough of this, for I see you're cold. 'Tis time we met Zenas."

He led her though a small door, which, up until that point, had remained hidden in the stark shadows caused by the bright light and the tall mountains. Mystia found herself in a wide, open cavern, and, though she searched with all her might, she could find no sign of life.

"Zenas!" Orion cried. His voice echoed off the stone walls, but there was no answer. He shouted the name again, but still there was no reply. He opened his mouth to cry a third time, but stopped short when, from one of the dark recesses of the cave, a voice could be faintly heard. It grew steadily nearer until the words could be discerned.

"...but wake ye up from y’r a’ternoo’ nap seekin' shelter," the voice grumbled. "And ne’er with so much as a 'please' they walk righ’ in an' make ‘emselves comfortable in front o' y’r fire and fill their fat stomachs with y’r food, and then withou’ so much as a 'thank ye' they leave, takin' y’r best horse while they're at it."

An old man came into view around a large stone. He was small, and the fact that he was hunched over with age did nothing to increase his stature. His hair was entirely silver, and his beard flowed down almost to his waist. His garb was completely gray save for the black belt fastened around his waist. In his hand he held a thick wooden staff.

Zenas--for that was who the old man was--continued on with his muttered complaints during the entire time it took him to cross the cavern, and it was not until he came within three feet of Orion and Mystia that he actually looked to see who it was that had called his name. When he did, his entire demeanor changed.

"Orion, m' boy!" he cried out in delight. "How be ye?! By the Powers I’ve missed ye." He turned to Mystia and said in a voice somewhere between awe and delight, "And ye brought a woman with ye too. And what a woman." He bowed low--no small task when one considered how bent he was already--and said, "Welcome, m' lady. Though ye cover yourself with a veil, still do y’r eyes--so dark and radiant--betray a beauty which shines above thato' other women. The greatest poet in Deithanara could ne’er find words t' give ye half the justice ye deserve. How then can I, a simple man, find words t' describe y’r beauty?" Suddenly, through some working of magic, he held a dark red rose in his hand. "Please, m' lady, take this as a token o' my esteem, though y’r beauty far outshines this simple flower."

"Thank you," Mystia said as she curtsied and took the rose. "Few times if ever have I received such a fair gift." Neither Zenas nor Orion could see that beneath her veil she was laughing silently.

"Tha’ is th’ greatest compliment I’ve e’er received," Zenas said as he kissed her hand. He could have praised Mystia for hours had not Orion interrupted.

"Zenas," the warrior spoke, "we need your help."

"Anything t' help so beautiful a woman," Zenas murmered.

"This is Princess Mystia of Nor...."

"Your Royal Highness," Zenas said as he bowed even lower than the first time and gave Mystia another rose. "Honored I am by y’r presence."

"Princess Mystia is in..." Orion began, but Zenas continued speaking.

"It has always been rumored ye were th’ most beautiful woman in Deithanara," Zenas told her, "but I ne’er believed it 'til now."

"Phyre is..." Orion said louder, but still Zenas continued speaking.

"Now I see what I’ve heard does ye no credit. Ye truly are..."

"Zenas!" Orion exclaimed. "The princess is beautiful and none deny it, but this is not the most appropriate time to speak of it! Please, let me continue."

"Ye have m' utmost attention, lad," Zenas said, not turning his eyes from Mystia.

"I have no time to tell the tale in its entirety," Orion began, "but suffice it to say the dragon Phyre desires to kill her, and 'tis my duty to see he does not have her. I, however, have certain tasks I must fulfill without delay. She can't accompany me, and I need someplace safe for her to..."

"She can stay here," Zenas suggested, even before Orion had finished his sentence. "By all means let her stay here."

"Thank you," Orion breathed in relief.

"Yes," Mystia said softly, "thank you."

Zenas turned his eyes from Mystia and looked at Orion. "Will ye be needin' any food?"

"If you have any to give it would be appreciated," the warrior answered.

Zenas laughed. "O' course I have food t' give. Especially when ye're th' one I'm givin' it to."

The old man turned around and began to walk back the way he had come. Orion and Mystia followed, and the old man led them behind the large rock he had come from and into a small room. A cheery fire burned in a fireplace which had been cut into the rocky wall, and the whole room was lit with flickering oranges and yellows. From a metal hook within the fireplace, hung a large iron pot, in which boiled an unknown substance.

The wizard crossed to the larder and pulled out a loaf of bread, some cheese, and some fruit. He then wrapped them all up in a large cloth and gave it, along with a skin filled with water, to Orion.

"I have nothin' t' give Nightfall," Zenas said. "I hope he isna too hungry. I feel bad enough already tha’ he canna even fi’ through th’ ca’ern door, but now I canna give him anythin' t' eat either."

"Griffins are hardy folk. Nightfall is able to fend for himself," Orion assured him as he took the napkin of food Zenas held.

"I hope ye're right."

"I regret I can’t stay longer," Orion told him, "but I have much to do and little time in which to do it."

"I quite understand, lad," said Zenas, as he sat down at the table, "and I wish ye th’ best o' luck." He would have said something more, but he suddenly realized the contents of his metal pot were boiling over into the fire.

"Confound this bleedin' thing!" he cried as he rushed over to rescue it before any more was lost.

"What a curious man," said Mystia laughingly, as they walked back to Nightfall.

"He is rather absent-minded and no small bit eccentric, Your Highness," admitted Orion, "but he has strong magical powers and great knowledge. Phyre can't enter these mountains, and I think that Zenas is strong enough to protect you from any other enemy which might discover your presence."

"Thank you, Orion. During the time that you’ve been with us of Nor you’ve proven yourself to be the best of servants and the greatest of friends."

Orion smiled and bowed his head to her.

Silently they walked out into the cold mountain air, and Orion mounted Nightfall.

Before they could leave, Mystia opened her mouth and spoke again. "Where are you going, and how long will it be until you return?"

"I go first to seek help from Queen Eagle, and after that I want to return to Nortath's Fury and learn the extent of Nor's defeat," answered Orion. "It should only take a few days, a week at the most, and I’ll return as soon as I possibly can."

"I wish you luck, Orion, for that’s all I can do."

"You are too kind to me, Princess," he told her.

"Nay," she said, "if anything, I’m not kind enough."

Then, before he or she could say another word, Nightfall leapt into the air. As they flew away, Orion looked long upon Mystia, and he thought then that there was nothing he would not do for she who was so noble and beautiful.

Chapter 4 - Times of Trouble

2005-09-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

In times of peace friends abound, but in times of trouble few are found.

--Vallendar

The country of Kerril was not truly a country at all but rather a very large forest. It was ruled by one of the three most eminent people in Lairannare, namely, Tnaka who was one of the two Lesser Powers. He was a wood elf who ruled a kingdom of wood elves, but she who sat at his side upon the throne of the queen was young Eagle of the sky elves. Eagle may have sat upon the throne, but she did not help her husband rule the country. She sat, silent and humb, letting her husband do the leading.

Night had already fallen upon the forest kingdom when Queen Eagle entered her chambers. She came alone, for she disliked being waited upon. The main room of her chambers was plain with a simple, blue carpet upon the floor and a wooden table in the center. There was a well-sized fireplace, and upon the wall hung a few paintings, but, for the room of a queen, it was very un-adorned. When Eagle entered she set silently about lighting the many candles, which rested in various brass holders and wall sconces.

The queen had a beautiful face, what with her long blonde hair, large gray eyes, soft pink lips, and the small, delicate features typical of the elven races. But, comely, though she was, she was also very sad, and her sadness was made but more pronounced by the fact that she was only nineteen years of age--a time which should have been filled with joy.

Queen Eagle had just begun to light another of the many candles in her chambers when she heard a sound behind her. She spun around and found herself looking up at a hulking man with long, wild, auburn hair and eyes like those of a magic beast. She opened her mouth to scream but stopped short when, instead of attacking her, he knelt down before her and said reverently, "Your Majesty."

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my chambers?" Her voice was sharp and her gray eyes wide, as she backed away from him.

"Men call me 'Orion', Your Majesty," he answered, rising. "Fear not, for I come not to harm you but to seek your aid on behalf of the country of Nor and of Prince Gideone."

She stood still and stared at him, each moment the fear growing less and less until finally, her face was a stony mask of impassivity. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold. "What mean Gideone and Nor to me?"

"Are you not she who once spoke so boldly against the Powers? And are you not she who was once betrothed to Prince Gideone? And are you not she who, even now, leads a secret group of people in rebellion against the Powers?" answered Orion.

Eagle was silent, as she regarded him closely.

"True it is I once spoke against the Powers," she finally said, "and true it is that I was once betrothed to Gideone, but what makes you think I lead a rebellion against the Powers? Is not my husband a Power? Perhaps you’ve been sent by one of my enemies in order to find something that would turn my lord against me."

"I have not come from your enemies, Majesty."

"'Tis only a fool who takes a man at his word. Prove to me you come from Gideone."

"I know that about the prince's neck there hangs a golden amulet which is in the shape of the feather of an eagle. Inlaid within it is a small diamond. The prince showed it once to me, saying as he did that it was you who gave it to him."

She looked upon him unconvinced so Orion continued. "I know also that once, several years ago, in the county of Sha-Lalana, on a night when the moon shone full, you were given a second name by a man who loved you."

Her face did not even twitch, and she asked coolly, "And what was that name?"

"'Honoria', for he who gave it said you were a woman of honor."

"And if, as he did say, I am a woman of honor why ask you succor of me?" she questioned as she turned back to lighting her candles. "For it would be dishonorable of me to aid the enemies of my lord."

"That keeps you not from doing it," replied Orion.

"And how would you know what I do?"

"Since your earliest days in the court of your father word of you has spread throughout Lairannare. There are few who know not that at one time you opposed the Powers.

"Many times have I been sent by Prince Gideone to look upon you and to see if you do well, for the corridors and secrets of Tnaka's palace are not unknown to me. I’ve watched silently and learned much, and I’m convinced that a woman such as you would not turn her back upon all she deemed right and honorable simply because her husband had not the same beliefs as she."

Her voice was cold and soft. "What have the people of Nor ever done for me that I should lend them aid in their hour of trouble?"

"Is not Prince Gideone the one you love, Majesty?"

"And what did loving him bring me?" There was a tinge of anger to her voice. "He spoke of love, but his words were hollow. I promised him my heart, and in return he would not even say a word in protest when I was given to Tnaka. Now he has not even the courage to come to Kerril himself, but sends some servant in his stead. I will not help a spineless dog."

"Prince Gideone is no spineless dog, Your Majesty," protested Orion. "He’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever met."

"Then you’ve met precious few men."

"On the contrary, Majesty, I’ve met many men both great and small." He paused for a moment then continued, "I can but speak for my own actions and know not the reasons for those of others, but I know that Prince Gideone loves you. Perhaps he had some plan by which he’d meant to rescue you, but which was defeated before you learned anything of it; I know not, but this I do know: Prince Gideone does love you, for he has said as much to me, and many times have I seen him with his face turned toward the south where he knows you abide."

Her gaze, so studiously focused on the candles she was lighting, flicked to him. "What are words and what are looks when no actions spring from them?" she asked. "I will not help him." She walked to another candle stand, and, as she lit the candle, she said almost as an afterthought, "Even were I desirous to lend him aid, and even had I the means to do so, I could not, for my lord and I shall shortly journey to Jocthreal that we might visit Queen Provenna."

Orion began to speak again, but she cut him off. "I serve the Powers now. Leave this place quickly, else I shall be forced to call the guards."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Orion murmured as he bowed. Silently, he turned and left by whatever means it was he had entered.

* * *

"She will not help us," Orion informed Nightfall, when he had rejoined the griffin.

Nightfall glanced about them at the deep shadows of the Forest of Kerril. "Where go we now?"

"Nortath's Fury, for I would see whether the fortress there has fallen. Come," he cast his gaze upward to the sky, "it may be night, but it would be best to leave this place as soon as possible."

They flew for several hours, until they crossed over a wide river, which snaked its way through the forest, at which point they landed and made their camp at the edge of a small glade. Orion set about making a fire as Nightfall prowled throughout the trees in search of food. The warrior proved to be more successful in his venture than was the griffin in his, and soon they both sat beside a warm blaze. For many minutes they sat there in silence. Orion made no movement to eat or to lie down and sleep. He simply sat and stared into the flames.

After a long moment, Nightfall broke the stillness. "Orion," he said, with his head tilted as it always was when he was about to ask a question, "I know why I eat not, but I do not know why you don’t."

"I have no stomach for food," answered Orion dully.

Nightfall blinked his large, white eyes. "Why?"

His voice was very soft as he said, "What am I to say to the princess when it comes time to tell her there are none who’ll fight to keep her country from falling and her people from being sold into slavery?"

"You could tell her the truth," answered Nightfall, not knowing what else to say.

"Would that there were another man to tell her, for I wish not to be the one to cause her sorrow." His eyes were still turned to the fire, but he seemed to be looking at something very far off, and he spoke again in sad and subdued tones, "One as fair and innocent as she shouldn’t be made to feel the cold harshness of war or the baseness of men."

"You speak truth," the griffin answered with a sad nod of his head. "Would that it were so, but this land is a dark and imperfect place where that which is just and true does not always reign." He brightened a little. "One day, 'tis said, the Realms of Deithanara shall be made perfect once again when He who made them returns, but until then we have but the promise that those who chase after wickedness shall be banished to Elmorran upon their deaths, while we who follow that which is righteous shall enter Lothiel."

"Lothiel," said Orion with a bitter and angry laugh, but after doing so he fell silent.

"Tell me of Lothiel," he said, after a moment. "Certes you must know more than many, for have you not said yourself your father guards the gates to that place?"

"Yea, have I said so," answered Nightfall, "and, because 'tis you who ask and none other, I shall tell you that which you desire to know."

His shiny black coat gleamed in the orange glow of the fire, and his croaking eagle voice, rising and falling with a melody all its own, rose through the still and silent night. "Never have I seen it, and never shall I until my death, but my father spoke once of it to me. It lies not in Deithanara but is indeed outside the Three Realms. 'Tis a place of glory and majesty that no mortal can truly comprehend." And thus did he begin.

It would be impossible to repeat his words. He spoke of a place so beautiful and peaceful and glorious that it made Orion's heart ache with longing, but, throughout the whole time the griffin spoke, Orion would not allow his face to betray any emotion. He sat and stared deeply into the flickering fire, and not once did he move. He stayed like that for a long time after Nightfall ceased to speak, but finally he raised his eyes to the griffin and gave a slight smile. It was filled with sadness, and yet it bore also a hint of hope--if only very small.

"'Tis a fair land of which you speak," he said softly, "and it is good that one as noble and beautiful as Princess Mystia will one day abide in a place that is so worthy of her." His eyes returned to the fire, and he smiled that sad yet hopeful smile once again. "And who knows," he continued, "but that I also might one day gaze upon it also." Nightfall could only tilt his head and blink his eyes in confusion, for he did not understand what Orion meant by his words.

The warrior said nothing more but silently wrapped himself in a blanket and went to sleep.

The light of the early morning sun shone through the trees and fell upon Orion and Nightfall where they slept, side by side. They awoke presently and silently went about preparing for their departure. Nightfall still asked no questions, and Orion seemed disinclined to speak upon his own.

Soon all was made ready, and the griffin, with Orion upon his back, once again leapt into the air. The flight to Nortath's Fury was long, and throughout it neither said a word, for both were wrapped in their own silent thoughts.

Twilight was turning to night when they arrived at the Mountains of Shem-Joloch. Concealed by the long shadows of the mountains Orion and the griffin were able to creep up unnoticed to the Caves of Nortath's Fury. In front of the main entrance to the caves there could be seen two soldiers standing guard, and through the cool night air drifted the sound of raucous celebrating.

"Wait here," Orion murmured to Nightfall, as he pulled from one of the packs a dark, gray cloak.

He did not make his way toward the main entrance of the caves but instead began to edge around and to the left of it, for there were many ways into Nortath's Fury, most of which Orion knew. After several minutes of quiet creeping, he found himself infront of one of those hidden entrances. Silently, he took off his red, dragon-scale armor and placed it in a small crevice in the rocks and put on his long, gray cloak, so as to hide his face beneath its cowl, then, after taking a deep breath, he entered through the small opening and stepped into the darkness beyond.

It was practically impossible for him to see even his hand in front of his face. Fortunately, he knew Nortath's Fury well enough to be able to grope his way through the darkness to where he knew an opening to one of the larger caverns was. His journey through the blackness began well enough, but, after he tripped over some rocks, tumbled down a rather steeply slanting incline, and struck his head on a particularly large stalactite, he found himself wishing for a torch to light his way. He had just begun to mutter some rather strong words when he tripped over yet another object which lay across his path. It was during the time that he was saying some more-than-strong words that the thing over which he had tripped began cursing as well. It was then the warrior realized how close he was to his destination.

"Sorry," he whispered to the Delovachian over whom he had tripped. "I meant no harm. Hold your peace."

The Delovachian, however, did not cease his snarls of annoyance and was just in the process of saying something about his armor when Orion tripped over that also.

He picked himself up, offered a quick word of apology for disarranging the man's armor, then began to once more grope his way forward.

He suddenly stopped and thought for a moment, then with one quick motion turned around, drew his dagger, and stabbed the man in the heart.

The warrior wiped his knife off and re-sheathed it, then proceeded to put on the Delovachian's armor, methodically adjusting each piece by feel in the darkness of the tunnel. It never even occurred to him to wonder why he had bothered to apologize for tripping over the Delovachian and his armor when, in the next minute, he had returned, killed him, and stolen his armor. He merely completed his disguise by picking up the large battle-axe that had lain next to the armor, then continued along the passage.

He ran into only two more stalactites before he reached the entrance to the large cavern, which had been his goal. The light of countless, smoking torches revealed the throng of Delovachian soldiers spread out through the caverns, riotously celebrating their slaughter of Nor. All were drunk, and Orion knew he would not learn anything of value from them. As his gaze wandered over the crowd it came to rest upon two soldiers who seemed to be having a serious discussion. One of them was obviously a man of high rank, but Orion could not tell who or of what rank the other was. Whoever the other was, he appeared to be a Magic of some sort, for he was clothed in a long, flowing black cloak, the cowl of which was drawn up to hide his face. Only his flashing green eyes could be seen.

Orion made his way through the throng so that he could hear what was being said between the two men. As he neared them he heard the cowled man say "...Abiel, the son of King Kozan, and yet you dare question my words, General?"

"But, Highness," said the general who was unfortunate enough to come under Abiel's withering glare, "th' Dark Sorcerer left ye t' lead th' army in his absence, and if he returns and finds ye gone there's no knowin' what his anger’ll be."

"And what care I for his anger? He can do nothing to me. I, on the other hand," Abiel added darkly, "can do a great deal to you."

"But, Highness," pleaded the general in one last attempt to change his commander's mind, "I tell ye plainly: Gideone is dead. I was standin' almost righ’ next t' him when ye shot him. I saw him fall."

"But before he fell I saw him fight with a strength and a fury far greater than any Delovachian's, and I saw him being dragged off the battlefield by soldiers who took every precaution to see he was not struck again. I won't believe Gideone is dead until I hold his severed head in my hands."

"Very well," returned the general sullenly. Then, seeing that further argument was useless, he turned and sulked off.

Orion turned to go as well.

"You!" growled Abiel as he laid a hand on Orion's shoulder.

"Who? Me?" asked a startled Orion as the prince spun him around.

"Why aren’t getting drunk like everyone else?" demanded Abiel. Orion paused for a few seconds and waited for his mind to catch up with this sudden turn of events.

"Sir," he finally said, "I would not say that they are 'getting drunk', for I would say they’re drunk already. So, seeing that they’re all ready drunk, I cannot now be 'getting drunk' with them."

Abiel opened his mouth to say something in reply, then stopped. He had been looking intently at Orion and had just caught a glimpse of his bright blue eyes through the holes in his helmet.

"Orion!" he cried in surprise. He reached out and tried to pull the helmet from Orion’s head, but his hands closed upon thin air, for, even as he reached forward, the auburn-haired warrior, suddenly disappeared in a swirl of blue and gold dust. Abiel and the others who had witnessed the sight were left staring in surprise at the empty spot where Orion had stood.

"There’s dark magic afoot here," murmured the prince, frowning, but despite his grim foreboding, he turned quickly and departed; not even magic of the strangest kind would keep him from hunting down his greatest enemy, Prince Gideone of Nor.

Chapter 5 - The Forest of Raia-Torell

2005-09-04T16:00:00.000-07:00

Thus spoke Abiel, "Run where you will, Gideone, but you cannot hide. For I swear by the blood of Balor I will have my revenge."

The morning upon which Gideone awoke was cold and heartless. The sky was gray and overcast, and a cold, relentless mist filled the air. The prince found himself lying upon the ground surrounded by tall trees that looked gray in the dull light. He took a deep breath and groaned as his chest began to throb with pain.

"Your Highness?" he heard a voice beside him say.

"Stavros?" he moaned when he saw to whom the voice belonged.

"How feel you?" Stavros asked.

Gideone groaned as he remembered all that had happened to him. "I’ve just fought the worst battle of my whole life. I’ve seen my father killed, my people slaughtered, the man whom I thought to be my bravest and most trusted servant run in fear, and I myself was shot. I feel wonderful."

"I‘m sorry, Your Highness."

"You’re older than I, Stavros," said Gideone as he struggled to sit up. "Surely by now you must know that’s the way of war."

With Stavros' help he was able to finish sitting up. He looked around slowly and saw Vayan, standing nearby next to three horses.

The prince placed his hand over his wound and said, "When that arrow pierced me, I thought surely I was a dead man. How is it I still live?"

There was a moment of troubled silence before Stavros spoke, "In sooth, I know not why, Your Highness, for the arrow which struck you was enchanted and sorely wounded you. It's obvious there’s some type of magic at work here, protecting you, but..." His voice trailed off, and his troubled look told Gideone there was something important left unsaid.

"What is it?" demanded the prince.

"Whatever the magic which keeps you alive is, it’s slowly being overcome. The spell placed upon the arrow, if not placed by a Power, was placed, at the least, by an arch-mage." Stavros took a breath and continued, "If you don’t find someone with the power to remove the spell, you will die."

Gideone was silent as the full meaning of Stavros' words sank in. "I am dying, and none but a Power or an arch-mage can save me.”

Stavros nodded his head, a grim look upon his face.

"Then I must find an arch-mage," he concluded, more to himself than to Stavros and Vayan.

"A difficult task, considering all the arch-mages serve the Powers, and one which would perhaps prove fruitless, considering we know not whether even an arch-mage has the power to heal you," replied Stavros, ever the optimist.

"And what would you have me do?" demanded Gideone. "Surrender myself to death?"

Stavros said nothing.

There was a brief pause as Gideone turned his options over in his mind. "Tmalion is an arch-mage."

"But, Your Majesty!" Stavros exclaimed. "He's aligned with the Powers!"

"All the arch-mages are aligned with the Powers. Tmalion, at least, was once our ally, and perhaps he'll be moved by pity at the sight of our state and offer us aid."

"More likely, Your Highness, he’ll take you and give you over to the Powers," replied Stavros with vehemence. "Out of all who might be able to save you I would trust him the least."

"Who else would you have me turn to?"

Stavros opened his mouth to answer, but Gideone cut him off. "Tmalion may be allied with the Powers, but perhaps he’s not as loyal to them as one might think. Or forget you I was once to marry his daughter?" He said those last words bitterly. "Stay here if you will--I wish not to force any man to accompany me--but I, myself, will journey to the Mountains of Scalavori."

"I f’r one would travel with ye wherever ye go," declared Vayan who had been only a silent spectator up until that point.

Gideone turned to look at Vayan then cast a sly look back at Stavros. "Well, Stavros, it seems Delovachia can provide me with better servants than can Nor.”

"I never said I wouldn't go, Your Highness," replied Stavros, "but I think it foolish to hope we'll ever be allowed to enter Scalavori--elves are a horribly solitary race--and, even if we do, Tmalion is certain to kill me and Vayan and take you captive so he can give you to the Powers."

"You have the better part of the bargain I would say."

Stavros only sighed.

"Well," said Gideone as he rose, "our country has been destroyed, our people slaughtered, I, the heir to the throne of Nor, am mortally wounded, and we are now embarking upon what, most likely, is a suicide mission. I see nothing to keep us from being optimistic."

"I see much," muttered Stavros under his breath. Gideone cast him a look but merely said, "Come on."

He began to walk toward the horses but stopped and, turning, said, "By the bye, where are we?"

"The Forest of Raia-Torell," answered Stavros as he too walked toward the horses.

Many stories were told of the Forest of Raia-Torell--most of them contradictory. Some would have people believe the forest was inhabited by the most noble and benevolent of wood elves. Others claimed it was an abode of utter evil. Evil or no, it was a large forest, and Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan could not afford the time it would take to make their way around it so they were forced to go through it.

The day remained cold and wet, and Gideone was glad he had not only a warm tunic but a warm cloak as well. It was as he was thinking this that he realized the tunic he wore was not his own. He looked over at Stavros and for the first time noticed that beneath his cloak he wore no shirt.

"Stavros," cried Gideone, "you gave me your tunic."

"I thought it only right, considering 'twas I who tore the one you wore," answered Stavros.

Gideone could think of no answer save "Thank you," which he said right heartily.

They rode for the whole of the day, and the further they went the more certain did Gideone become that the forest was watching them. It had all the sights and sounds of any normal forest--the trees appeared to be natural and the birds sang as they did in any other forest--but there was a certain air of silent curiosity that pervaded Raia-Torell.

"I dislike this forest," said Stavros grimly.

"'Twas you who brought us first here," replied the prince.

"Aye, and I'm beginning to wish I had not."

"A forest is a forest; what could it possibly do to us?" continued Gideone, though, not a minute before, he also had been feeling not entirely comfortable beneath the eyes of Raia-Torell.

Their fears, however, seemed unfounded, for they traveled throughout the whole day and not once saw anything seemingly unnatural. Night fell at last, and Gideone was glad, for, though he had spoken not of it, his wound hurt him considerably. They quickly set up their camp then sat down to eat. As they ate their evening meal, they spoke and jested and laughed, for it was a way to keep their spirits up. Gideone tried to join in--he was not used to letting Stavros, who could be quite humorous when he so chose, tell a funnier story than he--but, though he tried, he did not entirely succeed. Vayan did not seem to notice, but Stavros, who, since the day of the prince's birth, had been with him, could tell that all was not as well as the prince would make it appear. Vayan was chosen to take the first watch, and Stavros and Gideone promptly lay down to go to sleep. Stavros made sure to say a few words about what ill he was sure would befall them during the night, and Gideone, though silently believing every word Stavros said, made sure to say that Stavros was out of his mind.

The forest that night was a grim and eerie place filled with a magic that seemed to creep and twist its way through the dark, hidden paths between the trees until it came upon the three men and completely surrounded them. It was in the midst of all this that Gideone slept and dreamed. He found himself once more upon the high walls of Zaren. The cries of men rose to him, and the stench of blood and death filled the air. The fires of the Dark Sorcerer rose into the sky, and the rain poured down upon all that was there. The prince looked down upon the horror laid out before him, and suddenly, as a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, he saw his father kneeling before the Dark Sorcerer.

"No!" Gideone cried as the sword of the Dark Sorcerer sliced through the air and cut through his father's body, and then Gideone found himself standing, not upon the battlements, but beside his father's prostrate form.

His mind screamed for him to awaken, but he could not do so, for the dream was not yet over. He raised his eyes to the sky above, and, as another flash of lightning lit the sky, he could see Orion upon Nightfall fleeing from the battle. Orion turn his head toward him. The warrior’s cold, blue eyes were filled with spite, and his mouth was turned up in a cruel, mocking smile.

"Coward!" the prince shrieked, his voice piercing the air and filling his ear.

Gideone awoke with a start, his heart pounding. He was covered with sweat, and his wound had begun to ache terribly.

"Highness," said Vayan in concern, "Are ye all right?"

"Yes," answered Gideone, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible. "I’m quite fine." With that he rolled over and tried to fall asleep again.

* * *

On that cold, dark night, fury raged not only in Gideone's dreams. Abiel, the dark prince of Delovachia, sat tall and proud upon his sable charger. A menacing figure he made with his long black cloak whipping in the wind. His face was hidden from view and only his flashing green eyes could be seen beneath his cowl. Before him stood fifteen dark cloaked warriors on horseback.

"It has been said you are the greatest of all the warriors of Delovachia," said Abiel, "and it has been said you are the strongest of the magicians of Delovachia." He looked at them darkly. “I expect you to prove this. If you don’t capture Gideone, I’ll kill every one of you.”

The magicians bowed their heads and, as one, said, “Yes, my lord.”

* * *

The sun rose, casting its warm light upon Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan. The darkness of the previous night was replaced by the most cheerful of mornings, and in the light of day, Gideone's spirits rose until they were quite high. He made up for his failure the night before to tell a more humorous story than Stavros. Indeed, he made up for it ten times over. One would not have thought the merry group winding its way through the forest was composed of men fleeing for their lives.

Gideone was in the middle of telling about an encounter he once had with a troll when Stavros interrupted. "You speak of trolls, Your Highness. Methinks we’ll shortly meet one face to face."

Gideone turned and looked upon what Stavros spoke of. Before him he saw a river cutting directly through the forest path, over which was a small bridge wide enough for only one man to cross at a time.

"Stavros," said Gideone, "I see a river and a bridge, but I see no troll."

"Bridges over rivers always mean trolls, Your Highness."

"You can smell a troll a mile away. I smell nothing."

"Perhaps he’s learned the advantages of bathing, Your Highness."

Gideone found the thought of a troll bathing particularly amusing and started to laugh.

"Laugh if you will,” Stavros told him, “but I still think a troll is there."

Gideone only laughed some more and dismounted. Stavros and Vayan also dismounted.

"And still think I there is no troll," declared Gideone as he began to walk to the bridge. He did draw his sword, however.

"We shall see," said Stavros calmly as he leaned against a tree.

When Gideone had reached the middle of the bridge, they did indeed see, for at that moment the largest, ugliest troll any of the three men had ever seen jumped out from beneath the bridge and opened his mouth in a roar that sprang from deep within his belly, echoed off the trees, and caused the three travellers’ eardrums to vibrate.

Stavros drew his sword and began to walk toward the beast, and, as he did so, he could not help but notice that, though the troll was very ugly, his fur was quite clean.

"Give me all your gold, and I might let you live," snarled the troll.

"We have no gold," answered Gideone truthfully.

The troll drew back at Gideone's answer, for this problem had never before presented itself. Gideone could only raise his eyebrow in an amused look as he watched the troll's demeanor go from fierce and terrifying to something far less than either.

"Give me all your armor then," growled the troll, as he once more became menacing. Gideone and Stavros looked at each other then turned back to the troll.

"What?" said Gideone, giving an incredulous look. "So we'll be all the easier to roast on a spit?"

The troll drew back again, for he could not remember having this problem before. Most travelers cowered at the mere sight of him and were on their knees begging for mercy at the smallest glimpse of his razor-sharp teeth. Of course, he had been hibernating all winter. Perhaps he was merely out of practice. At any rate, he was quite hungry and was not about to let his first meal of the season slip away.

"Now I have an ultimatum for you," said Gideone as he swung his sword about nonchalantly. "You must either let us pass, or we shall be forced to kill you."

The troll decided that now was the time to put his foot down. He bared his teeth and opened his mouth in the loudest, most terrifying roar that had ever rung throughout Raia-Torell.

Gideone jumped back and barely missed being sliced by the troll's long claws. Stavros and Vayan ran forward. The troll gave another roar and charged toward them. Gideone tried to strike him, but, even as he swung his sword, the troll struck him hard across the head. With a cry, the prince tumbled to the ground, where, for a moment, he could simply lie holding his hand to his head. He heard a loud cry followed by a huge splash, and, struggling to his knees, he caught sight of Vayan bobbing up and down in the river. He looked over at where Stavros and the troll battled. Blood was streaming from Stavros' arm, but it seemed not to bother him. With a cry Stavros sent his sword slicing through the troll's neck. The troll's head rolled from his shoulders, and his body fell limp to the ground.

Stavros stood up straight and looked around him, breathing heavily. Catching his breath slightly, he looked down at his wound; it was rather bloody but far from dangerous. He ran his hand over it, and it immediately closed up, leaving only a thin, white scar.

He walked over to where Gideone sat and asked, "Are you uninjured, Your Highness?"

"Stavros," said Gideone, "I have just had my head boxed by a creature who was, at least, two and a half times my weight; of course I’m fine."

Stavros placed his hand on Gideone's head, and held it there for a few moments. When he removed it, Gideone said, "Yes, that is definitely much better. Thank you, Stavros."

"'Tis only my duty, Your Highness."

Almost before he had finished speaking, there could be heard a loud splashing as Vayan tried desperately to pull himself out of the river. Luck, however, seemed not to be with him, for the river was deep and had a strong current, and the rocks were so slippery that, scarcely did he manage to pull himself up, he fell back in again. He made such a comic figure that Gideone and Stavros could not help but laugh. Stavros made his way over to the river, and, still laughing, held out his hand.

"Come on, son." He hauled Vayan out of the water, and for a moment Vayan could only stand, shivering, with his arms crossed as he looked at Gideone and Stavros with an expression that was a cross between the indignant and the amused.

They had little time to loiter, however, and quickly started on their way again. Their brief encounter with the troll had raised their spirits even more than they already had been, and nothing that day could lower them. They made excellent headway, all the while laughing and talking, until the sky grew gray then, finally, dark with the coming of night.

* * *

Abiel sat upon his horse beneath the gray sky and looked darkly out over the surrounding countryside. The forest of Raia-Torell loomed black and menacingly before him. He did not even glance at his fifteen magicians, for all his attention was focused on the forest before him where he knew Gideone was.

With a sharp, “Hiya!” he spurred his horse forward and, with his magicians close behind, plunged into the depths of the forest.

* * *

For Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan the night came on quickly, and they were forced to dismount and make camp. When dinner was over, Gideone rose and declared that he would take the first watch. He had expected Stavros to object on the grounds that he was wounded, but in this he was pleasantly surprised, for Stavros said nothing in objection. In fact, all he did was murmur "Good night, Your Highness," roll over, and fall asleep.

The night was very peaceful, and in the stillness and darkness Gideone found his thoughts turning from the duty of guarding the camp toward all of the things which had so recently taken place. He had pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, but now, in the stillness, they came rushing to the forefront. His father was killed, his kingdom destroyed, and his mother and his sister were no doubt taken captive by Kozan.

Well did he remember the day when, seventeen years before, he had gazed upon his newborn sister as she lay sleeping in her cradle. His father, King Ibrahim, had stood next to him and had spoken. "Son, look well upon your sister. Many will hate her, and, princess though she is, few will love or protect her. Help her, guide her, protect her, for she is the princess of Nor." But he failed in the trust his father had laid upon him, and Mystia, if she was not now dead, lay in the hands of the enemy.

His hand went to his chest and through the cloth of his tunic he could feel the amulet which hung from a chain around his neck. It brought to mind the other woman he had failed. He did not need to look upon the amulet, for well did he know its features. It was made of the purest gold, which was beautifully and perfectly wrought into the shape of an eagle's feather, and inlaid with a diamond, clear and flawless, which sparkled in the light. Even better than its form, knew he the features of she who had given it to him. She also had been lost to him.

He took the amulet out from beneath his tunic and held it up in the light. With the moon and the trees to bear witness he spoke softly. "I swear upon this amulet and by the one whom I love more than any other that I will lose nothing more. I will build another army, and I will regain her and my sister and my country. And if I do not do all which I vow may death take me." He brought the golden amulet to his lips, and, after he had kissed it, he hid it once more beneath his tunic.

Even as he leaned back against the tree, a large owl flew through the air and swooped down toward him. He started and jumped to his feet. It caused such a noise with the flapping of its wings that Stavros and Vayan awoke. A final squawk escaped its beak as it faded into the darkness of the forest shadows.

In less than a second Stavros, and Vayan were on their feet, and the three men looked at each other.

“Y’thin’ somethin’ frigh’ened i’?“ Vayan asked.

“I think we should leave,” Stavros said plainly, but, even as he spoke the sound of galloping horses cut through the trees. Through the shadows they could make out the dark figures of almost a score of riders. The three men started, hoping they could dash to their horses and escape, but there was not time. The riders drew up before Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan and held up their swords. The three men, in turn, drew their weapons.

"Fifteen of them and three of us," spat the prince. "The odds are almost in their favor."

"You always were one to jest, Gideone," said a cloaked figure, scornfully, as he pushed himself to the front of the men. Gideone recognized him immediately.

"And you, Abiel, could not jest if your life depended upon it," he replied with a sneer.

"You dare mock me?" cried Abiel.

"I would hardly call it daring; 'deigning' is a much better word."

"Mock this!" Abiel threw back the hood of his cloak. His whole face was a mass of scars. It was as if his skin had bubbled like boiling water only to be suddenly frozen in that shape. A long, deep, lurid scar stretched from one end of his forehead to the other, and his mouth was perpetually twisted in a hideous grin, the ghastliness of which was only heightened by the evil glint of his green eyes. Beneath his right eye the skin was shriveled and stretched so thin one could clearly see the bone beneath it.

"'Tis almost an improvement over your former looks," said Gideone when he had finished appraising Abiel‘s face. Stavros winced at what he knew was certain to follow.

"You did this to me!" shrieked Abiel. "And by Balor you shall pay!" He motioned with his hand and causing to spring up on the ground before him a wide circle of flames. Immediately, everything about it began to also catch fire, save for that which was in the center. The red glow of the dancing flames cast a sinister light on the men, horses, and surrounding trees.

"Enter the ring of fire, Gideone," said Abiel, a look of evil anticipation upon his face, "and let us duel." He drew his sword, jumped down from his horse, and took his place in the fiery ring. The light of the flames played off his twisted features and made him look like some terrible creature risen from the pits of Elmorran.

"Enter into the Circle," he hissed.

Gideone started forward, but he was stopped by Stavros who grabbed him by the arm and said, "No, Your Highness. ‘Tis wickedness."

“Unhand me.” The prince demanded as he pulled his arm from Stavros’ grasp. He started once more toward the Circle, but, even as he did so, a huge cry broke out from within the forest, and scores of arrows were suddenly shot from the cover of the trees. Abiel screamed in fury at this unexpected attack and ran toward the trees. He had almost reached them when he was suddenly thrown back by some unseen magic force. With a snarl of rage, he hurled himself once more toward them only to be thrown back again, this time with such force that his head struck the ground, and he was knocked unconscious.

"To the trees! To the trees!" unseen voices cried, and Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan did as they were urged.

In the darkness of the forest cover they looked back out, and, in the light of the fire which still burned, they saw the fifteen magicians, sorely pressed by their unseen attackers, pick up their unconscious leader and ride away as quickly as possible.

As the enemy disappeared, the three men turned and looked about them for those who had lent them aid. For a moment all was still and silent. Then, slowly, with scarcely a rustling of leaves, figures walked out from the darkness of the shadows into the soft light of the moon. Scores and scores there were, their faces small and delicate, their eyes large and light-colored, and their ears pointed. The tallest of them measured only slightly more than five feet. Their long, light-colored hair moved slightly in the soft breeze.

One of them stepped forward. From his long, light brown hair hung the claws and teeth of a dozen different woodland animals. He looked upon them with eyes that were the lightest, clearest color of blue imaginable. and with a voice which, though soft, could be clearly heard, he said, "I am Chzaros, king of the elves of Raia-Torell. Welcome to my kingdom."

Chapter 6 - The Council of the Three Realms

2005-09-04T15:59:00.000-07:00

And this is the law which Joretham set forth: When a creature of one Realm wrongs a creature of another Realm the Three Realms shall gather together in council and pass judgment over the one who has done wrong.

To be sure, Orion was somewhat startled to find himself disappearing in a swirling cloud of blue and gold dust, but he was far less surprised than any other man in his situation would have been. In fact, he was not even surprised that it had happened, for he had expected it would. He was merely startled at the suddenness of it.

The same could not be said of Nightfall, who had not expected to suddenly disappear in a swirl of dust, and who was far more than merely startled. When Orion first set eyes upon him, the fur on the griffin's back was sitting straight up, and his eyes were as wide a those of a cat who had a huge pack of dogs bearing down upon him. He looked wildly about until his gaze fell upon a rather amused Orion. He suddenly realized he looked completely foolish, and in less than a second he transformed from an utterly terrified griffin to one who was calmly preening himself as though he had not a care in the world.

"I say, Orion, where are we?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Why don’t you leave off trying to save face and look for yourself?" answered the warrior with a slight smile. Even as he spoke, Nightfall looked up, and his eyes instantly grew even wider than they had been when he was terrified, for he found himself in an immense cavern. The ceiling stretched hundreds upon hundreds of feet above the floor, and the walls were equally distant from each other. Every rock, every boulder, every pebble, every craggy edge of the walls, ceiling, and foor was formed of frosty crystal, each piece pulsating with an inner fire, throwing a rosy hue across the whole of the stretching room. The magic of the place was indescribably strong, and Nightfall knew the place in which he stood could not be of the Realm of Earth.

"The Crystal Caves," he whispered in awe.

There was not one creature of Deithanara who had not heard of the legendary Crystal Caves, for they were the place in which the Fire of Magic burned and where he who had once been the king of Keiliornare lived. It was a place Nightfall had never dreamed of seeing.

"A beautiful sight is it not?" Orion asked.

"It is," breathed the griffin in awe.

"Are you finished gazing?" a rich, deep voice suddenly asked, interrupting their reverie.

Nightfall started and turned quickly but found himself unable to see who had spoken. Even Orion, who knew what he sought, was hard pressed to find the source of the voice.

Nightfall gasped as he suddenly discerned the speaker. Curled up in the corner rested a great dragon formed entirely of crystal. His fore claws alone stretched longer than six feet, and one of these he stretched lazily as he gazed down at them with large, unblinking, blue eyes. For a moment, the griffin could only look in amazement at how blue the dragon's eyes were, and then, in disbelief, he turned and looked at Orion's own blue eyes. He cocked his head, blinked his large, white eyes, and turned back to the dragon who gave a rich deep laugh at Nightfall's shocked expression, then turned to Orion and said, "Orion, you were ever a scoundrel and a fool-hardy scoundrel at that, but it seems you have entered into an extraordinary amount of trouble even for yourself these last few days."

"War has a way of making that happen, Lyght," answered Orion.

The dragon opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Nightfall's amazed cry of, "You are Lyght?"

The great dragon turned and looked at him and said, "I am Lyght, but I know not what your name is. Enlighten me."

Nightfall bowed low before Lyght then began to speak quickly, "Lord, honored am I that one as noble and exalted as you should ask of me, lowly griffin that I am, my name.” He nodded his head in a short bow. “I am called 'Nightfall'." He ended by bowing even lower than he had at the start and staying in that position.

"Nightfall," repeated Lyght. "You are the son of Elavorn the white griffin."

The griffin straightened. "Yea, I am."

"'Tis good that one such as you should keep company with my son."

"Your son?!" Nightfall cried in surprise. Orion remained still and silent.

"Find you that so strange?" asked Lyght of the griffin.

"Exceedingly!"

Lyght laughed again. "'Tis a strange place in which we live. Perhaps you should stand by yourself and ponder that further, for I would speak privately with my son."

"Y-y-yes, my lord," stuttered Nightfall, who then bowed once more, and ran quickly toward the far end of the vast, crystal cavern.

Lyght lowered his head so he could better look upon Orion and said in a soft voice Nightfall could not discern, "Orion, you have caused for yourself much trouble."

"I know," the warrior answered soberly, "but was I to simply stand by and allow Phyre to murder the princess whom I’ve sworn to serve?"

“No, and yet...”

The great dragon was cut off by a sharp yelp from Nightfall. Orion looked over and stiffened, and a low growl escaped the crystal dragon’s throat, for, walking toward them across the wide crystal floor, was Phyre. Although he was in human form, the scars from his battle with Orion could be easily seen.

“Greetings. A pleasant evening it is.” Human form or not, Phyre managed to hiss his words.

“What are you doing here?” Lyght demanded.

“I’m doing Orion a favor.” With that, Phyre turned his back on Lyght and regarded the warrior.

“You’re incapable of doing anyone a favor, much less me,” Orion stated.

“Such contempt. But, you’ll not be so proud after I tell those in the Council of Deithanara everything you’ve done.”

“You overestimate yourself,” Lyght interjected.

“Do I?” Phyre cast him a scornful look. “At any rate, I wasn’t talking to you.” He returned his gaze to Orion. “Come now, just give me the girl.”

Orion looked at him darkly but did not answer.

Phyre sighed. “You only make this more painful for yourself. You can either let me have her, or I can kill you and then take her.”

“You go too far,” Lyght growled.

“I state only facts,” Phyre snapped. His voice grew smooth as he again addressed Orion. “You know what death mean to you, and I am not unsympathetic to your plight. Indeed, I am the one person in all of Deithanara who understands completely how you feel.”

“Get out,” Lyght ordered. “I’ll not have you threaten and entice my son before my very eyes.”

“Your son?” Phyre demanded turning to face the crystal dragon head on. “I share with him something deeper than you ever will. One wonders you can consider yourself a father and yet do nothing to help lift the curse upon him.” He looked back at the warrior. “I, on the other hand, do a great deal toward that end.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lyght growled. “You continue only down the path that caused you to be cursed in the first place. Now get out. We‘ll settle this in the Coucil.”

“Orion,” Phyre wheedled, “she’s only one High Elven maid.”

“High Elf?” Lyght was taken aback and looked sharply at his son as he demanded, “Is this true?”

Orion did not meet his gaze.

Phyre cast the dragon a withering look. “Did you actually think I would concern myself with a human woman?”

He turned back to Orion, and his voice grew low. “I know you fear death, Orion, and I understand that fear as no one else will ever understand it. Give the woman to me, and I promise you will never need to fear death again.”

Orion looked away.

The dragon and the dragon in human form watched noiselessly as the man’s body slowly tensed, as he clenched one hand and then the other, as his breathing became labored, as his gaze grew distant.

Time stood still.

“Give her to me,” Phyre whispered.

Orion turned his head sharply and looked at him.

“Get away from me,” the warrior growled. “Before I kill you.”

A sharp bark of rage escaped Phyre’s mouth as he stepped back and drew himself up.

“If that is what you wish,” he snapped, “so be it. Don’t expect me to repeat this offer. I shall enjoy killing you, but not before I kill Mystia and make you watch every interminable, pain-filled moment.”

With a growl, he disappeared in a swirl of red and gold dust.

* * *

Mystia stepped out of Zenas' cave into the cool mountain air. She was glad to have a moment of solitude, for, though Zenas was a courteous as any man could be, he was absentminded and eccentric and had only grown more flighty in the short time Mystia had been in his care.

She head her arms tightly to her body and looked up at the steadily darkening sky. Part of her was glad Orion had brought her to the mountains, for it left her free to rest and recover from the ordeal of the previous days. However, another part of her felt guilty that she was not among her countrymen enduring their privation. But, more than anything, her thoughts turned to Orion, and at that moment she desired very greatly to know where he was and how he fared.

* * *

Orion, Lyght, and Nightfall stood in the place where the Council of the Three Realms met. The warrior gazed unwaveringly at the space before him, trying not to show the anger that still lingered from his confrontation with Phyre. His glittering, crystal sword was now strapped to his side, for Lyght had transfered it to the Crystal Caves after the altercation. He wore a new tunic of fine red cloth, and over this was strapped his red, dragon-scale armor. His hair flowed freely over his broad shoulders, and around his head was a thin circlet of fine crystal. His arms were crossed and his feet planted firmly apart. He looked to be the proudest, most noble man in the whole of Deithanara.

The place in which he stood was a wide and open glade surrounded by very tall and stately trees. Overhead, the black sky sparkled with the light of a myriad stars which were all reflected in a large, circular pool of water in the very center of the glade. Large, clear, crystal stones sat at regular intervals along the edge of the meeting place and glowed with the same inner fire as the stones in the Crystal Caves. The air of the place hung heavy with magic.

To Orion's right stood fairies, pixies, dryads and many other denizens of the Realm of Magic. At their forefront stood the three Powers--Haunnar, their leader, a gargoyle, sinewy of body and proud and grim of face, and the two Lesser Powers, another gargoyle and a stately dryad woman.

To Orion's left stood a large crowd of creatures from the Realm of the Heavens--afrits, incubi, ghouls, poltergeists, fiends, and many other creatures both dark and terrible. At their head, black and imperious, sat Nyght, Queen of the Realm of the Heavens.

Both those of Keiliornare and those of Belunare were gathered in the glade, but of the Realm of Earth not a single representative was present save Orion himself, for Provenna the Greater Power hated the Council and, after once appearing before it, had declared the Powers of Lairannare would never again have anything to do with it.

"Where is the accuser?" asked Nyght, the claws of her right forefoot scratching the earth in annoyance. "Where is the one who has caused this great Council to be gathered together?"

“He stands before you.” The voice carried across the glade, and Orion’s shoulders tensed as he felt Phyre standing behind him. All the creatures craned their necks to see the source of the sound, and Orion turned his head to look at his nemesis. Phyre still maintained his human form, but he seemed taller and more regal than he had during the confrontation in the Caves.

“You were warned,” he murmered as he approached Orion.

Orion cast him a dark look but said nothing.

A corner of Phyre’s mouth turned upward. “I shall enjoy this.”

Haunnar, the Greater Power of Keiliornare, cut off any chance of reply.

“The accuser should address the entire Council,” he ordered in his deep, resonating voice, “or he should address no one at all.”

“My apologies, milord,” answered Phyre who proceeded to brush past Orion.

“Now,” growled Nyght the dragon, “let us waste no more time but confront the issue which has brought us here.”

“I heartily agree, Great Queen of the Heavens,” replied Phyre, his voice carrying across the entire glade. “Lords, ladies, people of this Council, it is with my utmost apologies that I am forced to come before you today. I am a creature and resident of the Realm of Earth bringing an accusation against another creature and resident of the Realm of Earth, and it is only because he is a half-breed whose father is of the Realm of Magic that I have been compelled to bring this case before all of you instead of settling it in the fashion of Lairannare.

“I do not come before you lightly but bring with me the gravest of accusations. There is in Deithanara a race of people. Those in Lairannare call them 'High Elves'. Those of Keiliornare call them 'Noble Fairies'. Those of Bellunare call them 'Arch Fiends'. And they themselves take as their name 'Shallee'.

"You know how, in days of old, these people rebelled against Joretham, and you know how Joretham cast them down from their position and made them wander as outcasts through Deithanara. You know how these High Elven people were ever thorns in our sides, and you know how the agony and strife they caused culminated in the great wars in which millions of us--the people who had not rebelled and whom Joretham had not cast out--were slaughtered without mercy.

"Do you remember how, when the great wars were over, we gazed upon the barrenness of our lands and declared that we would never again allow the High Elves to grow strong? We swore by the Heavens and the Earth and by Magic...”

“Get to the point,” snapped Orion.

Phyre looked reproachfully at Haunnar. “My Lord, are such outbursts to be tolerated?”

“The accused shall refrain from interrupting,” the gargoyle rumbled then added in a softer voice, “Nevertheless, some brevity is in order.”

“As you wish, milord.”

Raising his voice Phyre addressed the entire assembly, “Fellow creatures of the Three Realms, the High Elves nearly destroyed us and at the end of the third great war we swore to root them out and obliterate them once and for all. I was excercising my right under this law to execute a High Elf when this man--“ he pointed at Orion--“attacked me--you can still see my wounds--and, in flagrant disregard for the safety of the inhabitants of the Three Realms spirited this High Elf away out of my reach.

“Now I ask you to judge him not only for his violent abuse of myself but also for his shameless indifference for the safety of the billions of inhabitants of Deithanara, and I further ask that you force him to give me the High Elf he has been illegally harboring.”

The assembled creatures looked at Orion, and Nyght, the dragon queen, spoke, “These are serious charges. How do you answer them?”

* * *

The night had entirely overtaken the Mountains of Lathinor, and the stars and their large, pale mistress lighted the sky with all their spectral glory, sending the mountains into sharp contrasts of darkness and light. The wind blew strong and cool against Mystia, as she stood on the rock outcropping outside Zenas’ cave.

From the day she had first left Zaren with the other evacuees, she had not had a moment to herself. Now, finally she was alone only to discover she was lonely. She turned her face toward where she had last caught sight of Orion and Nightfall before they had disappeared behind a tall, dark mountain, and, for a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of them approaching from beyond a particularly tall rocky peak.

* * *

"How should one respond to a lying snake?" Orion demanded. "The individual in question is a defenseless girl who poses no threat to the Three Realms, and whatever harm Phyre has suffered in relation to her has resulted only from his own baseless attacks against her and my efforts to defend her against them. If he'll stop trying to kill her, then I'll stop defending her from him."

"So," Phyre challenged, "you do not deny the charge that you are protecting a High Elf?"

"I deny that her race has anything to do with the matter at hand."

The corner of Phyre's mouth turned up in a sly smile. "If not her race, then perchance her sex?"

Orion's mouth tightened, and he did not reply.

"Come," Phyre pressed, "we are both men, and of the many creatures gathered here you'll find few who've not long left their youth behind. If this Shallean were not a beautiful, young maiden would you go to such lengths to protect her from the fate demanded by law?"

"I see no need for idle speculation." Orion answered, addressing himself to the assembly. "Does is matter how I might or might not respond if she were old or ugly or a man? The truth of the matter is that she is a comely maid, and, moreover, one who is kind and compassionate and has done no wrong to anyone. You speak of the law; what rule has she broken other than that, beyond her own control, she's a member of a beleaguered race of people unfairly hated and maligned?"

"Unfairly hated?" Phyre snapped. "One wonders you can say that. The High Elves have caused more pain, turmoil, and death than all the other races combined, and the only reason they don't do so now is because their numbers are so small they have no opportunity."

Orion tried to respond, but Phyre continued, "What does it matter if this woman you cherish is herself less evil than the rest of her race? Her blood is bad, and any children she bears will prove as much. Worse yet if you, a man who, at this very moment, is trying to justify your unlawful acts of aggression, are their father."

Phyre turned to the assembled creatures. "Do you think we haven't shown the Shallee mercy in the past?" he demanded. "And what has it brought us? Pain, misery, and war. The time for mercy is at an end. Kill this Shallean wretch and all her verminous kind."

"You lie!" Orion shouted as the assembly began to stir and murmur. "You've no proof the High Elves are the villains you paint them as. By what right do you make your claim?"

A sharp, barking laugh escaped Phyre's mouth. "Do you forget who I am?"

His face distorted, growing long and snake-like, followed by his body, the limbs of which extended and grew and twisted. Heavy, black smoke billowed around him and he continued to rise and expand, until finally he stood, no longer a man, but a great, fiery, menacing dragon.

***

Mystia gazed intently into the moonlit sky, and her heart began to beat faster as she realized that what she had first thought was the result of her imagination was indeed the dark mass of an approaching figure. She walked closer to the edge of the outcropping where the moonlight fell full and waited.

She did not know exactly when she first sensed that something was not right. As the flying figure drew closer she was struck by the legs of the creature, for they did not look like the thick, sinewy lion-legs of a griffin, but instead were long and thin.

A feeling of unease gripped her, and she shrank quietly back into the shadows.

***

Squeals and shrieks escaped the lips of the creatures gathered in the Counsil glade. Behind Orion, Lyght growled softly, and at his side, Nightfall hissed.

"This is my justification," Phyre declared, rising up on his hindlegs and spreading out his flaming wings. "I Phyre, King of the Realm of Earth, firstborn of Joretham's creations, have lived since the dawn of time, and I have seen with my own eyes the havoc wreaked by the Shallean vermin. Dare contradict me? My own experience testifies against you."

"Be still, dragon." The low voice of Haunnar cut through the rising rumble of the assembly, a reminder of calm amidst the steadily rising panic. "Now is not the time for theatrics."

Phyre growled. "What I say is true, and if I resort to 'theatrics' 'tis only to impress the gravity of his crime upon you. The woman he harbors is a danger to Deithanara and many will suffer if she's allowed to live."

"That remains to be seen," answered Haunnar roughly.

Phyre hissed but said nothing more.

"Great kings and queens, lords and ladies," a voice cut through the glade, "may I be allowed to speak?"

All eyes turned toward where the voice had originated and saw that the speaker was a griffin. She was young and sleek and obviously very strong. Her fur and feathers were as red as blood, and she looked out from eyes as dark as night at those assembled around her.

"Speak, child," Haunnar invited.

"Great and noble rulers," she said walking out into the middle of the glade, "I am young 'tis true, but I pray that will not keep you from listening to my words. I ask this: are truth and wisdom to be spoken by none save the aged?

"'Glorious Dawn' am I called, and I am the daughter of she who guards the gates of Elmorran. Many people enter into that place--elves, ghouls, fairies, Shallee...Elmorran's eyes are blind to everything save whether or not a person believes in and serves Joretham. Nightfall," said she as she turned to the black griffin, "your father guards the gates of Lothiel. Is it not true that as all races enter Elmorran so also do all, including the Shallee, enter Lothiel?"

"'Tis true," Nightfall answered.

Glorious Dawn turned back to the gathered creatures and, raising her voice, continued, "You people of this great assembly tell me, if in death the Shallee are your equals why so not also in life? Who has given you the right to demand an entire race and any who dare look kindly upon it should be murdered?"

"Fool!" snapped Phyre. "What do you know? You didn’t see them descend like wild beasts upon your home. You didn’t see the ground turned red with the blood of your slaughtered brothers. You didn’t see the whole of Deithanara laid waste. What right do you have to speak on behalf of the High Elves?" Each word was more sharp and biting than the last.

The red griffin drew herself up and, in defiance, snarled. "Who has made you judge?" She turned to the gathered creatures, and her voice, filled with passion, rang throughout the meeting place. "Why do you listen to this serpent's lies? Fear you the truth, or do you not know it?"

"Lyght," she implored as she turned her large, black eyes to the great crystal dragon, "are you not as ancient as Phyre? Surely you know the Shallee have caused no more turmoil than any other race, and deserve death no more than we all. Testify to such."

All eyes turned to the crystal dragon, and the turmoil of the assembly decreased to a strained calm. Even Phyre remained quiet as he and the gathered beasts waited to hear what Lyght would say.

His head was bent and for a long moment he did not say anything. Orion looked up at him, waiting, hopeful at first then troubled as the silence stretched on.

"Lyght?" he said.

The dragon raised his head and, in a low, weary voice, addressed the assembly. "No matter what the Shallee may or may not be, I have learned over a lifetime that Phyre is vicious, cruel, selfish, and altogether devoid of redeeming qualities. He may claim he seeks this woman's life for your sakes, but he would not be trying to kill her if there resulted no benefit to himself. 'Tis that aim, not some altruistic concern for Deithanara which drives him; count upon it. Do not lightly give in to him, for today he may be seeking the life of an unknown, inconsequential Shallean, but tomorrow he may be seeking yours."

Phyre snorted. "He may denigrate me, but note he does not refute my claims. Why? Because he knows the Shallee are a menace. 'Tis only Orion's unlawful love for one which prevents him from plainly saying as much."

"No!" the red griffin shouted. "It's not true!"

What happened next was very sudden and unexpected. Glorious Dawn, who had walked out into the center of the glade to address the assembly, was standing very near to Phyre. Upon her outcry, the fiery dragon turned toward her, and, whether out of maliciousness or simply because his great size and bulk prevented him from properly gauging the distance between himself and her, his foreclaw struck her hard against the side of her body. Her cry of pain was joined by a shriek of fury as the black mass of Nightfall shot through the air toward the massive dragon. Growling, Phyre fell back on his haunches and snapped at Nightfall as the griffin darted in and out around his head in a mad attack. Cries of terror filled the glade, and the creatures began to run this way and that to avoid Phyres sweeping tail.

Orion drew his drew his sword and, rushing forward to defend his friend, cried out in a loud voice, "Strike him and you die!"

* * *

The figure approaching through the cool night air was now so close Mystia could make it out fully. A man, cloaked in black, rode upon the back of a fearsome, winged horse. The creature's eyes burned with fire and its body seemed not so much black as made of shadows. Its large black wings were spread to their full extent and hardly beat at all, allowing the creature to cut noiselessly through the night.

Mystia stood, rooted to the spot and gripped by panic, silently praying that the terrifying monster and its rider would pass by without seeing her. But her prayer was not to be answered, for the rider, who was now quite close, turned his mount and began to fly directly toward the rocky outcropping upon which Mystia stood. He saw her now, although she stood in the shadows, and fixed her with an unwavering gaze.

Strength returned to her now, and, on unsteady feet, she stumbled toward the cave entrance, but she was not fast enough. The monstrous horse alighted in her path, its hooves striking the granite with a cold click. Mystia lurched back and tumbled to the ground, from where she looked up at her attacker. He returned her gaze with cold brown eyes that betrayed no sympathy, and her eyes widened in fear as, she realized she had seen that man before--the Dark Sorcerer.

* * *

Phyre lunged at Orion only to be thrown roughly to the ground by an invisible force.

"Control yourself," Haunar barked, for the first time losing his calm.

"You command me?" Phyre spat. "I'm not the one who’s broken the law of the Three Realms! I’m not the one who consorts with High Elves! I’m not the one who even now affronts this sacred Council by wearing about my neck the soul stone of a High Elf!"

The creatures, already panicky and in some confusion because of the drama being played out before them, was shocked by this latest accusation, gasped and cried out at this latest accusation. Orion's hand flew to his chest where he felt the cold, hard form of Mystia's ring hidden beneath his tunic, and he looked in startled surprise at the fiery dragon.

"Fool!" hissed Phyre, seeing Orion's shocked look. "'Twas I who tore her soul apart to begin with! Did you think I would not know where it is?"

"Beast!" Orion cried, raising his sword.

"Is this true what Phyre says?" demanded Nyght, the great, dark dragon.

"And what if it is?" the warrior demanded angrily.

"Then you admit it!" cried Phyre, before any others could speak.

"What is there to admit?" Orion demanded as he pulled the ring out from beneath his tunic and held it up for all to see. "Of course I wear it!"

* * *

As the Dark Sorcerer dismounted his horse, Mystia scrambled to her feet and once more dashed toward the cavern entrance. The sudden movement startled the beast, and the princess shrieked as it reared.

* * *

"You knowingly and willingly serve a High Elf!" shrieked Phyre. "And now you dare profane this sacred place with a High Elven soul stone!"

"She’s not even a full Shallean!" countered Orion, his whole body trembling with an anger he still fought to hold back. "And, as for this stone, Princess Mystia gave it to me, and I’ll wear it proudly wherever I go!"

A great uproar rose from the assembly.

"Hear you that?!" Phyre demanded.

* * *

Mystia saw Zenas standing at the door of the cave.

"Help me!" she cried, but to her shock he did not move to lend her aid.

Stumbling over herself, she ran forward then cried out sharply as she was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder and yanked backward.

"Let go of me!" she shouted as she struggled against the Dark Sorcerer, but though she fought with all her strength, he held her fast.

* * *

"So you serve this High Elven woman and wear her favor?!" demanded Phyre.

"And what of it?" Orion answered in defiance.

"So you admit to cherishing this woman?"

* * *

The Sorcerer soon subdued the princess and tied her hands tightly in front of her. Only then did Zenas walk out from his post at the cavern door into the moonlight.

"Your debt is paid," the Sorcerer informed him. "Live in peace."

Mystia lunged at the old man. "Demon!"

The Dark Sorcer snatched her back, and Zenas did not answer.

* * *

"Yes, it was Princess Mystia who gave me this stone, and, yes, I do protect her, and, if you call 'serving' 'cherishing', then, yes, I do cherish her willingly and wholeheartedly."

"Then you must die!" declared Phyre, and, rushing forward, he would have carried out the penalty himself had not Haunnar thrown him once more to the ground.

"Be still, dragon!" the gargoyle ordered, his eyes burning with anger. "Justice is the duty of the Counsil not you."

Phyre refused to be stilled, and struggled against Haunar's invisible hold.

"There is no other sentence" the fiery dragon hissed. "Kill him! Kill him!"

* * *

Zenas turned his back upon the princess and her captor, but in his mind Mystia's words echoed over and over again. Demon, demon.

* * *

The Counsil assembly was in an uproar. The creatures cried out in terror and ran every which way in an attempt to escape the writhing mass of the struggling dragon.

Haunar and the other Powers of Keiliornare were exerting all their strength and barely keeping him under control.

"Kill him!" Phyre shrieked, lunging toward Orion before being thrown roughly to the ground. "Kill him or he'll destroy us!"

Queen Nyght, who had participated little in the proceedings of the evening, now fully joined the fray.

"Be still before I kill you!" she ordered, and then with a guttural snap threw him forcefully to the ground with her magic and held him there.

* * *

Mystia struggled desperately against the Sorcerer as he dragged her roughly after him, across the rocky ledge toward his fearsome horse, but she was no match for him. He placed her upon the beast and mounted behind her. The horse spread its wings and leapt into the air.

Zenas stood and watched them disappear from sight.

"Demon, demon," whispered the wind.

Zenas spat in defiance and returned to his cave.

* * *

"Kill him! Kill him!" Phyre screamed.

Nyght struck him with a powerful blast of magic, but he continued to fight.

The dragon queen reared up on her hind legs, spread her wings, and roared. The sound shook the glade and completely drowned out the din of the other creatures. The roar still in her throat, she charged at Phyre--a dark and furious mass of teeth and claws bearing down upon her writhing victim. Claws extended, she sprang, but just as she was about to connect with him, Phyre disappeared in a swirld of red and gold dust.

With a sharp bark, she screached to a halt and, after looking around to make certain he was gone, shook her head out and sat up.

Order slowly returned to the assembly.

Orion ran over to where Nightfall hovered over the fallen Glorious Dawn.

"Is she all right?" he queried.

Great, wet, griffin tears fell from her eyes but she struggled to her feet.

"Be careful," Nightfall cautioned.

"I'm all right," she said with a tight voice.

"Can you spread your wings?" Nightfall questioned.

"I'm all right," she told him more forcefully.

"We have reached a decision." Haunar's deep voice called everyone to attention.

"Step forward, Orion," the gargoyed ordered.

Orion walked out into the center of the glade.

"Queen Nyght and I have confered," Haunar informed the assembly. "The charges brought against the defendant this day are serious charges. However, we found the accuser to be unreliable and unconcerned with proper justice but instead desirous of legalized bloodshed. His charges were brought in bad-faith, and we cannot in good concience disregard that fact. Therefore, we give Orion permission to return to the Realm of Earth and engage in what activities he sees fit until such time as Phyre choses to submit to the Counsil or another, less blood-thirsty, creatures presses charges."

Orion breathed out a sigh.

"The Council is ended," Haunar declared, and with that all of the creatures began to disappear in swirling clouds of sparkling dust until none save Orion, Lyght, and Nightfall were left.

Lyght, his eyes flashing, turned upon Orion. "You could have avoided all of this."

"How can you say that?" asked Orion angrily. "The princess has done nothing to deserve this persecution."

Lyght, not even hearing Orion's words, continued, "How can you simply turn your back upon the law of Deithanara and serve this unholy woman?!"

"Why should I heed the law?" demanded Orion. "What has it done for me save tell me I’m a wretched man filled with unrighteousness? I’ll not turn my back upon the only honorable creature I’ve ever known simply because the law tells me I should!"

"Orion! Do you forget who saved your life when you were but a babe? You were to be killed, but I made you my son and delivered you from death; for that was I cast down from my place as King of the Realm of Magic. And how do you repay me but by serving a woman of the Shallee!"

"Lyght," started Orion. His anger began to disappear, leaving in its stead only sorrow at the unfairness of all that had happened, "all my life I’ve been told to live honorably. True, the meaning of 'honorable' changed with each person who told me to live thus, but the message was still the same.

“I did not do so, for there was no reason for me to, but now I have a reason. Now I live as you wished, but, now that I do so, you no longer want me to.

"I see not why you grow angry at me for serving this woman. You were once the King of the Realm of Magic; there were none greater than you, yet you sacrificed your position and the power it held so you might save me. Princess Mystia is hated, her life is sought, and there are none to protect her save me. Why is what I do for her so different from what you once did for me?"

"But she is a Shallean!" cried Lyght, his voice filled with despair and anger. "How can you give up your life for a Shallean?"

"To you she’s a thing to be hated, but to me she’s a goddess," Orion answered stormily. "Why do you hate the Shallee so? They’re no more evil than any other creatures in Deithanara. Why do you wish them all dead?"

Lyght looked down upon his son then turned his head away and said softly, "Whether they live or die I care not, but I wish to have no more dealings with them." He was silent for a moment, and then continued, sorrow in his voice. "We are all caught up in a tapestry woven of conflicting powers and passions, and my thread has crossed that of the Shallee far too many times. Follow this woman; give your life for hers, but ask not of me my acceptance."

He turned his back on him and said very softly, "Now go."

He gave Orion no chance to speak but immediately transported him and Nightfall back to the Realm of Earth. As they disappeared in the swirling blue and gold dust Lyght whispered, “Your goddess is in danger."

Orion and Nightfall found themselves standing outside the Caves of Nortath's Fury.

"My goddess is in danger?" repeated Orion. In horror he turned to Nightfall as he suddenly realized what his father had meant.

The night was filled with a beauty few who lived then would ever see again, but Orion cared nothing for it. His heart was pounding as he jumped upon Nightfall's back and Nightfall leapt into the sky. They sped through the night faster than one would have thought possible, but still it was not fast enough for Orion. With each passing moment his fear for Mystia waxed ever greater until it threatened to overcome him.

The hours it took to cross the vast expanse between the Mountains of Shem-Joloch and the Mountains of Lathinor seemed to last a century and no amount of urging on Orion's part would make them pass any quicker. He found himself cursing every second of that journey, until finally he and Nightfall arrived at the Mountains of Lathinor.

Even before Nightfall had fully lighted upon the ground, Orion had jumped off and drawn his sword--the crystal blade shone strangely in the pale light of the moon--and had begun to walk toward the waterfall. With his weapon held ready he walked quickly into the cave, but, though he expected someone to attack him, there was no one there.

"Zenas?!" he called, "Princess Mystia?!" But there came no reply.

With each step toward Zenas' cave, the dread of what he might find there grew until his foreboding became so great he had to stop just before he rounded the large rock which lay beside the door to Zenas' cave. It was during the second when he paused outside the entrance to Zenas' cave that he heard Nightfall shriek. Orion spun and began to run back to Nightfall, but as he reached the cave entrance he found his way barred by two harpies their clawed hands held ready. He gave a great cry of fury as he realized what was happening.

Faster than one would have thought possible he sent his sword slicing down through one harpy's neck and through the other's arm. He heard a noise behind him, and he turned--not bothering to finished the second harpy--and faced those who stood behind him. He swung and, though one of the creatures tried to attack him, Orion's sword cut right through her and left her dead before she could cry out. More harpies began to push through the entrance into the cavern, but they found themselves ill-suited for fighting anyone in such closed quarters, much less fighting such a terrifying enemy. Orion was filled with the blind wrath of a dragon thirsty for blood. Some fled at the very sight of him, others ran at his savage war cry, and those who dared stand and oppose him were cut down with no mercy.

Orion exploded through the cavern entrance. Nightfall, caught in a large net, lay on the ground. Above him stood a harpy long claws held to his neck. Nightfall struggled with all the magic within him, but the creature who stood above him held him back with a stronger power.

"Drop your sword or the griffin dies!" she hissed.

"Drop yours, or I'll make you eat your tongue as I tear your stomach from your body!" snarled Orion, with such hatred the creature was taken aback and for one moment wavered, but one second was all that Nightfall needed. With a shrieking cry and a great blast of fiery magic, he broke his bonds and sent all the harpies who were there flying either back against the side of the mountain or over the edge of the cliff. Those who were not wounded righted themselves and returned to battle but those whose wings were broken or who were fighting great pain plummeted into the emptiness below. The harpy who had stood above Nightfall screamed in pain as the griffin dug his claws into her face and chest. Orion ran back to Zenas' cave as fast as he could go.

"Princess?!" he cried. Only Zenas was there. He looked up in terror upon Orion and suddenly turned and tried to flee.

"Where is she?!" The warrior grabbed Zenas and threw him against the wall. The old man fell crashing to the floor and did not rise.

"What did you do with her?!" Orion screamed. It was a wonder that in his rage he did not simply cut the old man in two.

Zenas tried to rise, but he was overcome with a fit of coughing, and he fell once more to the floor.

"Where is she?" Orion demanded, and, though his voice was soft, there was more hatred and menace in it than there had been when his voice was raised.

"Th’ Dark Sorcerer came abou’ sunset an’ took har,” Zenas answered between his coughs. “He left these t’ ca’ture you. They should reach Nolhol soon."

Orion howled in rage and despair, and, throwing the old man into the wall, ran from the cavern. The battle was over. Nightfall, his claws and beak dripping the blood of his enemies whom he was devouring, raised his head from his gruesome meal and looked upon Orion's face. Orion, filled with anger, looked wildly about him, but it was doubtful he saw a thing. There in the darkness of the night, with the moon and stars overhead, he raised up his voice and cried with all the fury within him, "Joretham, I curse you!" He fell to the ground and in anguish cried once again, "Joretham, I curse you."

Chapter 7 - City of Darkness

2005-09-04T15:58:00.001-07:00

[NOTE TO READERS: In this chapter, I make mention of two horses, but, as any who have read chapter six knoew, there is, in fact, only one horse. This is due to the fact that I rewrote chapter six, but have not yet had a chance to rewrite chapter seven.] declare.

"Nolhol shall not always be dark and filled with evil, for one day I shall return in power and destroy him who now sits upon my throne, and I shall reclaim that which is rightfully mine." So once did Darus, rightful king of Delovachia, declare.

The dark horses of Mystia's captor--ever turned toward Delovachia and the city of Nolhol--galloped like the wind. The Dark Sorcerer had only allowed them to fly that they might escape Lathinor, after which, he had made them run. Why he had done so Mystia neither knew nor cared. Her breasts heaved with great, silent sobs of anguish, and she turned to cast one more look upon the mountains she had been taken from. Even as she turned, her captor spoke in his foreign, somewhat guttural, voice. "Bother not to look behind you, for you won’t see the mountains. These horses, which Kozan himself gave me, are of the line of Daemielle and long ago left Lathinor behind them." Mystia looked nonetheless and found it to be exactly as he said; there was no sign of Lathinor.

With another sob, she turned her face once more to the north. The countryside flew by as she stared down at the mane of her horse and tried not to burst into tears. The minutes passed, and slowly she regained her composure.

"Who are you who merits such steeds as these?" she asked softly.

He gave her a scornful look. "I’m the Dark Sorcerer, the greatest and most powerful of all Kozan's warriors and Magics." At his words, fear welled up within the princess’ heart, and she turned her face from him so she would not see his dark eyes gazing down upon her.

For many hours they rode, and, as the time passed, Mystia's terror grew until it seemed she could feel nothing else; she was so weary she had not the strength to combat it.

It was the time of night just before dawn, when all was yet dark, that the horses climbed to the top of a very large hill, and Mystia and the Dark Sorcerer, looking down, saw Nolhol stretched out before them.

The dark city lay spread out for mile upon mile of rolling hills. Its tall, black towers rose high into the dark night sky, and, upon the highest of the hills, the temple of Balor loomed over the rest of the city. It stood ominously black against the horizon with naught behind it save the silver moon and the sea, which lay at the foot of the tall cliff upon which Nolhol was built.

"Welcome to Nolhol," said the Dark Sorcerer.

Mystia closed her eyes so she would not have to gaze upon it.

The road leading up to Nolhol was terrible to behold. The men of Morannah had, as had Nor, risen up against Kozan, and, forming a great army, they had marched against Nolhol. Kozan slaughtered them mercilessly, and, as one final act of savagery, caused both the dead and the living to be impaled and set up around his dark city. The road was lined on either side with thousands upon thousands of bloody and rotting bodies. The stench was almost overpowering. The skin of some had been torn from their skulls to reveal the bloody bone beneath. Their faces were contorted into expressions of the most horrible pain, and their eyes stared out before them but saw nothing. As Mystia looked up at the thousands of men whose faces were forever twisted in silent screams of agony, she burst into tears of terror and anguish.

"Cease your whimpering!" hissed the Dark Sorcerer, giving her a sharp slap across the face. She gasped at the sharp pain and, squeezing her eyes shut, turned her face from him.

As they reached the gate of the city someone high above them cried out, "Who goes there?"

"‘Tis I, the Dark Sorcerer!" the Sorcerer cried back.

Without further questions, the two doors of the city gate slowly swung open, and the Sorcerer and the princess rode through. Just before the gate closed Mystia gave one last long look out at what lay beyond the city walls. Her whole body shuddered as, with an echoing boom, the doors closed.

Slowly she and the Sorcerer began to make their way through the winding streets which led to Kozan's palace, the sound of the horses' hooves striking the ground all that broke the silence. When they reached the high wall surrounding it they were again challenged, and again the Dark Sorcerer identified himself. Immediately, the doors swung inward, and the two rode through.

Even as the Sorcerer pulled Mystia from her horse, she could not keep her eyes from the dark and massive structure rising above her into the sky, its walls and spires blocking the stars and moon.

Across the wide, empty courtyard, into the dark palace, and through the long, echoing corridors they walked. The slaves who passed them cast a dull look in Mystia’s direction but continued on their way without a pause. Presently, they reached a large pair of doors, in front of which stood two grim, unmoving guards. The Sorcerer stopped and, pulling out a long dagger from his belt turned to Mystia. Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back, but the Sorcerer grabbed her arm, pulled her to him, and with one swift motion cut through the ropes binding her hands. Then, without a word, he turned and knocked loudly upon the door. The hollow, echoing sound was the first thing Mystia had heard since entering the dark palace, save for the tread of her and the Sorcerer’s feet.

The two doors opened silently, and the Dark Sorcerer walked in, pulling the princess along with him. Mystia found herself in a large, splendid chamber, the floor laid with rich carpet and the walls covered with exotic of tapestries and works of art, all of which were lit by dozens of candles. In the middle of the chamber, at a large wooden table, sat the dark king of the palace. His golden crown and the rubies inlaid within it flashed in the orange glow of the light. His long, brown hair flowed down over his shoulders. His lips were turned up in the smallest, most empty of smiles, as with cold, brown eyes he gazed upon her. From his left ear dangled an earring of some strange twisting design which Mystia had never before seen, but, though she knew not what it meant, she felt it could bode naught but evil.

"Welcome, Princess, to Nolhol," greeted Kozan, the smile not leaving his lips.

Mystia dropped her gaze to the floor and said nothing.

Kozan glanced up at the Dark Sorcerer and the two servants who stood by the door, and they, understanding his unspoken command, walked from the room, leaving the king alone with princess.

"Really," said Kozan, with the faintest of Delovachian accents, as he rose, "I’ve spent years searching for a way to meet you, and, now that I finally have, you greet me with silence? I think that hardly polite."

Mystia took a deep breath and in a trembling voice spoke. "You’ve kidnapped me and brought me here to you. What do you expect me to say? Am I to beg to return home? That’s all I wish to do."

"'Return home,' you say," said Kozan as he took two golden goblets and began to pour wine into them. "Perhaps I would return you to your home if you had one, which you do not." Mystia could scarcely keep from bursting into tears.

"Ah, yes, how sad it is to be without a home," continued Kozan, as he picked up the two goblets and walked toward her. "However, if you so choose, you could once again have this thing which you so desire." He handed her one of the goblets, which she accepted and held tightly with both hands for fear she would drop it.

"What mean you by that?" she asked softly.

"Simply this: your father and your brother are both dead." Even through her fear, Mystia's eyes flashed with anger at those words.

"You do not believe me?" he asked.

“I do not."

"Then perhaps this shall change your mind." He walked over to a dark corner of the room and returned bearing in his hands a long object wrapped in a black cloth. "A messenger brought this to me not two hours ago; methinks you shall find it particularly interesting."

Mystia looked silently on as the king went about loosening the cords, which bound the cloth to the object beneath. Fear began to well up within her as she saw it was a long wooden staff. Kozan pulled it fully from its dark covering, and for a moment Mystia could only look in horror upon it. It was a staff--beautifully carved--with a small crystal stone embedded in its head.

"No," she whispered as she stepped back, away from Kozan.

"’Tis your father's staff," said Kozan as he held it out to her.

"No," she said again, her voice trembling, as she took another step backward.

"Your father is dead; the Dark Sorcerer himself killed him," said Kozan as he stepped toward her.

"No!" she screamed as tears began to fall from her eyes. Her golden goblet fell from her hands, spilling wine all over the floor. Her legs would no longer support her, and she collapsed beside the fallen goblet.

"Get up," Kozan said in disgust as he took her by the arm and pulled her close to him. Looking intently into her eyes, he continued, "You are the sole, surviving heir to the throne which once belonged to the country of Nor. I rule that county now, but there are many who dispute my ruler-ship. Were I to marry you..." His voice trailed off, as, with an evil glint in his eyes, he looked down upon her and waited for her answer.

Mystia’s black eyes filled with anger.

"Pig!” she cried. “Do you actually think I would ever marry you?" She slapped him hard across the face and, wrenching her arm from his grasp, tried to run from him. He gave an unintelligible snarl, and, even as she fled, he shot his hand out and grasped her arm once again. With another growl he yanked her back to him. She struggled to pull away, but he held her even tighter against his body.

"Miserable wench," he hissed--even through her veil his breath was hot upon her cheek--"I gave you the chance to be my wife, for what man would not be raised in greatness who had a wife such as you? But think not I care one bit about your honor. I will have you wife or no."

"Let go of me!" she screamed as she struggled against his strong embrace. He threw her, shrieking and sobbing, to the floor where he held her tightly and tore her veil from her. As his gaze fell upon her face he suddenly started and scrambled to his feet and for a moment after could only stare down in shock upon her. Her skin was smooth and pale, and her lips dark red. Her features were soft and delicate, and she looked up at him with tearful, black eyes, wide with fear. Beneath her long, black hair, which tumbled down about her, he could see small pointed ears. She was so very elven, and yet so much more beautiful than any elf of Lairannare it was immediately apparent what she was.

Kozan opened his mouth to speak, but the only words he was able to say were, "High Elf?"

He looked at her for a moment longer then turned and cried out, "Sorcerer!" Immediately the Dark Sorcerer entered. His gaze fell upon Mystia, and a look of surprised crossed his face.

"Take her to the dungeon," said Kozan softly then turned his back on them both.

Silently the Dark Sorcerer lead Mystia through the corridors of Kozan's palace and down a long, twisting staircase into the dark, gloomy, stench-filled dungeon.

They were met at the bottom by a dirty, grim-looking warder who held a wicked looking whip in his hand.

"Why're ye here?" he asked gruffly. "Upstairs is where the pretty women go."

"The king wants her here," answered the Sorcerer.

"It'll be a pleasure," said the warder as he leered at Mystia.

Mystia shrank back, then looked up in confusion as the Dark Sorcerer snarled, "Listen, dog, High Elven maids are not for your pleasure, and if you so much as touch one hair on her head, the pain you will feel by my hand will be beyond your ability to comprehend."

"Aye, sir," said the warder, suddenly quite meek. Quietly he turned and led the way through the darkness.

The cell he brought them to was dirty beyond belief. The walls and floor were covered with slime, and in the corner was a small bit of moldy straw in which the rats made their nest.

"No," Mystia said with a strangled sob as the Dark Sorcerer pushed her into the cold dark cell. She spun around to run out, but she was met with the hard wood of the door as it slammed shut.

"No," she sobbed as she heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

Hugging herself as tightly as she could, she stood in the middle of the cell and cried. For a full hour she stood in the middle of the slimy, rat-infested place, but with each passing minute exhaustion took a stronger and stronger hold on her until finally her body could take it no more, and, collapsing to the floor, she allowed sleep to overtake her.

* * *

The Dark Sorcerer stormed into the room where Kozan stood.

"You never said she was a Shallean!" he cried.

"I never knew," Kozan snarled in reply. "How was I to? How was anyone?"

In fury and what could almost have been despair the Sorcerer struck the solid stone wall with his fist and snarled something in his native tongue.

"She’s only one Shallean woman," said Kozan taken aback at the Sorcerer's outbreak of rage.

"Will you kill her?" the Sorcerer demanded as he turned suddenly to face Kozan.

"I want you to stay here in Nolhol," said Kozan, not answering the Sorcerer's question. "Nor has been defeated, and there’s no need for you to personally oversee the ferreting out of the few remaining rebels."

"Will you kill her?" the Sorcerer asked again. The look in his eyes made it clear he would not cease asking until he had received an answer.

Kozan hesitated then said, weakly, "The Law of Balor requires it." There was a pause and he said even weaker, "What else am I to do?"

Chapter 8 - In the Company of Wood Elves

2005-09-04T15:58:00.000-07:00

Then Vallendar smiled and answered her. "You ask me why it is I give not up hope? Because, though few good men are found in times of trouble, there are yet some, and they are the most noble and courageous of all those in Deithanara. They’re not ones to let fear keep them from following after what they know to be good and just. Though the whole of Deithanara stands against them yet are they willing to give you succor and to stand by you in your darkest hour. That is why I still hope."

When Chzaros introduced himself as the king of Raia-Torell Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan were quick to kneel before him. At this Chzaros laughed and spoke, "Methinks you should be more careful to whom you show reverence, for, though I saved your life, you know not what I intend to do with it."

He laughed again at the expressions his words drew from them and said, "Rise, my friends, and worry not, for, unless you find the thought of feasting and sojourning with the children of Raia-Torell unpleasant, you have naught to fear."

"You are most kind, Your Majesty," said Gideone as he rose. "Not only did you provide us with much needed aid in our fight with Abiel, but now you open your house to us who are perfect strangers."

"'Tis but a small service which we, who have been blessed with so much, can give to three weary travelers," answered Chzaros lightly as he, followed by his elven warriors, began to lead the way through the forest. Then he grew more serious. "The forces of evil wax great, and desirous am I that there would be at least one place of refuge left in Lairannare, though I fear soon even Raia-Torell shall be overcome.

"Oh, but I make sorry conversation," said he, once again lighthearted. "Darkness may come tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t rejoice in the sun today.”

He looked at them. "So tell me, good sirs, what are your names?"

"Stavros, Vayan," said Gideone motioning to each in turn, "and I’m Gideone."

Chzaros laughed. "Honored am I to be let so quickly into your confidence, for, were I a prince fleeing from my enemies, I would not be so quick to give my true name to strangers no matter what aid they had lent me."

Gideone was surprised that Chzaros was able to so easily discern his true identity, but he was unwilling to show his surprise.

"And did I judge so wrongly in believing you’re a man who can be trusted?" he asked, speaking lightly and easily. Though his voice sounded natural, his hand, which was pressed against his heart, betrayed he felt not entirely well.

"Nay, not at all, but, still, 'tis best to show prudence in times such as these."

Chzaros looked and saw how Gideone held his hand against his chest and, turning to him, spoke in alarm. "Prince, I knew not you were wounded in the battle."

"I was not wounded in the battle," answered Gideone, "only wearied."

"Sit down, sit down. You’re in no condition to walk." The prince’s face had by that time turned astonishingly pale.

"No, I can walk," he insisted, though he was not too stubborn to refuse Stavros' support.

"What happened to you?" Chzaros asked in concern.

Gideone motioned for Stavros to answer the elven king's question, which Stavros did as they continued to make their way through the forest. He was just concluding his account when the group of men and elven warriors emerged from the forest and found themselves in a wide glade.

"Welcome to my home," said Chzaros as, with a sweeping gesture, he motioned to everything before him..

In the center of the clearing was a large fire about which were gathered many elves, some singing and some engaged in conversation. The elves who had been gathered about the fire became aware of the return of their king and made their way toward the group of elven warriors who stood at the edge of the trees.

Chzaros raised his voice and addressed those who came, "My friends, we have triumphed; the evil has been driven from our forest, and, what is more, we’ve brought back three guests to sojourn among us." As the elves gathered around Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan and welcomed them to Raia-Torell, Chzaros turned to a young elf and asked, "Where is Wild Rose?"

"Here I am, lord," came a soft female voice. She walked out from the midst of the crowd and stood before him. "What do you require?"

"We have a wounded man with us," answered Chzaros as he motioned toward Gideone who had by then sunk down upon the grass. Then he turned and, raising his voice, spoke to the elves, "I want our guests to be treated with the greatest of hospitality. See that they want for nothing."

As Stavros and Vayan were being led away Chzaros helped Gideone to his feet. The small party of Chzaros, the prince, and Wild Rose began to make its way across the wide glade into the trees on the other side, and during the brief walk, Chzaros quickly told Wild Rose all that Stavros had told him of the origin and nature of Gideone's wound.

Amidst the trees were the small, well-built huts of the forest elves. Wild Rose led them into one that was filled with all manner of healing balms and potions where she had Gideone take off his tunic and lie down upon one of the beds there. When he had done so, she went about unbinding and examining his wound. Her brow became deeply furrowed as she searched it, and for a long time she remained silent. The thin, black lines originating from the point where the arrow had pierced him had crept even farther across his chest since Stavros had last looked at it.

Finally, in a troubled voice, she spoke. "I have seen such wounds as this before, and I can say with certainty that it was given by a far greater Magic than ever I will hope to be. You’re not wrong in believing none save an arch-mage or a Power can heal it." She turned her blue eyes up to him. "'Twas the Dark Sorcerer who gave you this wound, was it not?"

"I don’t think it was the Dark Sorcerer himself who shot the arrow," answered Gideone slowly. "Though it does stand to reason 'twas he who cast the spell upon the arrow."

"Well," broke in Chzaros, "whether or not the wound was given by the Dark Sorcerer, the fact still remains that none save an arch-mage or a Power can heal it."

"Aye," said Wild Rose. "The only thing which has kept you from being overcome already is that amulet which you wear about your neck." Gideone turned his eyes to the golden feather Eagle had given him.

Wild Rose paused then continued, "But the power of the amulet is slowly being overcome by the power of the dark magic." She rose and walked to a shelf, which stood against the wall and, after taking a small, ornate jar from it, turned back to Gideone. "This is the strongest of all my healing balms. By itself it could not fight the arrow’s poison, but it can, I think, strengthen the power of the amulet and give you more time. I know not how long it will keep you alive, but I pray it gives you enough time to find one who can heal you fully."

She rubbed some of it over Gideone's wound, and immediately all the pain the prince felt subsided. He took a deep breath and slowly rose to his feet.

"Thank you," said he with a slight bow of his head. “I am in your debt.”

"You’re welcome," she answered with a slight smile. Then, turning to Chzaros, she said, "Lord, if it be your will, I’ll see to it that Prince Gideone is properly quartered and attended to."

"As you wish," answered the king.

When Gideone awoke the next morning he felt more refreshed than he had in many a day. It was beautiful outside, and he was drawn away from the glade where the elves made their home and into the solitude of the surrounding forest. He did not walk very far before he came upon a river; it was, in fact, the very same river over which he, Stavros, and Vayan had had their adventure with the troll. With no bloodthirsty beasts threatening the solitude, t was a very peaceful place--the water swirling silently by, the tall trees casting cool shadows down upon the ground, and only the soft chirping of the birds to break the stillness. Here Gideone stopped and sat upon a large rock at the river's edge where he was soon lost in reflection over all that had happened and all he feared would yet come to pass. He was so deeply caught up in his thoughts he did not notice that Chzaros, who had walked through the forest in search of him, now stood very near. For a moment the elven king simply looked upon the prince, but finally he broke the silence. "You seem very troubled, Prince."

Gideone started, then regained his composure and, turning to him, replied, "If I seem troubled, Your Majesty, ‘tis because I am."

"And what troubles you?"

"Death and that which comes after and the fact that I shall, in all probability, soon be in possession of first-hand knowledge of both experiences."

"I wish I could help you," returned the elven king. "There was a time when I had the power to overcome the might of the Dark Sorcerer, but he has grown strong, and I have grown old. Such is the way of things."

"My only solace," stated Gideone, "is that, in the thirty summers which I have breathed the air of Lairannare I have lived a far fuller life than many a man," then, as almost an afterthought, he added rather sadly, "Though it could have been fuller still."

"You speak of Eagle do you not?"

"Yes, I speak of Eagle. It seems rather fitting; the Powers have taken away my country, my family, my love, and now myself--everything I have ever held dear."

They were silent for a moment until Gideone said, "Have you ever loved?"

"No," answered Chzaros with a thoughtful smile, "I have never loved." He laughed and continued, "Noble women hold me in derision, and common women exalt me to a place I should not hold. I have never yet met one who viewed me as an equal." He sighed. "But such is the lot of one who was born a king with a commoner's heart."

He was silent for a moment then spoke again. "'Tis true I have never loved, but I do know that one should never give up hope too quickly. It is possible to regain that which you have lost. The Powers are not immortal. You are not yet dead, and there are those in Deithanara who have the power to heal your wound. You have yet the chance to defeat your enemies, and who knows but that you might also regain the one whom you love."

"I feel very reassured, Your Majesty," said Gideone in a voice which said he was anything but.

"Whether I reassure you or not, I still speak the truth. But perchance this shall reassure you more: should you or any of those who follow you require aid--be it small or great--you have but to ask the children of Raia-Torell, and we shall give it most willingly."

"Thank you," answered Gideone. "In that I truly do find assurance."

Several hours passed, and although Chzaros departed, Gideone did not leave the riverside, and it was there Stavros found the prince, in the mid afternoon, still sitting upon the large rock, looking down upon the flowing water, with the cool breeze blowing across his face.

"Your Highness," said Stavros interrupting Gideone's reverie.

"Yes?" said the prince as he turned to face Stavros. Then, after seeing the expression Stavros wore, he said, "Is something wrong?”

Stavros took a short breath then said, "Your Highness, forgive me if I seem too bold, but I desire to know why it is that Abiel bears such a great hatred for you; certes something terrible must have happened between you and him that would cause you both to enter the Ring of Fire."

Gideone paused, considering for a moment whether he ought to tell Stavros, then answered. "Abiel and I first met each other several years ago, during the time that I was wandering throughout Lairannare. He loved a woman who loved me." The prince gave a wry grin. "The amusing thing is I didn’t care a whit for the maid. That, however, didn’t matter to Abiel who felt I had personally affronted him. He challenged me to enter into the Ring of Fire, which I did." He chuckled. "Sadly for him, I was a much better swordsman than he. I threw him back into the fire, and he was so wounded he could not rise. Until now, I believed him to be dead, but, evidently, he survived and, being the incredibly vain man that he is, has come to seek revenge for his marred face, which I never thought was particularly comely to begin with."

"That’s the reason for your quarrel?!” cried Stavros. “A face scarred during a duel fought over a woman you didn’t even love? For something as small as this you’re willing to break the law of Joretham and enter the Ring of Fire?"

Gideone laughed and exclaimed, "Stavros, what does it matter? Methinks you put too much weight upon ancient laws written by mythological personages. Fire is fire; ‘tis the same whether it’s in a ring or a hearth, whether someone is dueling in it or cooking food over it. If Abiel wishes to fight in a ring of fire then far be it from me to keep him from doing so. If the one who’s killed truly is feasted upon by the dead then so be it; I still won’t fear."

"But, Your Highness,” cried Stavros, “how can you say such a thing?"

Gideone, laughing at Stavros' horrified expression, answered, "’Tis easier than you might think." Then, more seriously, he added, "I fail to see why this troubles you so. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t enter it."

"I’ll give you two, Your Highness," answered Stavros gravely. "Firstly, Joretham forbids it, and, secondly, I, who have ever been the most faithful of your servants, ask you not to."

Gideone grew silent as he thought upon what Stavros had said. He cared nothing for Joretham, certainly, but he suddenly thought of Stavros, with no tunic, traveling through the cold, wet forest of Raia-Torell. He sighed and rather grudgingly answered, "Very well, it shall be as you wish; I will not enter the Ring of Fire."

"Thank you, Your Highness," said Stavros as he bowed his head.

"Thank not me," answered Gideone with a grin. "Thank whatever it was that possessed you to give me your tunic." With that, he stood up and walked away, leaving Stavros to stare after him.

The day passed quickly, as times of joy and peace seem always to do, and, as twilight fell upon the forest, the elves and their three visitors gathered around the great fire in the middle of the glade. There they feasted, conversed, laughed, and sang, for such was the way in which the children of Raia-Torell bade farewell to those who left their midst to go to war or seek adventure. The feast was not as long as some would have liked, but Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan needed to leave early the next morning so the merrymaking was cut short. After but a few hours, Wild Rose appeared, bearing in her hands a large, golden goblet filled with a sparkling, amber-colored liquid.

"Your Highness, good sirs," said she, turning to Gideone, Stavros, and Vayan in turn, "'tis the custom of the elves of Raia-Torell to have their warriors drink from this cup before they depart for battle. You are neither elves nor go you off to battle, but the road ahead of you is dangerous and we wish to honor you as though you were one of us. So drink, and may Joretham give you strength to complete your journey."

To each in his turn she walked and, curtsying, handed him the goblet, from which he drank, and received it back again when he had finished. And thus did the feast end. The elves and men quickly retired, and for one last night Gideone slept under the watchful eyes of Raia-Torell.

Chapter 9 - The Night of the Feast

2005-09-04T15:57:00.000-07:00

Jocthreal was, perhaps, the greatest of all the countries of Lairannare, for it was ruled by the greatest of all the people in the Realm of Earth--namely, Queen Provenna, the Greater Power. Of all the cities of Jocthreal Leilaora was the greatest, for it had beauty such as no other city could rival. It was the City of a Hundred Temples, and the golden towers and spires rose high into the sky and shone gloriously in the light of the sun. To the north and east, a large forest grew. At one time it had been it had been a distance from the city, but, over the centuries, it had grown closer and closer until now it reached the very walls of the city. During the summer it would have been a sight to behold as the trees reached tall and proud toward the sky, their branches, covered with lush, green leaves, waving softly in the wind. As it was, however, they had yet to regain their verdant crowns.

A broad road led up to the gates of the city. The forest grew thick on its eastern edge, but, on the other side, it thinned out very quickly so that, on the western side of Leilaora, there was a large open plain broken only by a few small hills and a couple of trees. Nearly a mile away the forest began again, stretching both to the north and to the south, and, if one traveled but a few miles in either direction, one would find it eventually curved and joined with the forest on the other side of the road.

Upon the road could be seen the most joyful of processions. It was a large group of elven-folk all dressed in the most festive of clothing. At its head rode King Tnaka upon a milky white horse. For an elf he was tall--almost five and a half feet. He had a very handsome face which some would say had grown only more distinguished with the passing of years. His hair, which was blonde--as was the hair of many elves--fell only to his shoulders, which was unusually short for the style of the day, but it suited him well. His gray eyes, at that moment filled with laughter, betrayed great intelligence. If one had seen him without knowing who he was, one would never have thought him far too good-natured to be a Power. To his right rode his wife, Queen Eagle, upon a gray palfrey. She neither spoke nor laughed but was an attentive spectator of all that went on about her. To the elven king’s left, mounted upon a large brown horse, rode the only human in that company of elves. He was a lad of no more than sixteen years, with long brown hair and bright green eyes. His face bore a mixture of expectation, awe, and anxiety which only intensified the closer they drew to Leilaora.

At the gate of the city a small group of people, also mounted upon horses, stood waiting to greet the arriving procession. Foremost among these was Queen Provenna herself. She was a beautiful woman with large, flashing green eyes and soft, white skin. Entwined within her long, red tresses were more than a score of milky pearls, and upon her head was a delicate and beautiful crown of gold. Her dress was made of the finest purple and gold silks, and, while it was modest--for she was a queen--it failed not to remind all who looked upon her that she was also a woman. Her face was alive with an excitement and anticipation which only grew as the procession drew closer, until, by the time they reached her, she was fairly glowing with joy.

"Tnaka, my friend," said she, "welcome once more to Leilaora. Long have I awaited this day."

"You have not waited in vain," answered Tnaka, with a smile. "Receive the son for whom you’ve so long waited"

"Hello, Mother," said the brown-haired youth softly and rather shyly.

"Aeneas," breathed Provenna, and, such was her joy, she could say no more.

"I pray you’re pleased with him," said Tnaka.

"Need you even ask? I gave you a boy and have received back a man." She took Aeneas' hand in her own. "Welcome home, Son. Long have we in Leilaora desired your return."

"And long have I desired to return home, Mother," answered Aeneas with a small smile. "Hardly a day went by in which my thoughts did not turn to this city. When I left it I thought it was beautiful, but now that I return I find it ten times so."

Provenna laughed. "If you think it beautiful now, awed you will be beyond measure when you stand upon the walls of the palace and look out over it."

"That is a pleasure I eagerly anticipate."

"Methinks for you to ever have the chance we must first return to the palace." Then, turning to all those assembled there, she said, "Come, my friends; tonight we shall feast in celebration of the return of the prince."

With Aeneas upon her left hand, Tnaka and Eagle upon her right, and the whole elven procession behind her, the ruler of Jocthreal rode through the golden gates and into the beautiful city. The streets were lined with people all straining to see the four royal personages who led the grand procession up through the glittering city to the palace. As they rode, the queen could talk to none save her son; she wanted to know every detail of his life and training under Tnaka, and Aeneas, though rather in awe of all which was happening to him, answered all his mother asked. Tnaka, for his part, was smiling, perhaps even more than Provenna herself, as his gaze passed back and forth between the overjoyed mother and his own young wife, who remained a silent, though not uninterested, spectator of the whole scene.

As they reached the outer gates of the palace, Provenna turned to Tnaka and said, "You have taught Aeneas well, and I doubt that I’ll ever be able to convey the depth of my gratitude. This truly is a time for rejoicing."

"Your approval is payment enough," replied Tnaka. “And, as to this being a time of rejoicing, all I can say is I couldn’t agree more heartily.”

Provenna laughed. "Tnaka, methinks that I, who am the mother receiving back her son, should be the most joyful of all gathered here, yet you bear a smile upon your face such as few could match."

"We all have something which makes us joyful."

"And what is it that raises your spirits so?"

"Seven months hence I shall be the father of a child."

Provenna's face became fairly alive with excitement. "Tnaka, that is wonderful!" Then, turning to Eagle, she said rather conspiratorially, "Tell me he is not lying."

"What my lord speaks is true," answered the elven queen.

"Then this is a day of double rejoicing," declared Provenna. "Tonight we shall feast not only in honor of my son but also in honor of Tnaka's child."

With that, the procession made its way into the marble palace of Queen Provenna.

The banquet hall of Provenna's palace was truly a sight to behold. Its walls were decorated with the most beautiful and exotic of tapestries, and the wide, open hall was filled with long, exquisitely carved wooden tables, which were piled high with foods of staggering variety. The smell of veal, boar, bread, and a dozen other types of food not readily distinguishable wafted through the room. It was alive with the hundreds of guests gathered there, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air, and the merry music of the minstrels rising and mixing with it. Between the tables, many servants made their way, refilling wine goblets, replenishing the platters of food, and, in general, making sure all ran smoothly and no one lacked for anything.

Upon a dais at the head of the hall stood the table at which those who were most noble of rank sat. At the middle of this was Provenna, with Aeneas at her right hand and Tnaka and Eagle to her left. The queen and her son had not ceased conversing since the beginning of the feast. The elven king and his wife, however, had remained rather quiet, which was more because of Eagle than the elven king. Provenna, however, was too overcome with joy at the return of her son to notice how silent her friend and his wife were.

Suddenly, with a laugh, she raised her goblet and cried, "A toast! A toast!" Everyone became silent and waited for the queen to speak.

"A toast to..." began Provenna, but, even as the words were leaving her lips, the guards in the corridor began to cry out. All eyes turned as the doors to the banquet hall were suddenly thrown open. Murmurs of surprise escaped the lips of those gathered there as their gaze fell upon King Kozan. A dusty cape was thrown over his shoulders, and his hair was disheveled from a journey of hard riding. His cold brown eyes flashed with scorn and hatred as he marched up through the hall to the dais. He crossed his arms, planted his feet, and glowered at Provenna. For a long moment, Provenna could only stare back at him.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked, her voice trembling with rage.

"That," said Kozan with a loud voice as he mounted the dais, "is not the question." He took Provenna's goblet from her hand and, after drinking, looked out over the hall and continued. "This is a marvelous feast. You know I’ve always loved feasts." He turned back to the queen. "Why did you not invite me?"

Her green eyes were flashing with anger as she looked up at him and said softly but dangerously, "I commanded you never to show your face in Jocthreal again. Why then have you come?"

"To see my son of course!" cried Kozan, slamming his goblet down so hard that a few drops of red wine flew from it and fell upon Provenna's dress.

Kozan turned to Aeneas and looked him over well.

"You’ve grown much," he said after a moment. "I would scarcely have recognized you." He tilted his head to Provenna and added, "Though that’s no fault of my own; your mother’s kept me away from you for so long."

Aeneas, his face pale, looked up at Kozan. When no one else spoke, he said nervously, "I hope you’re pleased with me."

"Well, you certainly are better than Provenna's other son-deil that he is--but I’ll not be fully pleased unless you can handle a sword well."

"Are you finished?" Provenna asked coldly.

"No!" cried Kozan as he turned to face her. "I am not finished!" His voice became softer as he continued. "Since the day of his birth, I’ve seen Aeneas but once; I hardly think that fair. Now that he’s returned from training under Tnaka--" he gave the elven king an ugly look--"you should send him to Nolhol to learn the art of war from one who can truly teach it."

"Who? The Dark Sorcerer?"

Kozan's eyes flashed at her insult, but Provenna ignored his reaction and continued, "Aeneas will never journey to Nolhol; I will never allow you to take him from me. I had two sons once, but one left me. Aeneas is all I have left. You, on the other hand, have dozens of children, and, if you find their number lacking, I am certain Mystia can provide you with still more."

Kozan's cold brown eyes sparked with rage as he growled, "I do not love Shalleans." With that he turned and stormed from the banquet hall, leaving all to stare in surprise after him.

"What?" said Provenna, clearly confused. For a moment, she stared at the doors through which Kozan had disappeared, and then suddenly realized what Kozan meant.

"Mystia is of the Shallee?!" she cried in amazement.

"Apparently," answered Tnaka as he too stared after Kozan.

The throne room of Provenna’s palace was wide and open and filled with light. The walls, the pillars, and the large tiles of the floor were made entirely of fine, white marble. Along the walls were beautiful stained-glass windows, each depicting a hero of the golden days of old. The warriors, savage and impassive, gazed down from their pictures, silent spectators of all which went on in that great room.

Provenna and Tnaka were the only two to fall beneath the gaze of the ancient warriors that night. The queen sat upon her beautiful crystal throne, and the elf stood before her.

"Provenna," he said gravely, "you must do something about Kozan. He grows more insubordinate by the day."

"And what would you have me do?" demanded the queen. "This problem is unlike anything any other Power has ever faced. Never before has a Lesser Power been at such odds with the Greater Power. If I kill him our strength will be cut off with his death, and punishing him in some other way will only serve to anger him more."

"But something must be done. You know as well as I that Kozan seeks in some way to set himself up as the Greater Power. If I hadn’t warned you, this would already have taken place; Aeneas serves as a constant reminder of that."

At Tnaka's words, Provenna's countenance grew dark. "The pig deserves to die. You know it. I know it. The whole of the Realm knows it. Yet fate has made it so I can’t destroy him without destroying myself." In frustration she slammed her fist down upon the arm of her throne.

For a long moment she was silent, and when she finally did speak, her voice was filled with hopelessness. "The burden of ruling this land is all but unbearable. At times I feel as though I were not even meant to be the Greater Power. ‘Tis almost as though at some time in the past, the true Greater Power died, and I was set up in his place." She laughed bitterly, "But that’s mere wishful thinking. How I wish there were someone else to carry this load, but it’s for me and me alone to bear. I’m the Greater Power and have always been the Greater Power, and ever shall I be the Greater Power."

Tnaka gazed at the queen in silence for a moment.

"Provenna," he said at length, "I know not what to say, or what to do. You know I provide you with all the advice and support I can, but I can only help you so far as the tangible is concerned. When you enter in to the realm of the mind and the will I cannot help you. That’s an inner struggle which only you can overcome.

"However, though this will give you little comfort, I must say that I, at least, think you rule right well."

Provenna gave a small, though sad, smile. "Thank you, Tnaka. That does give me comfort.

"But, please, go now,” she added, glancing away, “for I have much to consider and would be left alone to think in peace."

"Very well," said Tnaka, inclining his head respectfully.

Then he turned and walked silently away, leaving the queen alone beneath the gaze of the impassive, stained-glass warriors.

* * *

Eagle stood outside Aeneas' chambers and knocked upon his door. It was quickly opened by a slave, and the young queen was permitted to enter. Aeneas stood in the middle of the room and looked darkly at her. Eagle turned to the slaves, motioning for them to leave. When they had done so, she turned to the young prince and said, "This has been a rather interesting day."

"'Rather interesting'?" Aeneas repeated. He stared at Eagle for a moment then burst out, "This day has gone from being the most anxiety-ridden, to the most happy, to the most disgusting, worthless day of my life, and the only words you can find to describe it are 'rather interesting'?" He became calmer and said, more to himself than to Eagle, "At least 'twas only my father who and not my brother as well. Joretham, it would have been decidedly worse had I had to contend with him also.”

He suddenly shook his head. "But I’m forgetting my manners." He led her to a chair. "Please, sit down. Would you care for some wine?"

"Please."

Aeneas walked over to a small table upon which stood a carafe of wine.

"Aeneas," said Eagle, as the young prince poured the wine, "this is the second time this night I have heard mention of your brother. In the past also I heard of Provenna's other son, but I never learned more than that he simply existed."

Aeneas gave a bitter laugh. "If you want to learn of my brother I would suggest you talk to one of the slave-girls. Certes they know more of him than does anyone else." He walked over to Eagle, handed her a goblet, and added rather bitterly, "He’s a painful memory, and we speak little of him."

"I’m sorry," said Eagle. "I meant not to pry into things of which you have no desire to speak."

"No, no. 'Twas not improper of you. 'Tis quite understandable you would be curious.” He looked down at the wine in his goblet. "There is a reason little’s known about my brother. When he was ten years of age he, like I, went to Kerril to learn under Tnaka, and he didn’t return until six years later. He remained in Jocthreal for only one more year before he ran away--no doubt, to seek adventure."

"Certainly you must know more than simply that, for he was your brother."

"You wish to know more?" Aeneas’ voice rose, and the bitterness and anger in it were unmistakable. "Very well. My brother was a wicked, cruel thief who gave not a second thought to killing a fellow man. He was a terrifying, savage barbarian who treated everyone around him as though they were his slaves. That is what I know of my brother."

"Certes he could not have been as bad as that."

"He was worse than that, Eagle," answered Aeneas. "It was as though he had not a shred of conscience within him." His voice became soft once again, yet the bitterness lingered. "But despite all of that, my mother still loved him best. You can’t imagine how happy I was when he finally left. And, by Joretham, if he ever returned I swear I would kill him."

* * *

The sky was black, and the moon shown over the dark and grim city of Nolhol. Orion stood upon a hill and looked down upon the city. He was dressed in the armor of the Delovachian he had killed, and in his hands he held the large battle-axe, which glinted in the light of the silver moon. His blue eyes sparked with anger, and he whispered with fury, "Kozan, ravishing dog, you’ll pay for your folly." With that deadly promise, he made his way toward the dark city, leaving Nightfall to stare after him through the darkness.